The Night at the Crossroads by Georges Simenon Page A

wouldn’t want anything to happen to Carl, not for the world! He’s told me many times that we would die
together …’
    â€˜Would you please be quiet!’
    He was straining to hear the noises of the night, so he drew his armchair over to the window and put his feet up on the railing.
    â€˜But I’m cold, I tell you …’
    â€˜Put some clothes on!’
    â€˜You don’t believe me?’
    â€˜Be quiet, dammit!’
    And he began smoking. Vague sounds came from a distant farm: a lowing cow, shifting, indistinct noises of movement … Off in the garage, though, as steel objects were banged about, the electric tyre-pump began vibrating.
    â€˜And I trusted you! … But now—’
    â€˜Once and for all, are you going to be quiet?’
    He had spotted a shadow behind a tree by the road, close to the house, and assumed it was one of the inspectors he had requested.
    â€˜I’m hungry …’
    He turned around angrily to face the young woman, who looked pathetic.
    â€˜Go and get something to eat!’
    â€˜I don’t dare go; I’m afraid …’
    Maigret shrugged, made sure that everything was quiet outside and abruptly decided to go downstairs. He knew his way around the kitchen. Near the stove were some leftover cold meat, bread and part of a bottle of beer.
    He took everything upstairs and placed it on the lacquered table, near the cigarette bowl.
    â€˜You’re being mean to me, chief inspector.’
    She looked like such a little girl … She seemed about to burst into tears!
    â€˜I don’t have time to be mean or nice. Eat!’
    â€˜You’re not hungry? … Are you angry that I told you the truth?’
    But he was already turning his back on her to look out of the window. Behind the shade, Madame Michonnet was bending over her husband, probably giving him some medicine, for she was holding a spoon to his face.
    Else had picked up a piece of cold veal with her fingertips and now nibbled on it glumly. Then she poured herself a glass of beer.
    â€˜It tastes terrible!’ she exclaimed, and gasped convulsively.
‘But why won’t you close that window? I’m scared … Don’t you ever feel sorry for
people?’
    Exasperated, Maigret suddenly shut the window and looked over at Else like a man about to lose his temper.
    Then he saw her turn white, saw her blue eyes glaze over and her hand reach out for some support … He reached her just in time to slip an arm around her waist as she collapsed.
    He lowered her gently to the floor, raised her eyelids to check her pupils and sniffed the empty glass, which had an acrid smell.
    There was a spoon on the table. He used it to pry Else’s jaws open and immediately thrust the spoon into her mouth, repeatedly touching it to her palate and the back of her throat.
    Her face twitched a few times. Her chest heaved in spasms.
    She was lying on the rug. Tears trickled from beneath her eyelids, and when her head fell to one side, she was shaken by a huge hiccup.
    The contractions caused by the spoon were clearing her stomach: a yellowish liquid stained the rug; some drops glistened on her peignoir.
    Taking the water pitcher from the dressing table, Maigret moistened her face.
    He kept turning impatiently towards the window.
    And Else was taking a long time to come around. She moaned weakly. Finally she raised her head.
    â€˜What …?’
    She got to her feet, disoriented and still shaky, and saw the spoon, the empty glass, the stained rug.
    Then she began sobbing, her head in her hands.
    â€˜You see, I was right to be afraid: they’ve tried to poison me! And you didn’t want to believe me … You—’
    She started at the same instant as Maigret. Both of them froze for a few moments, listening intently.
    A shot had been fired near the house, probably in the garden, and been followed by