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floor; he’s been there for years. He goes out for his meals, he
     doesn’t have visitors. I’m sure he won’t be late coming
     home.’
    â€˜Well,’ said Nouchi with
     composure, ‘Monsieur Dandurand is an old pig. Every time I go downstairs
     he’s
watching for me behind his door.
     He’s followed me out into the street several times. And last month, when I was
     passing his door on the landing, he tried beckoning me in.’
    Madame With-All-Due-Respect threw up her
     arms, as if to ask whether anyone had ever heard of such horrors.
    â€˜So on Monday I went in, just out of
     curiosity, and he wanted to show me his collection of photographs … there wasn’t
     anything disgusting, I promise you. He told me that if I went to see him now and then
     he’d give me …’
    â€˜Don’t believe a word she says,
     inspector!’
    â€˜I tell you it’s true. So I told
     Potsi at once, and she went to look at the photographs as well. And he made her a
     proposition as well …’
    â€˜What did he offer her?’
    â€˜The same as me, a wristwatch. He must
     have quite a stock of them. And now I can add something else. One night when I
     couldn’t get to sleep, I heard sounds on the landing. I got up and went over to
     his door and I looked through the keyhole and I saw …’
    â€˜Excuse me,’ said Maigret.
     ‘Was the light on in the stairwell, then?’
    He sensed her hesitation, as she was
     momentarily disconcerted.
    â€˜No,’ she said at last.
     ‘But there was moonlight.’
    â€˜How could the moon be shining on the
     stairwell?’
    â€˜Through the skylight. There’s a
     skylight just above the landing.’
    It was true. Maigret remembered the
     skylight. But why had she hesitated when she mentioned light?
    â€˜Thank you,
     mademoiselle. You can go home now. Your parents must be worried about you.’
    â€˜They’re at the cinema with my
     sister.’
    She looked put out. Anyone might think she
     had hoped that Maigret would go upstairs with her!
    â€˜Is there anything else you’d
     like to ask me?’ she suggested.
    â€˜No, that’s all. Good
     evening.’
    â€˜Is it true that Cécile is
     dead?’
    He did not reply to that, but closed the
     door behind her.
    â€˜It’s a crying shame, with all
     due respect,’ sighed the concierge. ‘Another glass of wine, inspector?
     She’s all but inviting men into her bedroom while her parents are out. Did you see
     the way she looked at you? I blushed for my sex!’
    The cars and trucks were still going along
     the road. Maigret sat down again in the wicker armchair, which creaked under his weight.
     The concierge put more fuel in the stove, and when she sat down once more the cat jumped
     on her lap. It was warm in her lodge. They seemed far from anywhere. The cars and trucks
     were in another world, as if they were on a different planet and nothing outside the
     lodge was alive, except for the apartment building and the families in it. Above the
     bed, Maigret saw the pear-shaped rubber device that opened the front door.
    â€˜No one can get into the building
     without your knowledge, can they?’
    â€˜It would be difficult, because there
     isn’t a key.’
    â€˜Could anyone get in through the
     shops?’
    â€˜The inside doors that communicate
     with the shops have
been bricked up. Madame
     Boynet was frightened of thieves.’
    â€˜Didn’t you tell me that she
     hadn’t left the house for several months?’
    â€˜You must remember that she
     wasn’t entirely powerless. She got about the apartment, leaning on a stick.
     Sometimes she dragged herself out on the landing to keep an eye on the tenants or see if
     I was doing the cleaning properly. You didn’t hear her coming; she had her own way
     of creeping up on you in her slippers, and she’d put a rubber end on