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…’
     he said.
    ‘No, come in!’
    He didn’t look too sure.
    ‘I just dropped by to say hello
     … I’ve got a tip for the race …’
    ‘You bet on the horses?’
     Maigret asked, half turning towards the waiter.
    ‘Now and again … Sometimes
     clients give me tips … I’d best be off …’
    And he beat a retreat,
     though not before Maigret got the impression that he gave Sylvie a sign. She sat down
     again. Jaja sighed:
    ‘He’ll lose again …
     He’s not a bad boy …’
    ‘I have to get dressed!’ said
     Sylvie as she stood up and noticed that most of her body was exposed by her gaping
     dressing gown, quite innocently, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
    She went upstairs to the mezzanine, where
     she could be heard coming and going. Maigret got the impression that Jaja was listening
     to her.
    ‘She sometimes bets on the horses too
     … She’s the one who has lost the most with William’s death
     …’
    Maigret stood up suddenly, went into the
     bar and opened the outside door. But he was too late. Joseph was walking away briskly,
     without turning round. Just then a window opened.
    ‘What’s got into
     you?’
    ‘Nothing … Just a thought
     …’
    ‘Another drink? … You know, if
     you like the mutton …’
    Sylvie was coming back down already; she
     was transformed, now unrecognizable in a navy-blue tailored suit which made her look
     younger. Under her white silk blouse her small trembling breasts were quite alluring,
     even though Maigret had already seen a fair bit of them. The skirt was tight over her
     narrow waist and taut buttocks. A pair of silk stockings had been pulled neatly up her
     legs.
    ‘See you this evening?’
    She too kissed Jaja on the forehead, then
     turned to
Maigret and hesitated. Did she want to leave without saying
     goodbye to him or did she want to hurl an insult? Either way, her look remained hostile.
     There was no danger of misreading her attitude.
    ‘Good day … I presume you have
     no further need of me?’
    She held herself quite tense. She waited a
     moment then set off with a determined step.
    Jaja laughed as she refilled the
     glasses.
    ‘Pay no attention … These girls
     don’t have much sense. Would you like a plate so you can try some of my
     salad?’
    The empty bar with its solitary front
     window looking out on to the street; upstairs, above the spiral staircase, the
     mezzanine, no doubt in a mess; the basement window and the courtyard, where the sun was
     slowly passing over.
    A strange world, at the centre of which
     Maigret found himself settled in front of the remains of a fragrant salad in the company
     of a large woman who seemed to be propped up on her ample bosom and who sighed:
    ‘When I was her age, we did things
     differently.’
    She didn’t need to explain further.
     He could imagine it quite well, somewhere in the vicinity of Porte Saint-Denis or
     Montmartre, in a gaudy silk dress, supervised through the windows of some bar by a
     constant companion.
    ‘These days …’
    She had had a glass or two too many. Her
     eyes welled up as she looked at Maigret. Her childlike mouth formed a pout that seemed
     to indicate impending tears.
    ‘You remind me of
     William … That’s where he sat … He too put his pipe down next to his
     plate when he ate … He had your shoulders … Do you know you look like
     him?’
    She managed to wipe her eyes without
     crying.

4. The Gentian
    It was that ambiguous rose-tinted hour
     when the sultriness of the setting sun dissipates in the coolness of the approaching
     night. Maigret left the Liberty Bar like someone leaving a house of ill-repute: hands
     deep in pockets, hat pulled down over the eyes.
    Nevertheless, after a dozen or so steps, he
     felt the need to turn round, as if to make sure that the atmosphere he had left behind
     was real.
    The bar was real enough, squeezed in
     between two houses, with its narrow street-front, painted a hideous brown, and the