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her money in the bank for all the tea in China. She was far too mistrustful…Come to think of it, I remember now that, at the beginning, Monsieur Bourniquel wanted to pay by check.”
    “‘What’s this?’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘Just you go and tell the man that I want cash…”
    “Monsieur Bourniquel dug his toes in. He stuck to his guns for a fortnight, but in the end he had to give in…”
    “Another glass, Chief Superintendent? I’m not a great one for drink as a rule, saving your presence, but with the right occasion…”
    The bell sounded above the bed. She got up, leaned across the eiderdown, pressed the rubber bulb, and announced:
    “That’s Monsieur Deséglise, the tenant of the third-floor left. He’s an inspector with the bus company. He’s on shift work.”
    And, to prove it, a man went past the lodge wearing the cap of the municipal bus company.
    “The other tenant on that floor is a piano teacher, a spinster. Her name is Mademoiselle Paucot. Her pupils arrive at hourly intervals, and you can’t think how they mess up the stairs when it’s raining. I’m surprised Monsieur Dandurand isn’t back yet…When I think of what that impudent kid dared to insinuate…Those little minxes, vicious as they are, wouldn’t think twice about putting a man behind bars just to draw attention to themselves. Did you see the way she looked at you? You, an elderly married man and a public official…I know what that means, because my husband was a public official himself. He worked on the railroad. Ah! good…here is Monsieur Dandurand.”
    She got up and once again leaned across the bed to press the rubber bulb. Lights came on in the hall and on the stairs. The soft swish of an umbrella being closed was followed by the careful scraping of shoes on a mat.
    “You won’t find him leaving dirty marks all over the place…”
    A dry cough. Slow, measured footsteps. The door of the lodge opened.
    “Any mail for me, Madame Benoit?”
    “Nothing tonight, saving your presence, Monsieur Dandurand.”
    A man of seventy, with a gray complexion and gray hair, dressed all in black, carrying a damp umbrella. As he raised his eyes to meet the Chief Superintendent’s, Maigret frowned, feeling sure that he had seen him somewhere before.
    And yet, when he had first heard the name Dandurand a little while ago, it had meant nothing to him. He was sure he knew the man. He searched his memory. Where could it have been?
    “You are Chief Superintendent Maigret, aren’t you?” said the tenant quietly, still standing in the doorway. “Would you believe it, Chief Superintendent, I’ve just come from your office. I know it’s outside office hours, but I am also aware that occasionally you…”
    A name leaped into Maigret ’s mind…Monsieur Charles…Suddenly he was convinced that there was a connection between that name and the man who stood before him. Now what was it that that name conveyed to him? A small café patronized by…
    “Is there something urgent you have to tell me?”
    “Well…I thought…if you would be so kind as to come up to my apartment for a moment…Excuse us, Madame Benoit…Forgive me, Chief Superintendent, for putting you to the trouble of climbing four flights of stairs…I have only just learned at the Quai des Orfèvres that poor Mademoiselle Cécile…I confess it was a great shock…”
    Maigret got up and followed Monsieur Dandurand up the stairs.
    “I could see you recognized me, even if you couldn’t recall…We’d better hurry, or we’ll be left in the dark…”
    He felt in his pocket for his key and inserted it in the lock. Maigret looked up and saw Nouchi, in shadowy outline, leaning over the banisters. No sooner had he done so than a blob of spittle landed with a plop at their feet.
    Monsieur Dandurand was sensitive to cold. He was wearing a coat even thicker and heavier than Maigret’s, and a long woolen muffler wound around his neck. He was unhealthy and unkempt—looking