Read Maigret in New York for Free Online Page B

it did not occur to him to offer his visitor one of those
famous cigars.
    He went to sit at the mahogany table in the chair
MacGill had been occupying, while the latter casually sat down in an armchair and crossed his
legs.
    ‘I am sorry, inspector, to have bothered you, but
I thought that we should talk.’
    Little John looked up at last at Maigret with
eyes that expressed nothing, neither sympathy, nor antipathy, nor impatience. His slender hand,
astonishingly white for a man, fiddled with a tortoise-shell letter opener.
    He was wearing a navy-blue suit of English cut, a
dark tie with a white shirt. His clothes set off his defined yet delicate features, and Maigret
noticed that it would have been difficult to tell his age.
    ‘I suppose you’ve had no news of my son?’
    He did not expect a reply and spoke on in a
neutral voice, as if to an underling.
    ‘When you came to see me yesterday, I was not
interested enough to ask you certain questions. If I’ve understood correctly, you came over from
France with Jean and indicated that it was my son who asked you to make this crossing.’
    MacGill was puffing on a cigarette and calmly
watching the smoke rise towards the ceiling. Little John was still toying with the letter
opener, staring as if unseeing at Maigret.
    ‘I
do not think you opened a private detective agency after leaving the Police Judiciaire. On the
other hand, given what is widely known of your character, I find it hard to believe that you
would have embarked on such an adventure lightly. I suppose, inspector, that you follow me? We
are free men in a free country. Yesterday you gained admittance here to speak to me of my son.
That same evening, you contacted a member of the FBI to obtain information about me.’
    In other words, these two men were already aware
of his comings and goings and his meeting with O’Brien. Had they had him followed?
    ‘Allow me to ask you a first question: under what
pretext did my son request your assistance?’
    And as Maigret made no reply, while MacGill
seemed to smile with a note of irony, Little John continued, tense and cutting.
    ‘Retired inspectors do not usually chaperone
young people when they travel. I am asking you again: what did my son tell you to make you
decide to leave France and cross the Atlantic with him?’
    Was he not speaking contemptuously on purpose,
hoping thereby to make Maigret lose his temper?
    Except that Maigret grew calmer and more
imperturbable as the other man spoke. More lucid, too.
    So lucid – and this showed so clearly in his gaze
– that the movements of the hand holding the letter opener became abrupt and awkward. MacGill,
who had turned his head towards the inspector, forgot his cigarette and waited.
    ‘If
you will allow me, I will reply to your question with another question. Do you know where your
son is?’
    ‘I do not, and that is not what is at issue at
this moment. My son is at liberty to do as he pleases, do you understand?’
    ‘So, you know where he is.’
    It was MacGill who gave a start and turned
quickly to Little John with a hard look in his eyes.
    ‘I tell you again that I know nothing about it
and that it is no concern of yours.’
    ‘In that case, we have nothing more to say to
each other.’
    ‘One moment …’
    The little man had leaped to his feet and, still
holding the letter opener, had darted between Maigret and the door.
    ‘You seem to forget, inspector, that you are here
in a way at my expense. My son is a minor; I assume that he did not let you travel at his
request yet at your own expense …’
    Why did MacGill seem so angry at his boss? He was
clearly unhappy with the turn things had taken. And what’s more, he did not hesitate to
intervene.
    ‘I believe the problem lies elsewhere and that
you are offending the inspector to no purpose.’
    Maigret saw the look the men exchanged and,
although unable to read it on the spot, resolved to decipher its meaning later.
    ‘Obviously,’ continued MacGill,