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address and has his post delivered to the Tabac Fontaine.’
    ‘By the way,’ said Maigret,
     ‘I met your lady friend.’
    ‘My lady friend?’ echoed
     Philippe, turning beetroot.
    ‘A tall girl in a green silk
     dress. You bought her a drink at the Floria. We almost slept together.’
    ‘Well I didn’t!’ said
     Philippe. ‘If she told you otherwise—’
    Lucas had just come in and stood
     dithering in the doorway. Maigret beckoned him over.
    ‘Are you
     handling the case?’
    ‘Not exactly, chief. I just wanted
     to let you know that Cageot is at headquarters again. He arrived a quarter of an
     hour ago and shut himself up with Detective Chief Inspector Amadieu.’
    ‘Do you want a beer?’
    Lucas filled his pipe from
     Maigret’s tobacco pouch. It was the hour when the waiters were setting up,
     polishing the mirrors with whiting and scattering sawdust between the tables. The
     owner, already in a black jacket, was inspecting the hors-d’œuvres lined up on
     a serving table.
    ‘Do you think it’s
     Cageot?’ asked Lucas, dropping his voice and reaching for his beer.
    ‘I’m convinced of
     it.’
    ‘That’s no joke!’
    Philippe kept quiet, awed by his
     companions, who had worked together for nearly twenty years. From time to time,
     between puffs on their pipes, the two veterans would utter a few syllables.
    ‘Did he see you, chief?’
    ‘I went there and told him
     I’d get him. Waiter! Two more beers!’
    ‘He’ll never
     confess.’
    La Samaritaine delivery lorries rumbled
     past the windows, bright yellow in the sunshine. Long trams followed them, clanging
     their bells.
    ‘What do you plan to
     do?’
    Maigret shrugged. He had no idea. His
     beady eyes were staring beyond the bustle of the street at the Palais de Justice on
     the other side of the Seine. Philippe toyed with his pencil.
    ‘I have to
     run!’ sighed Sergeant Lucas. ‘I’ve got to investigate a kid from
     Rue Saint-Antoine, some Pole who’s been up to some funny business. Will you be
     here this afternoon?’
    ‘Most likely.’
    Maigret rose too. Philippe grew
     anxious:
    ‘Shall I come with you?’
    ‘I’d rather you
     didn’t. Go back to Quai des Orfèvres. We’ll meet back here for
     lunch.’
    Maigret boarded the omnibus and half an
     hour later he was climbing the stairs to Fernande’s apartment. It took her a
     few minutes to open the door, because she was still in bed. Sunlight was streaming
     into the room. The sheets on the unmade bed were bright white.
    ‘Already!’ exclaimed
     Fernande, clutching her pyjama top over her chest. ‘I was asleep! Wait a
     moment.’
    She went into the kitchen, lit the gas
     ring and filled a saucepan with water, talking all the while.
    ‘I went to the Tabac Fontaine,
     like you asked me to. Naturally they aren’t wary of me. Did you know that the
     owner also has a hotel in Avignon?’
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘There was a table where some men
     were playing cards. Me, I acted like I’d been out all night and was
     tired.’
    ‘Did you happen to notice a small,
     dark man called Joseph Audiat?’
    ‘Wait! There was a Joseph, at any
     rate. He was telling the others how he’d spent the afternoon being questioned
     by an examining magistrate. But you know how it goes. They play.
Belote!
Rebelote!
Your turn, Pierre … Then oneof them says
     something … Someone answers from the bar … Pass! … Pass again! … Your go, Marcel! …
     The owner
was playing too … There was an African … “Do you want a
     drink?” a tall, dark-haired man asked me, pointing to a chair near him.
     “I don’t mind if I do.” He showed me his hand. “In any
     case,” said the man they called Joseph, “I think it’s risky to
     involve a cop. Tomorrow, they’re going to bring me face to face with him. He
     looks like a right idiot, of course …” “Hearts trumps.” “
Quatrième haute!
”’ Fernande interrupted herself:
    ‘Will you have a cup of coffee
     too?’
    And soon the