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smell of coffee filled the
     three-room apartment.
    ‘So anyway, I couldn’t
     suddenly start asking them about Cageot, could I? I said to them, “So do you
     fellows come here every night?” “Looks like it,” said the one
     sitting next to me. “And you didn’t hear anything, last
     night?”’
    Maigret, having removed his coat and
     hat, had half opened the window, allowing the street noises to enter the room.
     Fernande went on:
    ‘He gave me a funny look and he
     said: “Are you a bad girl?” I could see he was getting aroused. Still
     playing cards, he stroked my knee. And he went on: “Us lot, we don’t
     hear anything, you understand? Apart from Joseph, who saw what he had to see
     …” That made them all roar with laughter. What could I do? I didn’t dare
     move my leg away. “Spades again!
Tierce haute
and
belote!
” “He’s one hell of a guy!” said Joseph, who
     was drinking a hot toddy. But the fellow who was stroking my leg coughed then
     grumbled:“I’d rather he didn’t spend so much
     time with the cops, if you know what I mean.”’
    Maigret felt as if he were in the room.
     He could have put a name to almost each face. He already knew that the owner
ran a brothel in Avignon. And the tall, dark-haired man must be the owner of the
     Cupidon, in Béziers, and of a brothel in Nîmes. As for the African, he belonged to a
     local jazz outfit.
    ‘They didn’t mention any
     names?’ Maigret asked Fernande, who was stirring her coffee.
    ‘No names. Two or three times they
     said
the Lawyer
. I thought they meant Cageot. He looks like a degenerate
     lawyer. But wait, I haven’t finished! Aren’t you hungry? It must have
     been three in the morning. You could hear them pulling down the shutters at the
     Floria. My neighbour, who was still rubbing my knee, was beginning to annoy me.
     That’s when the door opened and Cageot came in. He touched the brim of his
     hat, but he didn’t say a general hello.
    ‘Nobody looked up. You could feel
     they were all giving him shifty glances. The owner scooted over to the bar.
    ‘“Give me six
Voltigeur
cigars and a box of matches,” said Cageot.
    ‘Little Joseph didn’t bat an
     eyelid. He stared at the bottom of his toddy glass. Cageot lit a cigar, put the
     others in his jacket pocket, and looked for a note in his wallet. You could have
     heard a pin drop.
    ‘The silence didn’t bother
     him. He turned round, looked at everyone, calmly, coolly, then touched his hat again
     and left.’
    As Fernande dunked her buttered bread in
     hercoffee, her pyjama top had fallen open, revealing a pert
     breast.
    She must have been in her late twenties,
     but she had the body of a girl and her barely formed nipples were pale pink.
    ‘They didn’t say anything
     after he left?’ questioned Maigret who couldn’t help turning down the
     gas ring on which the kettle was beginning to sing.
    ‘They looked at each other and
     exchanged winks. The owner sat down again, sighing: “Is that all?”
     Joseph, who looked awkward, explained: “It’s not that he’s proud,
     you know!”’
    At this time of day, Rue Blanche was
     almost provincial. You could hear the clatter of the hooves of the horses harnessed
     to a heavy brewer’s dray.
    ‘The others sniggered,’
     added Fernande. ‘The one who was groping my leg groaned: “It’s not
     that he’s proud, no! But he’s shrewd enough to land us all in it. I tell
     you, I’d like it better if he didn’t go to Quai des Orfèvres every
     day!”’
    Fernande had told her story taking care
     not to forget anything.
    ‘Did you go straight
     home?’
    ‘That wasn’t
     possible.’
    Maigret looked none too pleased.
    ‘Oh!’ she hastily added,
     ‘I didn’t bring him back here. It’s best not to show those people
     that you’ve got a few bits and pieces. He didn’t let me go until five
     o’clock.’
    She rose and went to get a breath of
     fresh air by the window.
    ‘What should I
     do