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Trône . . .
    â€œI caught up with them again there . . . I don’t know if they had a ride on the merry-go-round, but I imagine they did . . . They also had a go at the rifle range, I know, because Clark spent over a hundred francs there, much to the amazement of the good lady running it . . .
    â€œYou know the kind of thing . . . Wandering through the crowd, arm in arm, like two young lovers . . . But now we’re coming to the best part . . . Listen . . .
    â€œYou know Eugène the Muscle Man’s booth? At the end of his show he threw down the gauntlet to the crowd . . . There was a sort of colossus there who took up the challenge . . . Well . . . our Clark took him on . . . He went to get undressed behind a filthy bit of canvas and made short work of the said colossus . . . I imagine the girl was applauding in the front row of the crowd . . . Everyone was shouting:
    â€œâ€˜Go it, the Englishman! . . . Bash his face in!’
    â€œAfter which our two lovers went dancing at the Moulin de la Galette . . . And at about three they were to be seen at the Coupole, eating grilled sausages, and I imagine they then went quietly off to bye-byes . . .
    â€œThe Hotel Aiglon has no doorman. Only a night porter who sleeps in his little room and pulls the door-pull without bothering too much about who comes in . . . He remembers hearing someone talking in English at about four in the morning . . . He says no one went out . . .
    â€œAnd that’s it! Don’t you think it’s rather an odd evening for people who are supposed to be staying at the Majestic?”
    Maigret didn’t answer one way or the other, and, glancing at his wristwatch, which he only wore on special occasions (it was a twentieth wedding anniversary present), got up from the table where he’d been sitting.
    â€œGoodnight, children . . .”
    He was already at the door, when he came back to finish his glass of beer. He had to walk two or three hundred yards before he found a taxi.
    â€œRue Fontaine . . .”
    It was 1 a.m. Night life in Montmartre was in full swing. A Negro met him at the door of the Pélican and he was obliged to leave his coat and hat in the cloakroom. He hesitated a bit, as if unsure of himself, on entering the main room, where rolls of coloured thread and streamers were flying through the air.
    â€œA table by the cabaret? . . . This way . . . Are you alone?”
    He was reduced to muttering under his breath to the maître d’hôtel, who hadn’t recognized him: “Idiot!”
    The barman, however, had spotted him at once, and was whispering to two hostesses who were propping themselves up at the bar.
    Maigret sat down at a table and, as he couldn’t drink beer there, ordered a brandy and water. Less than ten minutes later the proprietor, who had been discreetly summoned, came to sit down opposite him.
    â€œNothing out of order, I hope, superintendent? . . . You know I’ve always abided by the rules and . . .”
    He glanced round the room, as if to see what could have caused this unexpected visit from the police.
    â€œNothing . . .” Maigret replied. “I felt in need of entertainment . . .”
    He pulled his pipe out of his pocket, but saw from the proprietor’s face that it would be out of place there, and put it back, sighing.
    â€œIf you need any information of any kind . . .” the other said, winking. “But I know all my staff personally . . . I don’t think there’s anyone here at present who could be of interest to you . . . As for the customers, you can see for yourself . . . The usual crowd . . . Foreigners, people up from the provinces . . . Look! That man over there with Léa is a deputy . . .”
    Maigret got up and walked heavily over to the stairs leading to the toilets. These were in a brightly lit basement room, with bluish tiles on the walls. Wooden telephone booths. Mirrors. And a long table on which were numerous