Read The Saint-Fiacre Affair for Free Online Page B

son.’
    Maigret held out his hand, and the boy
     hesitated for a moment before holding out his own.
    â€˜I know it’s just a
     joke!’ he said none the less as he walked away.
    A crime in three stages, then: someone
     had set the article, or had it set, using a linotype machine, the kind
that you only find in a newspaper office
     or a very big printworks.
    Someone had slipped the piece of paper
     into the missal, carefully choosing the page.
    And someone had taken the missal back,
     had hidden it momentarily under the surplice, in the sacristy.
    Had the same man done everything? Had
     each action been performed by a different person? Had two of the actions been
     performed by the same person?
    As he was passing in front of the
     church, Maigret saw the priest coming out and heading towards him. He waited for him
     under the poplar trees, beside the woman selling oranges and chocolate.
    â€˜I’m going to the chateau
      …’ he said as he joined the inspector. ‘It’s the first time
     I’ve celebrated mass without even knowing what I’m doing … The idea that
     a crime …’
    â€˜It really was a crime,’
     Maigret murmured.
    They walked in silence. Without a word,
     the inspector held out the piece of paper to his companion, who read it and gave it
     back.
    And they walked another hundred yards
     without uttering a word.
    â€˜Chaos creates chaos … But she was
     an unhappy creature …’
    They both had to hold on to their hats
     as the wind grew stronger.
    â€˜I didn’t have the energy
      …’ the priest added in a grim voice.
    â€˜You?’
    â€˜She came to see me every day … She
     was ready to return to the ways of the Lord … But every day, in there …’
    There was a hint of harshness in his
     voice.
    â€˜I didn’t want to go there!
     And yet it was my duty …’
    They nearly stopped, because two men
     were walking along the big avenue of the chateau and they were about to meet them.
     They recognized the doctor, with his brown beard and, beside him, Jean Métayer, who
     was talking feverishly to him. The yellow car was in the courtyard. They guessed
     that Métayer didn’t dare go back to the chateau while the Count of
     Saint-Fiacre was there.
    The village was wrapped in an ambiguous
     light. An ambiguous situation! With all those dark comings and goings!
    â€˜Come on!’ said Maigret.
    And the doctor must have said the same
     thing to Métayer, then dragged him along until the moment when he could say,
     ‘Hello, Father! You know, I can reassure you at last … It’s true that
     I’m a non-believer, but I can guess your horror at the idea that a crime might
     have been committed in your church … Well, it hasn’t! … Science is clear on
     the matter … 
Our
countess died of a heart attack …’
    Maigret had walked over to Jean
     Métayer.
    â€˜One question …’
    He was aware of the tension in the young
     man, who was panting with anxiety.
    â€˜When was the last time that you
     went to the
Journal de Moulins
?’
    â€˜I … wait …’
    He was about to speak, but his unease
     made him cautious. He darted a suspicious glance at the inspector.
    â€˜Why are you asking me
     that?’
    â€˜Doesn’t matter!’
    â€˜Am I obliged to
     answer?’
    â€˜You are free to remain
     silent!’
    Not the face of a degenerate, perhaps,
     but a face that was worried, tormented. Nervousness far beyond the average, capable
     of interesting Dr Bouchardon, who was talking to the priest.
    â€˜I know I’ll be the one
     tormented! … But I will defend myself …’
    â€˜Of course! You will defend
     yourself!’
    â€˜First I want to see a lawyer.
     It’s my right … And besides, what right do you