Maigret in New York (20 page)

Although he had been watching them play for six
days, he still hadn't managed to understand the game. This time, he contented himself with
watching their faces.

Monsieur Lourceau, the ship-owner, was very old,
but tall, still strong, with a ruddy face beneath a crown of white hair. He was the best bridge
player of all of them and, when his partner made a mistake, he had a way of glaring at him that
did not make one want to play with him.

Depaty, the estate agent, who handled mainly private homes and
housing developments, was livelier, with mis­chievous eyes that belied his seventy years.

Then there was a building contractor, a judge, a
boat-builder and the deputy mayor.

The youngest player must have been between
forty-five and fifty. He was just finishing a game. He was thin and wiry, with sharp eyes and
lustrous brown hair, and he dressed with studied elegance, if not with affectation.

When he had played his last card, he stood up, as
he usually did, and went over to the telephone booth. Maigret glanced up at the clock. It was
four thirty. Each day, at the same time, that player made a telephone call.

Chief Inspector Mansuy, who changed places with
his neighbour for the next game, leaned towards his colleague and murmured:

‘It's his sister-in-law who died …'

The man who telephoned his wife every day during
the game was Doctor Bellamy. He lived less than three hun­dred metres away, the big white house
after the casino, exactly halfway between the casino and the pier, in one of town's most
beautiful residences. It could be seen from the bay window. With its calm dignity, the even
façade, immaculate, with big, high windows, was reminiscent of the convent hospital.

Doctor Bellamy was walking back, impassive, to
the table where the others were waiting for him and the cards had already been dealt. Monsieur
Lourceau, who did not like futile questions to interrupt the solemnity of bridge, gave a shrug.
Things had probably gone on like this for years.

The doctor was not a man to allow himself to be intim­idated. Not
a muscle in his face moved. He scanned his hand at a glance, and called:

‘Two clubs …'

Then, during the game, he began for the first
time to examine Maigret covertly. It was barely noticeable. His glances were so fleeting that
Maigret only just intercepted them in passing.

For pity's sake …

Why were words forming unconsciously in Maigret's
mind that would then nag away at him during the rest of the game?
In any case, there is one
man who won't have any pity …

He had rarely seen eyes that were so hard and at
the same time blazing, a man so in control of himself, so capa­ble of betraying nothing of his
feelings.

On previous days, Maigret had not waited for the
game of bridge to end. Other ‘corners' awaited him. He was horrified at the thought of the
slightest change to his rou­tine.

‘Will you still be here at six o'clock?' he asked
Chief Inspector Mansuy.

The latter looked at his watch, a pointless
action, before replying that he would.

Le Remblai, right to the end of the promenade
this time, past Doctor Bellamy's house, which was typical of those residences that passers-by
gaze at with envy, saying:

‘It must be so lovely to live there …'

Then the port, the yacht builder's yard with its sails spread
over the pavement, the ferryman, the boats coming in and mooring alongside each other opposite
the fish market.

Here, there was a little café painted green, with
four steps, a dark bar, two or three tables covered with brown oilcloth and nothing but men
wearing blue, their high rubber waders turned down over their thighs.

‘A small glass of white wine …'

…Which did not taste the same as the wine
at the Hôtel Bel Air, or that of the covered market, or the white wine at the Brasserie du
Remblai
.

Now all he had to do was to walk to the end of
the quayside, then turn right and make his way back through the narrow streets where the
single-storey houses were teeming with life, noise and smells.

When, at six o'clock, he reached the Brasserie du
Rem­blai, Chief Inspector Mansuy, who had just emerged, stood winding up his watch as he waited
for Maigret.