{"product_id":"inspector-maigretisbn-9780141392738","title":"Inspector Maigret","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e“A writer as comfortable with reality as with fiction, with passion as with reason.” —John Le Carré\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eIn Simenon’s iconic first novel featuring Inspector Maigret, the laconic detective is taken from grimy bars to luxury hotels as he traces a fraudster\u003cb\u003e’\u003c\/b\u003es true identity\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInspector Jules Maigret, a taciturn detective and \u003ci\u003ecommissaire\u003c\/i\u003e of the Paris \u003ci\u003eBrigade Criminelle\u003c\/i\u003e, receives notice from Interpol that a notorious conman known only as Peitr the Latvian is en route to France. Armed with a broad description and a scant few clues, Maigret plans to intercept him at the train station outside Paris. But when he arrives, he finds that there are several suspects—some living, and some dead—who meet the description uncannily well.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWho is Pietr the Latvian, truly? A vagrant, a seaman, a businessman, a corpse? Russian, Norwegian, American or Latvian?  In \u003ci\u003ePietr the Latvian\u003c\/i\u003e, the iconic first novel of Simenon’s classic series that made Inspector Maigret a legendary figure in the annals of detective fiction, Maigret must use his every instinct to unravel the mystery and track down the truth.\u003cb\u003ePraise for Georges Simenon:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“One of the greatest writers of the twentieth century . . . Simenon was unequaled at making us look inside, though the ability was masked by his brilliance at absorbing us obsessively in his stories.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Guardian\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “These Maigret books are as timeless as Paris itself.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “The matchless French crime novelist.” —Adam Gopnik, \u003ci\u003eThe New Yorker\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Maigret ranks with Holmes and Poirot in the pantheon of fictional detective immortals.” —\u003ci\u003ePeople\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I love reading Simenon. He makes me think of Chekhov.” —William Faulkner\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “An astute observer of human nature, writing in a spare and vivid style.” —Amor Towles\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I never read contemporary fiction–with one exception: the works of Simenon.” —T.S. Eliot\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A writer as comfortable with reality as with fiction, with passion as with reason.” —John Le Carré\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “One of the most important writers of our century.” —Gabriel García Márquez\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A favorite writer of mine.” —Sigrid Nunez\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A great writer of detail, of atmosphere.” —Leïla Slimani\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Feels incredibly modern…A great writer.” —Ian Rankin\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “The greatest of all, the most genuine novelist we have had in literature.” —André Gide\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A supreme writer . . . Unforgettable vividness.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Independent\u003c\/i\u003e (London)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Superb . . . The most addictive of writers . . . A unique teller of tales.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Observer\u003c\/i\u003e (London)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Compelling, remorseless, brilliant.” —John Gray\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A truly wonderful writer . . . Marvelously readable—lucid, simple, absolutely in tune with the world he creates.” —Muriel Spark\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A novelist who entered his fictional world as if he were a part of it.” —Peter Ackroyd\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Extraordinary masterpieces of the twentieth century.” —John Banville\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Gem-hard soul-probes . . . not just the world's bestselling detective series, but an imperishable literary legend . . . he exposes secrets and crimes not by forensic wizardry, but by the melded powers of therapist, philosopher and confessor\" ―\u003ci\u003eTimes\u003c\/i\u003e (London)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Strangely comforting . . . so many lovely bistros from the Paris of mid-20th C. The corpses are incidental, it's the food that counts.\" ―Margaret Atwood\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"One of the greatest writers of the 20th century . . . no other writer can set up a scene as sharply and with such economy as Simenon does . . . the conjuring of a world, a place, a time, a set of characters - above all, an atmosphere.\" ―\u003ci\u003eFinancial Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Gripping . . . richly rewarding . . . You'll quickly find yourself obsessing about his life as you tackle each mystery in turn.\" ―Stig Abell, \u003ci\u003eThe Sunday Times\u003c\/i\u003e (London)\u003cb\u003eGeorges Simenon \u003c\/b\u003e(1903–1989) was born on February 12th, 1903 in Liege, Belgium. At the age of nineteen, Simenon embarked to Paris to begin a career as a writer.  In 1923 he began publishing under various pseudonyms, and in 1929 began the Inspector Maigret series which helped elevate him to a household name in continental Europe.  His prolific output of more than four hundred novels and the gripping, dark realism of his prose has cemented him as an inedlible fixture of twentieth century literature.  He died in 1989 in Lausanne, Switzerland.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eDavid Bellos \u003c\/b\u003eis the director of the Program in Translation and Intercultural Communication at Princeton University, where he is also a professor of French and comparative literature. He has won many awards for his translations of Georges Perec, Ismail Kadare, and others, including the Man Booker International Translator’s Award.\u003cp\u003e                    \u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003e                    \u003c\/p\u003e                        \u003cp\u003eGeorges Simenon\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e                        \u003cp\u003ePIETR THE                LATVIAN\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cb\u003eTranslated by DAVID                    BELLOS\u003c\/b\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                            \u003c\/p\u003e                               \u003cb\u003ePENGUIN BOOKS\u003c\/b\u003e            \u003cp\u003ePublished by the Penguin Group\u003cbr\u003e Penguin                Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England\u003cbr\u003e Penguin Group                (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA\u003cbr\u003e Penguin Group                (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P                    2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)\u003cbr\u003e Penguin Ireland, 25                St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)\u003cbr\u003e                Penguin Group (Australia), 707 Collins Street, Melbourne, Victoria 3008, Australia                (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)\u003cbr\u003e Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11                Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India\u003cbr\u003e Penguin Group                (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson                New Zealand Ltd)\u003cbr\u003e Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, Block D, Rosebank                Office Park, 181 Jan Smuts Avenue, Parktown North, Gauteng 2193, South Africa\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003ePenguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80                Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003ewww.penguin.com\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eFirst published in serial, as                    \u003ci\u003ePietr-le-Letton\u003c\/i\u003e, in \u003ci\u003eRic et Rac\u003c\/i\u003e 1930\u003cbr\u003e This translation                first published 2013\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eCopyright 1930 by Georges Simenon                Limited\u003cbr\u003e Translation © David Bellos, 2013\u003cbr\u003e GEORGES SIMENON ® Simenon.tm\u003cbr\u003e                MAIGRET ® Georges Simenon Limited\u003cbr\u003e All rights reserved\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThe moral rights of the author and                translator have been asserted\u003c\/p\u003e                  \u003cp\u003eISBN: 978-0-698-15103-1\u003c\/p\u003e                                                                                \u003cp\u003eTitle Page\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003eCopyright Page\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eAbout the Author\u003c\/p\u003e                                                       \u003cp\u003e1. Apparent age 32, height 169 …\u003c\/p\u003e                            \u003cp\u003e2. Mixing with Millionaires\u003c\/p\u003e                            \u003cp\u003e3. The Strand of Hair\u003c\/p\u003e                            \u003cp\u003e4. The Seeteufel’s First Mate\u003c\/p\u003e                            \u003cp\u003e5. The Russian Drunkard\u003c\/p\u003e                            \u003cp\u003e6. Au Roi de Sicile\u003c\/p\u003e                            \u003cp\u003e7. The Third Interval\u003c\/p\u003e                            \u003cp\u003e8. Maigret Gets Serious\u003c\/p\u003e                            \u003cp\u003e9. The Hit-man\u003c\/p\u003e                            \u003cp\u003e10. The Return of Oswald Oppenheim\u003c\/p\u003e                            \u003cp\u003e11. Arrivals and Departures\u003c\/p\u003e                            \u003cp\u003e12. A Woman With a Gun\u003c\/p\u003e                            \u003cp\u003e13. The Two Pietrs\u003c\/p\u003e                            \u003cp\u003e14. The Ugala Club\u003c\/p\u003e                            \u003cp\u003e15. Two Telegrams\u003c\/p\u003e                            \u003cp\u003e16. On the Rocks\u003c\/p\u003e                            \u003cp\u003e17. And a Bottle of Rum\u003c\/p\u003e                            \u003cp\u003e18. Hans at Home\u003c\/p\u003e                            \u003cp\u003e19. The Injured Man\u003c\/p\u003e                                    \u003cp\u003eEXTRA: Chapter 1 from \u003ci\u003eThe Late Monsieur Gallet\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e                                                 \u003cb\u003eABOUT THE AUTHOR\u003c\/b\u003e        \u003cp\u003e • • • \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGeorges Simenon was born on 12 February            1903 in Liège, Belgium, and died in 1989 in Lausanne, Switzerland, where he had lived            for the latter part of his life. He published seventy-five novels and twenty-eight short            stories featuring Inspector Maigret, and \u003ci\u003ePietr the Latvian\u003c\/i\u003e marks the birth of            this celebrated literary character. Simenon himself described the moment the character            took shape, as he settled down to write this novel in September 1929:\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003e            \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘I recall sitting in a café one                sunny morning … I’d had one, two, maybe three small schnapps laced                with a dash of bitters. In any case, an hour later, slightly sleepy, I began to                imagine a large powerfully built gentleman I thought would make a passable                inspector. As the day wore on, I added various accessories: a pipe, a bowler hat, a                thick overcoat with a velvet collar. And since it was cold and damp on my abandoned                barge, I put a cast-iron stove in his office.’\u003c\/p\u003e                \u003cp\u003ePenguin is publishing the entire series of            Maigret novels.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003ePENGUIN BOOKS\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cb\u003ePIETR THE LATVIAN\u003c\/b\u003e        \u003cp\u003e‘I love reading Simenon. He makes me think of            Chekhov’\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003eWilliam Faulkner\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003e‘A truly wonderful            writer … marvellously readable – lucid, simple, absolutely in tune with the            world he creates’\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003eMuriel Spark\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003e‘Few writers have ever conveyed with such a            sure touch, the bleakness of human life’\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003eA. N. Wilson\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003e‘One of the greatest writers of the twentieth            century … Simenon was unequalled at making us look inside, though the ability            was masked by his brilliance at absorbing us obsessively in his stories’\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eGuardian\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003e‘A novelist who entered his fictional world as            if he were part of it’\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003ePeter Ackroyd\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003e‘The greatest of all, the most genuine            novelist we have had in literature’\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003eAndré Gide\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003e‘Superb … The most addictive of            writers … A unique teller of tales’\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eObserver\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003e‘The mysteries of the human personality are            revealed in all their disconcerting complexity’\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003eAnita Brookner\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003e‘A writer who, more than any other crime            novelist, combined a high literary reputation with popular appeal’\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003eP. D. James\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003e‘A supreme writer … Unforgettable            vividness’\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eIndependent\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003e‘Compelling, remorseless, brilliant’\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003eJohn Gray\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003e‘Extraordinary masterpieces of the twentieth            century’\u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003eJohn Banville\u003c\/p\u003e                                    \u003cp\u003e1.                Apparent age 32, height 169 …\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eICPC to PJ Paris Xvzust Krakow                    vimontra m ghks triv psot uv Pietr-le-Letton Bremen vs tyz btolem.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e • • • \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDetective Chief Inspector Maigret of                the Flying Squad raised his eyes. It seemed to him that the cast-iron stove in the                middle of his office with its chimney tube rising to the ceiling wasn’t                roaring properly. He pushed the telegram away, rose ponderously to his feet,                adjusted the flue and thrust three shovels of coal into the firebox.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThen he stood with his back to the                stove, filled his pipe and adjusted his stud collar, which was irritating his neck                even though it wasn’t set very high.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eHe glanced at his watch. Four p.m. His                jacket was hanging on a hook on the back of the door.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eSlowly he returned to his desk, mouthing                a translation as he went:\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eInternational Criminal Police                    Commission to Police Judiciaire in Paris: Krakow police report sighting Pietr                    the Latvian en route to Bremen.\u003c\/p\u003e                        \u003cp\u003eThe International Criminal Police                Commission, or ICPC, is based in Vienna. Broadly speaking, it oversees the struggle                against organized crime in Europe, with a particular responsibility for liaison                between the various national police forces on the Continent.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eMaigret pulled up another telegram that was similarly                written in IPC, the secret international police code used for communication between                all the world’s police forces. He translated at sight:\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePolizei-Präsidium Bremen to PJ                    Paris: Pietr the Latvian reported en route Amsterdam and Brussels.\u003c\/p\u003e                        \u003cp\u003eAnother telegram from the Nederlandsche                Centrale in Zake Internationale Misdadigers, the Dutch police HQ, reported:\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt 11 a.m. Pietr the Latvian                    boarded Étoile du Nord, compartment G. 263, car 5, destination Paris.\u003c\/p\u003e                        \u003cp\u003eThe final message in IPC had been sent                from Brussels and said:\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eConfirm Pietr the Latvian on board                    Étoile du Nord via Brussels 2 a.m. in compartment reported by Amsterdam.\u003c\/p\u003e                        \u003cp\u003eBehind Maigret’s desk there was a                huge map pinned to the wall. The inspector was a broad and heavy man. He stood                staring at the map with his hands in his pockets and his pipe sticking out the side                of his mouth.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eHis eyes travelled from the dot                representing Krakow to the other dot showing the port of Bremen and from there to                Amsterdam and Paris.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eHe checked the time once again.                Four-twenty. The Étoile du Nord should now be hurtling along at sixty miles an hour                between Saint-Quentin and Compiègne.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eIt wouldn’t stop at the border. It                wouldn’t be slowing down.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eIn car 5, compartment G. 263, Pietr the                Latvian was presumably spending his time reading or looking at the scenery.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eMaigret went over to a door that opened                onto a closet, washed his hands in an enamel                basin, ran a comb through thick dark-brown hair flecked with only a few silver                strands around the temple, and did his best to straighten out his tie – he’d                never learned how to do a proper knot.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eIt was November and it was getting dark.                Through the window he could see a branch of the Seine, Place Saint-Michel, and a                floating wash-house, all in a blue shroud speckled by gas lamps lighting up one                after the other.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eHe opened a drawer and glanced at a                dispatch from the International Identification Bureau in Copenhagen.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eParis PJ Pietr-le-Letton 32 169                    01512 0224 0255 02732 03116 03233 03243 03325 03415 03522 04115 04144 04147                    05221 …\u003c\/p\u003e                        \u003cp\u003eThis time he made an effort to speak the                translation aloud and even went over it several times, like a schoolchild reciting a                lesson:\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDescription Pietr the Latvian:                    apparent age 32 years, height 169 cm, sinus top straight line, bottom flat,                    extension large max, special feature septum not visible, ear unmarked rim, lobe                    large, max cross and dimension small max, protuberant antitragus, vex edge lower                    fold, edge shape straight line edge feature separate lines, orthognathous upper,                    long face, biconcave, eyebrows thin fair light, lower lip jutting max thick                    lower droop, light.\u003c\/p\u003e                        \u003cp\u003eThis ‘word-picture’ of Pietr                was as clear as a photograph to Inspector Maigret. The principal features were the                first to emerge: the man was short, slim, young and fair-haired, with sparse blond                eyebrows, greenish eyes and a long neck.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eMaigret now also knew the shape of his                ear in the minutest detail. This would enable him to make a positive identification                in a milling crowd even if the suspect was in disguise.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eHe took his jacket off the hook and                slipped his arms into it, then put on a heavy black overcoat and a bowler hat.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eOne last glance at the stove, which                seemed on the verge of exploding.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eAt the end of the corridor, on the stair                landing that was used as a waiting room, he reminded Jean:\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘You won’t forget to keep my                stove going, will you?’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThe wind swirling up the stairs took him                by surprise, and he had to shelter from the draught in a corner to get his pipe to                light.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e • • • \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWind and rain blew in squalls over the                platforms of Gare du Nord despite the monumental glass canopy overhead. Several                panes had blown out and lay in shards on the railway tracks. The lighting                wasn’t working properly. People huddled up inside their clothes.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eOutside one of the ticket windows an                alarming travel notice had been posted:\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChannel forecast: gale-force                    winds.\u003c\/p\u003e                        \u003cp\u003eOne woman, whose son was to catch the                Folkestone boat train, looked upset; her eyes were red. She kept on telling the boy                what he should do, right up to the last minute. In his embarrassment he had no                choice but to promise not to go out on deck.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eMaigret stood near platform 11 where                people were awaiting the arrival of the Étoile du Nord. All the leading hotels, as                well as Thomas Cook, had their agents standing by.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eHe stood still. Other people were                agitated. A young woman clad in mink yet                wearing only sheer silk stockings walked up and down, stamping her heels.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eHe just stood there: a hulk of a man,                with shoulders so broad as to cast a wide shadow. When people bumped into him he                stayed as firm as a brick wall.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThe yellow speck of the train’s                headlamp appeared in the distance. Then came the usual hubbub, with porters shouting                and passengers tramping and jostling their way towards the station exit.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eA couple of hundred passengers paraded                past Maigret before he picked out in the crowd a short man wearing a broad-checked                green travelling cape of a distinctly Nordic cut and colour.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThe man wasn’t in a hurry. He had                three porters behind him. Bowing and scraping, an agent from one of the grand hotels                on the Champs-Élysées cleared the way in front of him.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eApparent age 32, height                    169 … sinus top …\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eMaigret kept calm. He looked hard at the                man’s ear. That was all he needed.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThe man in green passed close by. One of                his porters bumped Maigret with one of the suitcases.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eAt exactly the same moment a railway                employee began to run, shouting out something to his colleague standing at the                station end of the platform, next to the barrier.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThe chain was drawn closed. Protests                erupted.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThe man in the travelling cape was                already out of the station.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eMaigret puffed away at his pipe in quick                short bursts. He went up to the official who had closed the barrier.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Police! What’s                happened?’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘A crime … They’ve                just found …’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Carriage 5? …’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘I think so …’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThe station went about its regular                business; only platform 11 looked abnormal. There were fifty passengers still                waiting to get out, but their path was blocked. They were getting excited.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Let them go …’ Maigret                said.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘But …’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Let them go …’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eHe watched the last cluster move away.                The station loudspeaker announced the departure of a local train. Somebody was                running somewhere. Beside one of the carriages of the Étoile du Nord there was a                small group waiting for something. Three of them, in railway company livery.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e • • • \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe stationmaster got to them first. He                was a large man and had a worried look on his face. Then a hospital stretcher was                wheeled through the main hall, past clumps of people who looked at it uneasily,                especially those about to depart.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eMaigret walked up the side of the train                with his usual heavy tread, smoking as he went. Carriage 1, carriage                2 … He came to carriage 5.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThat’s where the group was                standing at the door. The stretcher came to a halt. The stationmaster tried to                listen to the three men, who were all speaking at the same time.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Police! Where is he?’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eMaigret’s presence provided                obvious relief. He propelled his placid mass towards the centre of the frantic                group. The other men instantly became his satellites.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘In the toilet …’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eMaigret hauled himself up onto the train                and saw that the toilet door on his right                was open. On the floor, in a heap, was a body, bent double in a strangely contorted                posture.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThe conductor was giving orders from the                platform.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Shunt the carriage to the                yard … Hang on! … Track 62 … Let the railway police                know …’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eAt first he could only see the back of                the man’s neck. But when he tipped his cap off its oblique angle, he could see                the man’s left ear. Maigret mumbled to himself: \u003ci\u003elobe large, max cross and                    dimension small max, protuberant antitragus …\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThere were a few drops of blood on the                linoleum. Maigret looked around. The railway staff were standing on the platform or                on the running board. The stationmaster was still talking.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eSo Maigret clenched his pipe between his                teeth even harder and turned the man’s head over.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eIf he hadn’t seen the traveller in                the green cloak leave the station, if he hadn’t seen him taken to a car by an                interpreter from the Majestic, he could have had doubts.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eIt was the same physiognomy. The same                fair toothbrush moustache under a sharply defined nose. The same sparse blond                eyebrows. The same grey-green eyes.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eIn other words: Pietr the Latvian!\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eMaigret could hardly turn around in the                tiny washroom, where the tap was still running and a jet of steam was seeping from                some poorly sealed joint.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eHe was standing right next to the                corpse. He pulled the man’s upper body upright and saw on his chest, on his                jacket and shirt, the burn-marks made by gunshot from point-blank range.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eIt was a big blackish stain tinged with                the dark red of coagulating blood.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e • • • \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOne detail struck the inspector. He happened to notice one                of the man’s feet. It was twisted on its side, as was the whole body, which                must have been squashed into a corner so as to allow the door to close.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThe shoe was black and happened to be of                a very cheap and common kind. Apparently it had been re-soled. The heel was worn on                one side, and a coin-shaped gap had opened up in the middle of the sole.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThe local chief of the railway police                had now reached the carriage and was calling up from the platform. He was a                self-confident man wearing a uniform with epaulettes.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘So what is it, then? Murder?                Suicide? Don’t touch anything until the law gets here, OK? Be careful!                I’m the one who’s in charge. OK?’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eMaigret had a tough time disentangling                his own feet from the dead man’s legs to extricate himself from the toilet.                With swift, professional movements he patted the man’s pockets. Clean as a                whistle. Nothing in them at all.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eHe got out of the carriage, His pipe had                gone out, his hat was askew and he had a bloodstain on his cuff.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Well, if it isn’t                Maigret! … What do you make of it, then?’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Not much. Go have a look                yourself …’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘It’s suicide,                right?’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘If you say so … Did you                call the prosecutor’s office?’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘As soon as I                heard …’\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Penguin Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305396588773,"sku":"NP9780141392738","price":15.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780141392738.jpg?v=1730760396","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/inspector-maigretisbn-9780141392738","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}