“He even remembered the day, a Monday, since as everyone at the Quai des Orfèvres knows, murder is rarely committed on a Monday. And furthermore, as it happened, this case, unlike any other that year, had a flavor of winter about it.A thin, cold drizzle had been falling all that Sunday, and the roofs and pavements were black and glistening. A kind of yellowish fog seeped in through the chinks in the windows, so much so that Madame Maigret had said:“Maybe I ought to get them fitted with draft exc...luders.”For the past five years at least, as autumn approached, Maigret had been promising to fit them himself the following Sunday.“You’d better wear your winter coat.”“Where is it?”“I’ll get it.”It was half-past eight, and still so dark that lights were on in all the houses, and Maigret’s coat smelled of moth balls.It did not rain that day, at least not noticeably, although the pavements were still wet, and as the day wore on, and more and more people trampled them, they grew very slippery.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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