Maigret Gets Angry by Georges Simenon

things
happened exactly as they had done the night before. The man was carrying a parcel and his dogs
ran up to him then followed him to the door of the top kennel. He went inside, stayed a lot
longer than the previous night and finally went back into the house, where a light went on at a
first-floor window, which opened for a moment while the shutters were being closed.
    The dogs roamed the gardens before settling down
for the night, coming to sniff the air not far from the wall, doubtless sensing the presence of
the two men.
    ‘Shall I go, boss?’ whispered
Mimile.
    One of the Great Danes snarled, as if about to
growl, but the circusman had already thrown an object in its direction which landed on the
ground with a soft thud.
    ‘Unless they’re better trained than I
think,’ muttered Mimile. ‘But I’m not scared of that. These bourgeois folk
don’t know how to train dogs and even if they’re given a well-trained animal, they
soon spoil it.’
    He was right. The two dogs prowled around the
object, sniffing. Maigret, anxious, had let his pipe go out. Eventually one of the dogs gingerly
picked up the meat in its mouth and shook it, while the other one, jealous, gave a menacing
growl.
    ‘There’s enough for everyone!’
sniggered Mimile, throwing a second piece. ‘No need to fight, my beauties!’
    The whole thing lasted barely five minutes. The
pale hounds lurched about for a moment, then turned in circles, sick, and finally lay down on
their sides. At that moment, Maigret was not proud of himself.
    ‘It’s done, boss. Shall we go?’
    It was better to wait a little until it was
completely dark and all the lights were out. Mimile was growing impatient.
    ‘The moon will be up shortly and
it’ll be too late.’
    Mimile had brought a rope which was already tied
to the trunk of a young ash tree beside the track, close up against the wall.
    ‘I’ll go first.’
    The wall was around three metres high, but it was
in good condition, with no bulges.
    ‘It will be harder to climb back over from
here. Unless we find a ladder in their wretched garden. Oh look! There’s a wheelbarrow
down that little path. We can stand it up against the wall. That’ll help.’
    Mimile was excited, happy, like a man back in his
element.
    ‘If anyone had told me that I’d be
doing this thing with you …’
    They neared the former kennel or stable, which
was a single-storey brick building with a concrete yard enclosed by a fence.
    ‘No need for a torch,’ whispered
Mimile fiddling with the lock.
    The door was open and they immediately caught a
strong whiff of mouldy straw.
    ‘Close the door! Well, it looks to me as if
there’s no one in here!’
    Maigret switched on his torch and they saw
nothing around them other than a broken old wooden stall, a mildewed harness hanging from a
hook, a whip on the floor, and straw mixed with hay and dust.
    ‘Down below,’ said Maigret. ‘There must be a
hatch or an opening of some kind.’
    They simply had to shift the straw to find a
robust trap door with heavy hinges. The door was secured only with a bolt, which Maigret drew
back slowly with a heavy heart.
    ‘What are you waiting for?’ hissed
Mimile.
    Nothing. And yet it had been years since he had
felt that particular emotion.
    ‘Do you want me to open it?’
    No. He raised the trap door. Not a sound came
from the cellar, and yet they both instantly had the feeling that there was a living creature
down there.
    The torch suddenly lit up the dark space below
them, and the pale rays lighted on a face, a shape that leaped up.
    ‘Stay calm,’ said Maigret
quietly.
    He tried to track the shape with his torch as it
darted from one wall to another like a hunted animal. He said mechanically:
    ‘I am a friend.’
    Mimile suggested:
    ‘Shall I go down?’
    And a voice from below said:
    ‘Don’t touch me!’
    ‘Don’t worry! No one’s going to
touch you.’
    Maigret talked, talked as in a dream or rather as
if trying to soothe a child who