5 Guys 1 Woman

The fly flew three times around his head and landed on the report he was noting at the top left corner. Maigret let go of the hand holding the pencil and looked at it with amused curiosity. That game had been going on for less than half an hour and it was always the same fly, he could tell he recognized it. Maybe there's only that fly in the room. It made a few circles in the room, mostly in the sunlight-lit part, circled the sheriff's head and landed on the files he was studying. There it lazily rubbed its paws together and it was most likely toying with him. Is it true that it is looking at you? And if so, what does the giant mass of meat represent under its eyes? He avoids scaring it. He waited, the pencil in the void and suddenly as if bored, it flew away and passed the window to disappear into the warm space outside. It was mid-June now. From time to time a gentle breeze blew into the study where Maigret, without a vest, was quietly smoking her pipe. He decided to spend the afternoon reading his inspectors' reports with the necessary patience. Nine or ten times the fly returned, each time in the same place on the page as if there was an accomplice between them. It was a strange coincidence. That sun, that cooler breeze that occasionally blew in through the open window, that enchanting fly, all reminded him of his school years when a fly would occasionally hover over his desk, it would have seemed much more important to him than his teacher's lecture. Joseph, the old officer, knocked on the door, handing the sheriff a business card: Léon Florentin. Antique dealer.