Maigret [antikvár]

1. Maigret struggled to open his eyes, frowning, as if distrustful of the voice that had just shouted at him, dragging him out of a deep sleep: 'Uncle!' His eyes still closed, he sighed, groped at the sheet and realized that this was no dream, that something was the matter, because his hand had not encountered Madame Maigret's warm body where it should have been. Finally he opened his eyes. It was a clear night. Madame Maigret, standing by the leaded window, was pulling back the curtain while downstairs someone was banging on the door and the noise reverberated throughout the house. 'Uncle! It's me!' Madame Maigret was still looking out. Her hair wound in curling pins gave her a strange halo. 'It's Philippe,' she said, knowing full well that Maigret was awake and that he was turned towards her, waiting. 'Are you going to get up?' Maigret went downstairs first, barefoot in his felt slippers. He had hastily pulled on a pair of trousers and shrugged on his jacket as he descended the staircase. At the eighth stair, he had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the beam. He usually did so automatically, but this time he forgot