All the same, Maigret had decided to stand outside on the platform of the bus and he was alternately grunting and smiling in spite of himself as he read the morning paper. He was early. It was barely half past eight by his watch when he entered the inspectors’ office at the very moment when Janvier, perched on a table, was trying to get down, hiding the newspaper from which he had been reading aloud. There were five or six of them in there, mostly the young ones; they were waiting for Lucas to give them their day’s orders. They avoided looking at the chief inspector, and some of them, casting a furtive glance at him, could hardly keep a straight face. They had no way of knowing that the story had amused him just as much as it had them, and that it was simply to please them, because they expected it, that he was wearing his grumpy expression. A headline was spread across three columns on the front page: MME MAIGRET’S MISADVENTURE The adventure experienced the previous day in the place d’Anvers by the chief inspector’s wife was recounted down to the last detail, and the only thing lacking was a photograph of Madame Maigret herself with the little boy left on her hands in such a cavalier fashion.
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