What happened that afternoon would be added to the modest stock of anecdotes which a smiling Madame Maigret would relate at family gatherings. That Maigret should have got home at two o’clock and gone to bed without having any lunch was not of itself all that unusual, although the first thing he always did whenever he got back to the apartment at any hour, night or day, was to go into the kitchen and lift the lids of the saucepans on the stove. He did say, however, that he had eaten already. But soon afterwards, while she probed a little deeper as he was getting undressed, he confessed that he had just helped himself to a slice of ham in the kitchen of the bar on Quai de Charenton. She lowered the blinds, made sure her husband did not need for anything and glided silently out. Before the door had even closed he was in a deep sleep. When she had done the washing-up and tidied the kitchen, she hesitated for some time before going back into their bedroom to fetch her knitting, which she had forgotten.
