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One of the world’s most successful crime writers, Georges Simenon has thrilled mystery lovers around the world since 1931 with his matchless creation Inspector Maigret.
A phenomenal author and his phenomenal character Georges Simenon was by many standards the most successful author of the 20th century, and the character he created, Inspector Jules Maigret, who made him rich and famous, ranks only after Sherlock Holmes as the world's best known fictional detective. There is nothing commonplace about the life of Georges Simenon, and he and his works have been the subject of innumerable books and articles. The Maigret stories are unlike any other detective stories — the crime and the details of unraveling it are often less central to our interest than Maigret's journey through the discovery of the cast of characters... towards an understanding of man. Simenon said he was obsessed with a search for the "naked man" — man without his cultural protective coloration, and he followed his quest as much in the Maigrets as in his "hard" novels.
Although most of Simenon's work is available in English, it was originally written in French. Simenon was born and raised in Belgium, and while Paris was "the city" for him, the home of Maigret, he was 'an international,' a world traveler who moved often and lived for many years in France, the United States, and Switzerland.
Because he wrote in French, and for the most part lived in French-speaking countries, most of the books and magazine articles about him were written in French as well. Unlike his own books however, many of these have never been available in translation. Because Simenon lived to be nearly 90, and left a legacy of hundreds of books — from which more than 50 films have been made, along with hundreds of television episodes — there is much to collect, to examine, to display and discuss. (trussel.com)
Émile Gallet, apparently a commercial traveler, had been found dead in a hotel room in Sancerre. But actually for 18 years, unknown to his wife, he had been bilking money from Royalists as M. Clément, using the subscription lists from his wife's father's Royalist newspaper, Le Soleil to find his sources. M discovers that he had been to see the owner of the neighboring estate, Tiburce de Saint-Hilaire, apparently attempting to raise 20,000 francs he needed to pay off a blackmailer he didn't know the identity of, who threatened to reveal his dual existence. When M locates the "blackmailer", M. Jacob, he turns out to be a newsdealer who merely received the packages for Gallet's son's fiancée, Éléonore Boursang, who with Henri Gallet, the son, had been blackmailing him. A visit to a tax agent who had known Gallet in Indo-China leads M to the discovery that Gallet and Saint-Hillaire had switched identities many years earlier, when the real Gallet, in Indo-China, had discovered that Saint-Hillaire was to be the beneficiary of a large inheritance. At the time Saint-Hillaire was impoverished, and so agreed. Since then, after discovering the truth, he had visited Gallet-Saint-Hillaire from time to time to ask for money. This time, unable to pay his debts, he'd worked out an elaborate suicide to look like murder, so that his wife could receive the 300,000 franc policy payment he'd been paying off for the past five years. (trussel.com)
he doesn’t live with you in the rue de Turenne?” “Only because of his family. They are people of strict principles, like my parents. Henri preferred to avoid any scenes with his family by concealing our liaison from them. But it has always been agreed that when nothing stands in our way and we have enough to go and live on in the Midi, we shall get married.” Even at the most indiscreet questions, there was no sign of embarrassment in her behaviour. Once when the Chief Inspector glanced down at
father.” “But you don’t know which school he went to when he was young?” “All I know is that originally he came from Nantes.” “Thank you. And once again, I beg your pardon.” He collected his hat and backed out into the passage, unable to define the vague sense of uneasiness he felt every time he set foot in that house. “I hope my name won’t be bandied about in the newspapers, Inspector!” Françoise announced; her voice had more than a hint of impertinence. “You may know that my husband is a
his.” “Does no one ever ask for him?” “Could be three years ago… a gentleman with a short beard; he looked like a parson in civvies… I told him just what I’m telling you.” “Was Monsieur Jacob getting letters by then?” “He’s just got one.” “Did the man wear a morning-coat?” “He was all in black, like a parson!” “Does Monsieur Jacob ever have callers now?” “No one except his daughter. She’s a housemaid in a furnished flat in the rue Lepic, and she’s going to have a baby.” “What is his
will you get me Monsieur Padailhan, the tax inspector in Nevers… I think he’s on the telephone…” He came back into the room without looking at his companion and walked round the clothing spread out on the floor. “Now to work! Let’s see… Émile Gallet was not left-handed. We’ll soon see whether this fact will help us… or rather… take this knife… It was the one used for the crime… No. Give it to me, because there you go again using your left hand.” “There. Now let us suppose that I am being
sweating and embarrassed, he felt he could see the gay, strapping unscrupulous fellow who had organized a ludicrous ceremony in order to get himself a native girl. “Carry on.” “I should have had to return to France, anyway, because of women… I had gone a bit too far there… There were husbands, brothers, and fathers who were after me… “I got the idea of looking for a Saint-Hilaire and that was not easy… I got track of Tiburce through the lycée in Bourges. They told me they didn’t know what had