‘Please excuse me …’ she said. ‘I can’t manage to put my hand on that photo … A house with children is always upside down …’ ‘One more question … To how many people did you give a copy of this photograph of yourself?’ Maigret showed her the archive print he’d been given by the photographer. Madame Swaan went bright red and stuttered: ‘I don’t understand …’ ‘Your husband presumably has one?’ ‘Yes … We were engaged when …’ ‘Does any other man have a print?’ She was on the verge of tears. The quiver of her lips gave away her distress. ‘No, nobody.’ ‘Thank you, madame. That will be all.’
