For the second time, Ducrau was overcome by a fit of laughter which left him gasping. ‘Can you imagine?’ He had not protested when the doctor had put the sheet back over the body and was not sure whether he should stay there, go downstairs, stand or walk about. ‘It’s not true!’ he said once again. Eventually, he laid a large hand on Maigret’s shoulder, a heavy, weary hand. ‘I’m thirsty!’ His cheeks were almost purple, his forehead glistened with sweat, and his hair was stuck to his temples. And the undeniable smell of ether, which had been used on a woman who had fainted, filled that attic
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