Lock No. 1 by Georges Simenon

Author:Georges Simenon
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-10-09T04:00:00+00:00

8.

It was a Sunday, one of those Sundays which do not exist outside childhood memories, everything spruce and newly minted, from the periwinkle-blue sky to the water which reflected elongated images of the houses. Even the taxis were redder or greener than on other days, and the empty, echoing streets playfully bounced the smallest sounds back and forth.

Maigret ordered the driver to stop just before he got to the Charenton lock, and Lucas, whom he’d detailed to keep an eye on Gassin, emerged from the bar and came over to meet him.

‘He hasn’t moved. He spent last night drinking with the woman who runs the dance hall, but he hasn’t left the place. Maybe he’s still asleep.’

The decks of the barges were as deserted as the streets. There was just one small boy sitting on a rudder, who was putting on his Sunday socks. Lucas, nodding towards the Golden Fleece, went on:

‘Yesterday, the crazy girl got worked up. She popped out of the hatch five or six times and once she ran as far as the bar on the corner. Some boatmen saw her and went off to find the old man, but he wouldn’t go home. After the funeral and the rest of it, it created an awkward atmosphere. Until midnight you could see people on the boats all the time, and they were all looking in this direction. I should also mention that the dance hall has opened again for business. You can hear the music as far away as the lock. The men from the boats were still all dressed up. Anyway, the girl must have gone to sleep in the end, but this morning it wasn’t properly light before she was wandering around the place, not wearing shoes, like a cat worrying about her kittens. On the way she woke up the neighbours on three or four barges: two hours ago you’d have seen men and women in nightshirts peering out of all the hatches. But despite it all, no one told her where the old man was. I think it was for the best. One woman brought her back to the Golden Fleece, and they’re both there now, cooking up breakfast for themselves. Look, you can see the smoke coming from the stove-pipe.’

Smoke was rising straight into the air from most of the boats, where people were getting dressed amid a warm aroma of coffee.

‘Keep watching him,’ said Maigret.

Instead of getting back into his taxi, he walked into the dance hall. The door was open. The woman was sprinkling water on the floor before sweeping it.

‘Is he upstairs?’ asked the inspector.

‘I think he’s just got up. I can hear footsteps.

Maigret climbed several stairs and listened. Someone was indeed moving about. Then a door opened, and Gassin stuck out his face covered with shaving soap, shrugged his shoulders and went back inside.

Ducrau’s house in the country, at Samois, was separated from the Seine by the towpath. It was a substantial building consisting of three wings and a central courtyard.

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