Maigret and the Flemish Shop by Georges Simenon

Author:Georges Simenon [Simenon, Georges]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Georges Simenon
ISBN: 9780156551182
Google: qdIkAQAAMAAJ
Amazon: 0156551187
Barnesnoble: 0156551187
Goodreads: 1057011
Publisher: Harvest
Published: 1931-12-31T11:00:00+00:00

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Chapter VII

a jacket on the quay

« ^ »

Returning to his hotel for lunch, Maigret was told that the postman had brought a registered letter for him, but had refused to leave it in his absence.

That meant he’d have to go to the post office to fetch it. Not a very serious matter. But it was one of a series of incidents that were calculated to try his temper.

During lunch he enquired after Machère. No one had seen him, and a telephone call put through to his hotel elicited the fact that he had left half an hour before. Maigret had, of course, no right whatever to give orders to the local police, but he had wanted, all the same, to give Machère the tip to keep an eye on Gustave Cassin.

At two he was at the post office, where they handed him his letter. A stupid business. Some furniture he had bought, but had then refused to pay for, as they hadn’t sent the things he’d ordered. And now the dealer was threatening to sue him.

It took a good half-hour to compose an answer, and then he had to write to his wife about it, telling her just what to do.

Before he had finished he was rung up by the director of the Police Judiciaire, who enquired how long he was staying, and asked him a number of questions about some other cases that were in hand.

Out of doors it was still raining. He was sitting in the salle de café of his hotel, the floor of which was strewn with sawdust. There was no one else there except the waiter, who was taking advantage of a quiet moment to do some writing himself.

It was only an absurd little fad, but Maigret loathed writing on marble-topped tables.

“Ring up the Hôtel de la Gare again, will you? Ask if the detective’s back yet.”

Maigret was in a vague state of ill-humour, which was perhaps all the worse for having no serious reason. Two or three times he got up and stared out through the misty window. The sky was a shade brighter, and the rain less heavy, but the quay was still deserted.

About four o’clock, the inspector heard a blast on a steam-whistle. He ran to the door and saw a puff of steam rising from a tug. It was the first sign of any activity since his arrival.

The stream was still running swiftly. The tug shoved off from the quay, and she seemed literally to stagger as the current caught her. She looked so thin and slight, a thoroughbred in comparison to the hulking great barges, and for a moment it looked as though she would be swept headlong down the river. But she held her own, stemmed the tide.

Another blast, longer and more strident. A hawser tautened at her stern, and one of the barges detached itself from the others. The tug was turning now, towing the barge’s nose out into the stream. In the barge, two men were leaning with all their weight against the tiller.

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