The Man from Everywhere by Georges Simenon

Author:Georges Simenon [Simenon, Georges]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-03-17T15:13:18+00:00

* * *

7. new developments

« ^ »

IT was a little after three when Van der Laer, followed by his wife, left the restaurant and paused unhappily halfway across the terrace. Trippers, trippers everywhere! True, common hikers fought shy of the splendors of the Grand Hotel. But the crowd from the char-à-bancs had no such compunction.

Van der Laer watched the influx with a look of consternation and extreme distress. Just as he was about to sit down, Labbé came up to him.

“Isn’t this awful!” the Dutchman groaned.

Hitherto the place had been idyllically calm; now it reminded one of rush-hour on the Paris Boulevards— with a dash of local color added by the farmers’ vans converted for the nonce into char-à-bancs and packed with motley hordes of countryfolk; leather-helmeted motorcyclists accompanied by girls dressed like boy-scouts; would-be nudists in scanty bathing-kit, their proper garments slung from alpenstocks resting on their shoulders.

All were talking Alsatian patois. They gaped. They gorged. They played on loud, outlandish instruments. Two char-à-bancs followed in quick succession and disgorged two village bands in uniform, which promptly started playing in the middle of the road.

“Tomorrow night,” Labbé reassured him, “it’ll be quite calm again. It’s like this every week-end.”

“Jeff!” Van der Laer shouted. “Bring the car out. Anything to get away from this! We’ll come back tomorrow evening… That all right, Nouchi?”

“You do what you like. I’m staying.”

The contrast was amusing between the pink-and-white freshness of the young man’s face and the impression of unutterable boredom conveyed by his demeanor. He was conscious of being grotesquely out of place, with his beautifully cut pale-gray lounge suit, the latest thing in silk shirts, and buckskin shoes. Even the customers of the Grand—worthy tradesfolk from Nancy, Belfort, and Strasburg—were eyeing him as if he were a freak of nature.

“Sorry to bother you,” said the Superintendent, “but I’d like to ask you some more questions.”

“Waiter, bring me a whisky!” He turned to Labbé. “You’ll have one too, won’t you? But, for God’s sake, no more questions. I’m sick and tired of all the fuss that’s being made about a miserable sixty thousand francs. Look here! I withdraw my complaint—and that’s an end of it.”

“Sixty thousand-franc notes?”

“Yes. When the bank changed my florins they gave me only thousands, and I remember that the notes looked practically new… I’d have you know, Superintendent, that I’m here for a rest-cure. Doctor’s orders.”

His wife had found an empty chair. She had crossed her legs and was swinging her left leg petulantly.

“All right. I won’t worry you with questions. I’ll only ask you to let me have one last look at your bedroom.”

“How much water? Say when.”

He drank his glass off in one exasperated gulp.

“Very well. Come along.”

Nouchi preferred to stay on the terrace; she had a German novel in her hand. Actually she was more interested in a young Englishman who throughout lunch had blushed each time she looked in his direction.

“Well, here we are. What more do you want to see?” sighed the Dutchman. “There’s that damned attaché-case, and there’s the hole in the wall.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.