The Man From London by Simenon Georges

Author:Simenon, Georges [Simenon, Georges]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Crime, Mystery, thriller
ISBN: 9780141993805
Amazon: 0141993804
Goodreads: 60667339
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 1934-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

7

‘Hello!’ Maloin said, both hands in his pockets, stopping at the edge of the cliff.

He could allow himself to be casual. After all, a railway employee is every bit as good as a gendarme, and this gendarme understood that. He looked at Maloin’s cap and, as if greeting a friend, replied:

‘Hello!’

‘Is there something wrong around here?’

Maloin pretended to look at the sea, but he squinted in the direction of his hut, which was just below him, with its roof half of corrugated iron, half of tarred cardboard.

‘We’re looking for an Englishman,’ the gendarme sighed, turning towards the town, where, if you had good eyesight, you could see the clock in the ferry terminal.

‘Oh, an Englishman!’

The gendarme was thinking only of being relieved, which sickened Maloin. He would have liked to talk for a long time, to savour this conversation, telling himself that the man hiding below them would hear the murmur of their voices. The sea was rising. By five, it would reach the cliff and if it was high enough the water would lap against the door of the shed.

‘Do you live around here?’ the gendarme asked out of politeness.

Maloin pointed to the three houses on the cliff, and the gendarme sighed fervently:

‘That can’t be fun!’

‘Tell me, what if he’s armed, this Englishman of yours?’

‘Apparently he isn’t.’

Maloin didn’t want to go, although it wasn’t very natural to stand there in the rain, looking at the sea. But it was the rain that calmed him, along with the presence of the gendarme, the sadness of the town’s wet roofs, the white foam caps on the green sea. It was only right that the scene should be bleak. He listened to the noise of the rain dripping on the corrugated iron roof of the hut and knew that threads of liquid were seeping inside.

‘Are you sure he hasn’t left town?’ he asked, as indifferently as if asking for a light.

‘I only know what I’ve been told. The inspector from Scotland Yard says the man doesn’t have any money in his pocket, any gun, any knife.’

Which led Maloin to think his clown had nothing to eat. It was dizzying to be where he was and let his mind slowly work. If the man heard their voices, wouldn’t he assume he was surrounded? Wasn’t he shaking right now, with both fear and cold? And what about when Henriette had gone in?

With his foot, Maloin pushed a clump of earth to the edge of the cliff and sent it rolling down onto the corrugated iron.

‘Is that your shed?’ the gendarme asked. ‘Do you have a boat?’

‘I only have a flat-bottomed boat, but one of these days I’m going to get a boat with a motor.’

‘What age do you get a pension on the railways?’

‘Fifty-five.’

The man was still below them, with nothing to eat! Maloin pushed another clump of earth, like a little boy kicking a stone on his way back from school. But there had been a wearier look in his eyes since thinking

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