Read Online The Flemish House by Georges Simenon, Georges Simenon; Translated by Shaun Whiteside - Free Book Online

apparatus with a big wheel for recording the time at which the workforce arrived and
     left.
    â€˜Time for my round …’
    Maigret almost suggested going with him,
     to reach further into this man’s life. Piedboef put on a shapeless oilskin
     that flapped against his heels and picked up from a corner a hurricane lamp that was
     already lit, so that all he had to do was lengthen its wick.
    â€˜I don’t understand why
     you’re against us … Perhaps it’s natural, after all! … Gérard says that
     …’
    But the rain interrupted them, because
     they had reached the courtyard. Piedboeuf guided his guest to the gate that he was
     going to close before he did his round.
    One more source of astonishment for the
     inspector. From there he could see a landscape cut into equal slices by the iron
     bars: the barges moored on the other side of the river, the Flemish house and the
     illuminated front window, the quay where electric lights drew circles of light every
     fifty metres.
    From here you had a very clear view of
     the customs building and the Café des Mariniers …
    Most importantly, you could see the
     corner of the alleyway with the Piedboeufs’ house second on the left.
    The third of January …
    â€˜Has your wife been dead for a
     long time?’
    â€˜Twelve years next month … She
     suffered with her chest …’
    â€˜What does Gérard do at this time
     of day?’
    The lamp dangled at the end of the night
     watchman’s arm. He had already put a big key in the lock. A train whistled in
     the distance.
    â€˜He must be in town …’
    â€˜You don’t know which
     side?’
    â€˜The young people tend to meet at
     the Café de la Mairie!’
    And Maigret hurried off again through
     the rain, into the darkness. It wasn’t an investigation. It had no starting
     point, no foundation.
    There were only a handful of humans each
     gettingon with their own lives in the little windswept town.
    Perhaps they were all sincere. But
     perhaps one of them concealed a tormented soul, frightened to death at the thought
     of the bulky form roaming these streets at night.
    Maigret passed in front of his hotel
     without going in. Through the windows he could see Inspector Machère, holding forth
     in the middle of a group that included the landlord. It looked like the fourth or
     fifth round of drinks. The landlord had just bought his.
    Machère, very animated, was waving his
     arms around and must have been saying:
    â€˜These detective chief inspectors
     who come from Paris have notions of themselves …’
    And they were talking about the
     Flemings! They were tearing them to shreds!
    At the end of a narrow street there was
     quite a spacious square. On one corner, a café with a white frontage and three
     well-lit windows: Café de la Mairie.
    A noise that welcomed you as soon as you
     opened the door. A zinc counter. Tables. Card-players at red baize tables. Smoke
     from pipes and cigarettes and a sharp smell of stale beer.
    â€˜Two beers, two!’
    The sound of counters on the marble
     tabletop near the cash register. The waiter’s white apron.
    â€˜Over here!’
    Maigret sat down at the first table he
     came to, and first saw Gérard Piedboeuf in one of the tarnished mirrors inthe bar. He was very animated, like Machère. He stopped short as
     he saw Maigret, and his foot must have touched those of his companions.
    One male companion, two female. There
     were four of them at the same table. The young people were the same age. The women
     were probably lowly factory girls.
    They all fell silent. Even the
     card-players at the other tables called out their points in an undertone, and their
     eyes were fixed on the new arrival.
    â€˜A beer!’
    Maigret lit his pipe, and put his
     dripping bowler hat down on the brown moleskin banquette.
    â€˜One beer, just one!’
    And Gérard Piedboeuf assumed