Read Online The Flemish House by Georges Simenon, Georges Simenon; Translated by Shaun Whiteside - Free Book Online
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apparatus with a big wheel for recording the time at which the workforce arrived and
left.
âTime for my round â¦â
Maigret almost suggested going with him,
to reach further into this manâs 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.
âI donât understand why
youâre against us ⦠Perhaps itâs natural, after all! ⦠Gérard says that
â¦â
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 â¦
Most importantly, you could see the
corner of the alleyway with the Piedboeufsâ house second on the left.
The third of January â¦
âHas your wife been dead for a
long time?â
âTwelve years next month ⦠She
suffered with her chest â¦â
âWhat does Gérard do at this time
of day?â
The lamp dangled at the end of the night
watchmanâs arm. He had already put a big key in the lock. A train whistled in
the distance.
âHe must be in town â¦â
âYou donât know which
side?â
âThe young people tend to meet at
the Café de la Mairie!â
And Maigret hurried off again through
the rain, into the darkness. It wasnât 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:
âThese detective chief inspectors
who come from Paris have notions of themselves â¦â
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.
âTwo beers, two!â
The sound of counters on the marble
tabletop near the cash register. The waiterâs white apron.
âOver here!â
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.
âA beer!â
Maigret lit his pipe, and put his
dripping bowler hat down on the brown moleskin banquette.
âOne beer, just one!â
And Gérard Piedboeuf assumed
left.
âTime for my round â¦â
Maigret almost suggested going with him,
to reach further into this manâs 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.
âI donât understand why
youâre against us ⦠Perhaps itâs natural, after all! ⦠Gérard says that
â¦â
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 â¦
Most importantly, you could see the
corner of the alleyway with the Piedboeufsâ house second on the left.
The third of January â¦
âHas your wife been dead for a
long time?â
âTwelve years next month ⦠She
suffered with her chest â¦â
âWhat does Gérard do at this time
of day?â
The lamp dangled at the end of the night
watchmanâs arm. He had already put a big key in the lock. A train whistled in
the distance.
âHe must be in town â¦â
âYou donât know which
side?â
âThe young people tend to meet at
the Café de la Mairie!â
And Maigret hurried off again through
the rain, into the darkness. It wasnât 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:
âThese detective chief inspectors
who come from Paris have notions of themselves â¦â
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.
âTwo beers, two!â
The sound of counters on the marble
tabletop near the cash register. The waiterâs white apron.
âOver here!â
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.
âA beer!â
Maigret lit his pipe, and put his
dripping bowler hat down on the brown moleskin banquette.
âOne beer, just one!â
And Gérard Piedboeuf assumed
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