Read Online The Misty Harbour by Georges Simenon - Free Book Online
Authors: Georges Simenon
Ads: Link
‘There’s always
something …’
Maigret did not smile back, however. In
fact, he replied with the utmost gravity.
‘Listen: if you don’t see me
anywhere tomorrow morning at seven, or perhaps eight, then telephone the public
prosecutor at Caen.’
‘But what …’
‘Goodnight! And make sure that the
dinghy does stay here.’
To lay a false trail, he walked off
along the jetty, hands in his pockets, his overcoat collar turned up. The sea
rumbled and sighed beneath his feet, ahead of him, on his right, on his left. The
air he breathed into his lungs smelled strongly of iodine.
When almost at the end of the jetty, he
bent down to pick something up.
5.
Notre-Dame-des-Dunes
At dawn Maigret plodded back to the Hôtel
de l’Univers in his sodden overcoat with a parched throat, having smoked pipe
after pipe. The hotel seemed deserted but he found the hotel-owner in the kitchen,
lighting the fire.
‘You were out all
night?’
‘Yes. Would you bring some coffee
up to my room as soon as possible? Oh, and is there any way I can have a
bath?’
‘I’ll have to fire up the
boiler.’
‘Then don’t
bother.’
A grey morning with the inevitable fog,
but it was a light, luminous one. Maigret’s eyelids were stinging, and his
head felt empty as he stood at the open window in his room, waiting for the
coffee.
A strange night. He had done nothing
sensational. Made no great discoveries. Yet he had made progress in his
understanding of the crime. Many nuggets of information had been added to his
growing store.
The arrival of the
Saint-Michel
. Lannec’s behaviour. Was the skipper’s attitude
ambiguous? Dubious? Not even that! Yet he was a slippery fellow. But Delcourt as
well was sometimes less than forthcoming. They all were, if they had anything to do
with this harbour! Big Louis, for example, was definitely acting suspiciously. He
hadn’t gone on to
Caen with the
schooner. He was holed up on an empty dredger. And Maigret was sure that he
wasn’t there alone.
Then he had learned that the
Saint-Michel
had lost its dinghy shortly before entering the harbour.
And at the end of a jetty, he had made a most unusual find: a gold fountain-pen.
It was a wooden jetty supported by
pilings. At its far end, near the green light, an iron ladder went down to the
water. The dinghy had been found in that area. In other words, the
Saint-Michel
had been carrying someone who did not want to be seen in
Ouistreham. After landing in the dinghy, this passenger had let it drift away, and,
as he had leaned over at the top of the ladder to hoist himself on to the jetty, the
gold fountain-pen had slipped from his pocket.
The man had taken refuge in the dredger,
where Louis was to join him.
This scenario was just about airtight.
There could be no other interpretation of the facts.
Conclusion: an unknown man was hiding in
Ouistreham. He had not come here without a reason: he had a job to do. And he
belonged to a milieu in which men used gold fountain-pens!
So: not a sailor. Not a
tramp … The expensive pen suggested clothing of equally good quality. The
man must be a gentleman – a ‘gent’ as they say in the
countryside … And off-season, in Ouistreham, a ‘gent’ would
not pass unnoticed. He would have to lie low all day in the dredger. But
wouldn’t he come out at night to accomplish whatever he had come here for?
Maigret had therefore resigned himself,
grumpily, to mounting guard. A job for a junior inspector! Spending
hours in the drizzle peering at the inordinately
complicated shadows of the dredger.
Nothing had happened. No one had come
ashore. Day had dawned, and now the inspector was furious at not being able to enjoy
a hot bath. Contemplating his bed, he considered snatching a few hours’
rest.
The hotel-owner came in with his
coffee.
‘You’re not going to
sleep?’
‘I haven’t decided yet.
something …’
Maigret did not smile back, however. In
fact, he replied with the utmost gravity.
‘Listen: if you don’t see me
anywhere tomorrow morning at seven, or perhaps eight, then telephone the public
prosecutor at Caen.’
‘But what …’
‘Goodnight! And make sure that the
dinghy does stay here.’
To lay a false trail, he walked off
along the jetty, hands in his pockets, his overcoat collar turned up. The sea
rumbled and sighed beneath his feet, ahead of him, on his right, on his left. The
air he breathed into his lungs smelled strongly of iodine.
When almost at the end of the jetty, he
bent down to pick something up.
5.
Notre-Dame-des-Dunes
At dawn Maigret plodded back to the Hôtel
de l’Univers in his sodden overcoat with a parched throat, having smoked pipe
after pipe. The hotel seemed deserted but he found the hotel-owner in the kitchen,
lighting the fire.
‘You were out all
night?’
‘Yes. Would you bring some coffee
up to my room as soon as possible? Oh, and is there any way I can have a
bath?’
‘I’ll have to fire up the
boiler.’
‘Then don’t
bother.’
A grey morning with the inevitable fog,
but it was a light, luminous one. Maigret’s eyelids were stinging, and his
head felt empty as he stood at the open window in his room, waiting for the
coffee.
A strange night. He had done nothing
sensational. Made no great discoveries. Yet he had made progress in his
understanding of the crime. Many nuggets of information had been added to his
growing store.
The arrival of the
Saint-Michel
. Lannec’s behaviour. Was the skipper’s attitude
ambiguous? Dubious? Not even that! Yet he was a slippery fellow. But Delcourt as
well was sometimes less than forthcoming. They all were, if they had anything to do
with this harbour! Big Louis, for example, was definitely acting suspiciously. He
hadn’t gone on to
Caen with the
schooner. He was holed up on an empty dredger. And Maigret was sure that he
wasn’t there alone.
Then he had learned that the
Saint-Michel
had lost its dinghy shortly before entering the harbour.
And at the end of a jetty, he had made a most unusual find: a gold fountain-pen.
It was a wooden jetty supported by
pilings. At its far end, near the green light, an iron ladder went down to the
water. The dinghy had been found in that area. In other words, the
Saint-Michel
had been carrying someone who did not want to be seen in
Ouistreham. After landing in the dinghy, this passenger had let it drift away, and,
as he had leaned over at the top of the ladder to hoist himself on to the jetty, the
gold fountain-pen had slipped from his pocket.
The man had taken refuge in the dredger,
where Louis was to join him.
This scenario was just about airtight.
There could be no other interpretation of the facts.
Conclusion: an unknown man was hiding in
Ouistreham. He had not come here without a reason: he had a job to do. And he
belonged to a milieu in which men used gold fountain-pens!
So: not a sailor. Not a
tramp … The expensive pen suggested clothing of equally good quality. The
man must be a gentleman – a ‘gent’ as they say in the
countryside … And off-season, in Ouistreham, a ‘gent’ would
not pass unnoticed. He would have to lie low all day in the dredger. But
wouldn’t he come out at night to accomplish whatever he had come here for?
Maigret had therefore resigned himself,
grumpily, to mounting guard. A job for a junior inspector! Spending
hours in the drizzle peering at the inordinately
complicated shadows of the dredger.
Nothing had happened. No one had come
ashore. Day had dawned, and now the inspector was furious at not being able to enjoy
a hot bath. Contemplating his bed, he considered snatching a few hours’
rest.
The hotel-owner came in with his
coffee.
‘You’re not going to
sleep?’
‘I haven’t decided yet.
Similar Books
