Free The Carter of ’La Providence’ by Georges Simenon

glass while still standing, a sip at a time, and hesitated about whether he’d pour himself another.
    He glanced out of the porthole, saw legs and grunted indistinctly.
    â€˜Will you listen to me for a moment, colonel?’
    The colonel indicated that he was listening. Maigret took the enamel badge from his pocket.
    â€˜This was found this morning at the spot where Willy’s body was dragged through a bank of reeds and dumped in the canal.’
    Madame Negretti uttered a cry, threw herself on the plum-coloured plush of the bench seat and there, holding her head in her hands, she began to sob convulsively.
    Vladimir, however, did not move. He waited for the jacket to be returned to him so that he could hang it back up in its place.
    The colonel gave an odd sort of laugh and repeated four or five times:
    â€˜Yes! Yes!’
    As he did so, he poured himself another drink.
    â€˜Where I come from, the police ask questions differently. They have to say that everything you say may be used as evidence against you. I’ll say it once … 
Shouldn’t you be
writing this down? I won’t say it again …
    â€˜I was with Willy. We had words. I asked … It doesn’t matter what I asked.
    â€˜He wasn’t a rotter like the rest of them. Some rotters are decent fellows.
    â€˜I spoke too harshly. He grabbed my jacket just here …’
    He indicated the lapels and looked out irritably at the feet encased in clogs or heavy shoes which were still visible through the portholes.
    â€˜That’s all. I don’t know, maybe the badge fell off then … It happened on the other side of the bridge.’
    â€˜Yet the badge was found on this side.’
    Vladimir hardly seemed to be listening. He gathered up things that were lying about, went forward and returned unhurriedly.
    In a very strong Russian accent, he asked Gloria, who wasn’t crying any more but was lying flat on her back without moving, clutching her head with both hands:
    â€˜You want anything?’
    Steps were heard on the gangplank. There was a knock on the door, and the sergeant said:
    â€˜Are you in there, inspector? It’s the prosecutor’s office …’
    â€˜I’m coming!’
    The sergeant did not move, an unseen presence behind the mahogany door with brass handles.
    â€˜One more thing, colonel. When is the funeral?’
    â€˜Three o’clock.’
    â€˜Today?’
    â€˜Yes! I have no reason to stay on here.’
    When he had drunk his third glass of three-star cognac, his eyes looked more clouded. Maigret had seen those eyes before.
    Then, just as the inspector was about to leave, he asked, cool, casual, every inch the master of all he surveyed:
    â€˜Am I under arrest?’
    At once, Madame Negretti looked up. She was deathly pale.

6. The American Sailor’s Cap
    The conclusion of the interview between the magistrate and the colonel was almost a solemn moment. Maigret, who stood slightly apart, was not the only one to notice it.
    He caught the eye of the deputy public prosecutor and saw that he too had picked up on it.
    The public prosecutor’s team had gathered in the bar room of the Café de la Marine. One door led to the kitchen, from which came the clatter of saucepans. The other door, glass-panelled, was covered with stuck-on transparent adverts for
pasta and rock soap through which the sacks and boxes in the shop could be seen.
    The peaked cap of a policeman in uniform marched to and fro outside the window. Onlookers, silent but determined, had grouped a little further away.
    A half-litre glass, with a small amount of liquid in it, was still standing beside a pool of wine on one of the tables.
    The clerk of the court, seated on a backless bench, was writing. There was a peevish look on his face.
    Once the statements had all been taken, the body had been placed as far from the stove as possible and temporarily covered with one of the