Free Lock No. 1 by Georges Simenon

happen?’
    â€˜I’ll hand over my
     case-notes to a colleague, who’ll take it from there.’
    The smile on Ducrau’s face grew
     wider and with almost boyish glee he said softly:
    â€˜A moron?’
    Maigret couldn’t help smiling
     too.
    â€˜They’re not all
     knuckle-heads.’
    And there they had to leave matters, on
     this unexpectedly upbeat note. Ducrau got to his feet and held out an enormous
     hand.
    â€˜Goodbye, inspector. No doubt
     I’ll be seeing you again between now and then.’
    Maigret shook his hand and stared
     directly into his companion’s blue eyes but failed to wipe the smile off the
     man’s face, perhaps merely causing his mask to slip slightly.
    â€˜Until then.’
    Ducrau walked him back to the landing
     and even remained leaning over the banister. When Maigret emerged into the blinding
     warmth of the quays, he had a feeling that a pair of eyes was following him from a
     high window.
    And it was the smile on his own face
     which faded as he waited for a tram.
    It was the concierge’s idea,
     thinking she was doing the right thing: all the tenants in the house had closed
     their blinds as a sign of mourning. The boats moored in the port all had their flags
     at half mast. As a result the canal had a morbid look about it.
    Movement of any
     kind felt questionable. There were curious bystanders everywhere, especially on the
     walls of the lock, and in the end they all pointed to one of the brackets and rather
     shamefacedly asked:
    â€˜Is that where …?’
    The corpse had already been taken to the
     Forensic Institute, a long, bony body which had been a familiar sight to Marne canal
     regulars for a long time.
    No one knew where Bébert had come from,
     and he had no family. He had fitted out a nook in a Waterways Department dredger
     which for the last ten years had been gently rusting in a quiet corner of the
     port.
    He would catch mooring ropes thrown from
     barges; he cranked the sluices and gates open and shut; he helped out in small ways
     and collected tips. That was all.
    The lock-keeper was moving around his
     territory looking important because that same morning three reporters had
     interviewed him, and one of them had taken his picture.
    As soon as Maigret got off the tram, he
     walked into Fernand’s bar, where there were more customers than usual. Voices
     sank to a whisper. Those who knew him told the others what he did for a living. The
     landlord came up to him, his manner familiar.
    â€˜A beer? Not too much of a head on
     it?’
    With a wink he motioned to the far
     corner of the bar. Old Gassin was there, as bad-tempered as a sick dog, his eyes
     even more red-rimmed than ever.
    He stared at Maigret, never taking his
     eyes off him, but
on the contrary screwed
     his face into a grimace intended to express his disgust.
    But the inspector swallowed a large
     mouthful of cold beer, wiped his mouth and started filling a fresh pipe. Through the
     bar’s window, behind Gassin, he could see the barges moored one against the
     other and was vaguely disappointed not to catch a sight of Aline.
    The landlord leaned close to him again
     and pretended to wipe the top of a table to give him an opportunity to mutter:
    â€˜You ought to do something, give
     him a hand. He doesn’t even hardly know where he is any more. See those bits
     of paper on the floor? It’s the notification to go and get loaded up on the
     Quai de la Tournelle. That’s what he did with it!’
    But the old drunk knew very well they
     were talking about him and he stood up, unsteady on his legs, approached Maigret,
     looked him defiantly in the eye and then went off, elbowing the landlord out of his
     way.
    They saw him hesitate when he reached
     the door. For a moment, it looked as if he might rush out into the road without
     seeing the bus that was bearing down on him. But he swayed for a moment before
     making straight for