Free Lock No. 1 by Georges Simenon Page A

the bar opposite, while all the customers watched.
    â€˜What did you make of that,
     inspector?’
    The conversation became general. People
     talked to Maigret as if they had known him a long time.
    â€˜â€¦ on top of which, old Gassin is
     the straightest, most decent man you could wish to meet. But it looks like he
     hasn’t quite got over his experience of the other night, and
I can’t help wondering if he’ll ever shake it
     off. And what do you think about Bébert? Is it number two in a series or
     what?’
    They were friendly and familiar. They
     weren’t taking the latest turn of events too seriously. Even so, when they
     laughed, there was a slight edge to the sound.
    Maigret just nodded and replied with
     smiles and grunts.
    â€˜Is it true the boss won’t
     be going to the funeral?’
    So the news had already reached the bar!
     And it was not quite an hour since the phone call had taken place!
    â€˜He’s a hard-headed one, all
     right! Hard as they come! But have you heard that someone saw Bébert at the Gallia
     cinema yesterday? Must have been after that he was jumped, just as he was getting
     back on the dredger.’
    â€˜I was at the cinema too,’
     someone said.
    â€˜Did you see him?’
    â€˜I didn’t see him but I was
     there.’
    â€˜So what does that
     prove?’
    â€˜It proves I was there!’
    Maigret smiled as he got to his feet. He
     paid and waved a general goodbye to all. He had instructed two inspectors to dig up
     anything that was relevant and now, on the other side of the water, he thought he
     made out one of them, Lucas, looking around the Waterways dredger.
    He walked past Ducrau’s house.
     Ever since that morning and maybe since the previous evening, the Decharmes’
     car had been parked at the kerb. He could have gone in, but what was the point? He
     could imagine all too clearly what Ducrau had called their
     ‘carnival’.
    He sauntered
     along. He knew nothing for sure. He was not exactly thinking but he felt that
     something was taking shape in his mind which he shouldn’t try to force.
    He turned round when he heard someone
     hailing a taxi. It was the concierge. Moments later a blowzy young woman with
     red-rimmed eyes, wearing black silk and looking upset, stepped into it while the
     concierge piled suitcases on to the back seat.
    It had to be Rose! It was enough to make
     anyone smile! Maigret was still smiling when he walked up to the concierge, who gave
     him a starchy look.
    â€˜Was that the lady from the second
     floor?’
    â€˜And who might you be?’
    â€˜Detective Chief Inspector
     Maigret, Police Judiciaire.’
    â€˜Then you know the answer as well
     as I do.’
    â€˜Was it the son-in-law who told
     her to leave?’
    â€˜Well, it wasn’t me. Anyway,
     it’s their business.’
    It was obvious. The family upstairs, in
     their mourning clothes, whispering for hours trying to decide whether it was proper
     or not to let the creature stay in the house in such solemn circumstances. And no
     doubt Captain Decharme had been delegated to convey to her the verdict reached by
     the family council.
    It was entirely by chance that Maigret
     stopped by the sign saying
Dance Hall
in white lettering on a large blue
     metal panel. Outside the recessed door were climbing plants, which supplied a fresh,
     country note and made it feel like a suburban
café dansant
. Inside it was
     dark and cool after the dazzling pavement, and the brass flourishes on the
     mechanical piano sparkled like real diamonds.
    There were a few
     tables, some benches then an empty space and, on one wall, an old backcloth which
     had once seen service as scenery in a theatre.
    â€˜Who’s there?’ a voice
     called from the top of the stairs.
    â€˜Someone.’
    The owner of the voice was finishing
     getting washed, for a tap was running and water was heard splashing in a