Free Lock No. 1 by Georges Simenon Page B

wash-basin.
     A woman in slippers and dressing gown came down.
    â€˜Ah!’ she murmured.
     ‘It’s you.’
    Like everyone else in Charenton, she
     already knew about Maigret. She had once been pretty. Now on the stout side and
     sapped by a life spent in this hothouse, she nevertheless still had a certain charm,
     which was a mix of unconcern and an equable temperament.
    â€˜You want something to
     drink?’
    â€˜Pour us both an aperitif.
     Doesn’t matter what.’
    She drank gentian-bitters. She had a
     particular way of putting both elbows together and leaning them on the table so that
     her breasts pressed against each other and were half pushed out of her dressing
     gown.
    â€˜I thought you’d come. Your
     very good health!’
    She wasn’t afraid. The police did
     not impress her.
    â€˜Is it true what they’re
     saying?’
    â€˜About what?’
    â€˜About Bébert, Oh, I’m
     talking too much. What the hell. Not to mention that none of it is at all certain.
     They’re saying old man Gassin was the one …’
    â€˜â€¦ who did it?’
    â€˜At least he talks about it as if
     he knew. Another glass?’
    â€˜What about
     Ducrau?’
    â€˜What about him?’
    â€˜Didn’t he come here
     yesterday?’
    â€˜He often comes, to keep me
     company. We go back a long way, even though he’s now a rich man. He’s
     not proud. He sits where you’re sitting now. We both have a drink. From time
     to time he’ll ask me for a five-
sou
piece for the piano.’
    â€˜Was he here yesterday?’
    â€˜Yes. There’s dancing only
     on Saturdays and Sundays and sometimes on a Monday. I don’t usually close on
     the other days, but I’m here more or less on my own. When my husband was
     around things were different, because we served food.’
    â€˜What time did he
     leave?’
    â€˜So that’s how you’re
     thinking? Well let me tell you: you’ve got it all wrong. I know him. He used
     to cosy up to me now and then when all he had was the one tug. But he never ever
     tried anything more on with me, why I couldn’t tell you. Still, that’s
     how it was … But you know this as well as I do! Yesterday, he was very down
     …’
    â€˜Did he drink much?’
    â€˜Two, maybe three glasses, but
     that much has no effect on him. He said: “If you only knew how sick I am of
     those morons! I fancy a night just hanging around in some whorehouse. When I think
     of them all up there crowding round my boy …”’
    This time, Maigret did not smile when he
     found the morons cropping up again. He looked around at the shabby walls, the
     tables, the benches, the backcloth and
then at this good, decent woman who was now slowly
     sipping the last of her second gentian.
    â€˜You really don’t know what
     time he left?’
    â€˜Maybe midnight? Perhaps earlier?
     But I’ll say one thing: it’s a sad thing to have all that money and not
     be happy!’
    Maigret still did not smile.

6.
    â€˜The strange thing,’ said
     Maigret, ‘is that I’m convinced that this whole business is actually
     very simple.’
    They were in the office belonging to the
     commissioner of the Police Judiciaire at that time of day when the rest of the
     building is empty. A crimson sun was sinking over Paris, and the Seine, straddled by
     the Pont-Neuf, was splashed with red, blue and deep yellow. The two men were
     standing by a window, chatting in a desultory fashion.
    â€˜As for my man …’
    The phone rang. The commissioner picked
     up the receiver.
    â€˜Hello? … Are you keeping well? …
     I’ll give him to you …’
    It was Madame Maigret. She was in
     something of a state.
    â€˜You forgot to phone … You did! We
     agreed that you’d phone at four … Anyway, the furniture has got there and I
     have to go. Can you come