Free The Misty Harbour by Georges Simenon Page A

alone.
    Nothing much happened over the next few
     hours. Maigret hung around the dredger like someone with time on his hands and a
     deep fondness for strange sights. There were chains, capstans, dredging buckets,
     huge pipes …
    Towards eleven, he had an aperitif with
     the bar regulars.
    ‘Has anyone seen Big
     Louis?’
    They had seen him, rather early that
     morning. He had
downed two glasses of rum
     there and taken off along the main road.
    Maigret was drowsy. Perhaps he had
     caught a chill the night before. In any case, he felt as if he were coming down with
     the flu and looked it, too. He seemed lethargic.
    But it didn’t appear to bother him
     – and that bothered everyone else! His companions stole worried glances at him; the
     general mood was subdued.
    ‘What should I do with the
     dinghy?’ asked Delcourt.
    ‘Tie it up somewhere.’
    Maigret tossed out another disquieting
     question.
    ‘Has a stranger been seen around
     here, this morning? Or anything unusual, over by the dredgers?’
    No, nothing! But now that he had asked,
     they all felt something was in the offing.
    It was funny: they all expected high
     drama! A presentiment? The feeling that this chain of events still had one more link
     to go?
    A boat sounded its horn at the lock. The
     men stood up. Maigret trudged to the post office to see if there were any messages
     for him. A telegram from Lucas announced his arrival at 2.10.
    And when that time came, so did the
     little train that runs along the canal from Caen to Ouistreham. With its 1850-model
     carriages, it looked like a child’s toy when it appeared in the distance, but
     it pulled into the station with squealing brakes and a cloud of hissing steam.
    Lucas came towards Maigret with his hand
     outstretched – and was surprised by the inspector’s weary gloom.
    ‘What’s wrong?’
    ‘I’m
     fine.’
    Lucas couldn’t help laughing at
     that, even though Maigret was his boss.
    ‘You certainly don’t look
     it! Well, since I haven’t had any lunch …’
    ‘Come to the hotel, they must
     still have something there to eat.’
    They sat in the main dining room, where
     the hotel-owner served the sergeant himself. He hovered around Maigret and Lucas as
     they talked quietly and when he brought over the cheese he saw his chance to speak
     up.
    ‘Did you hear what happened to the
     mayor?’
    Maigret reacted with such alarm that the
     man was taken aback.
    ‘Oh, nothing serious! It’s
     just that a little while ago, at home, he fell while coming downstairs. No one knows
     how he managed to do that, but his face is so battered that he had to take to his
     bed.’
    Then Maigret had a brainwave. That is
     the right word, for his intellect deciphered the incident in an instant.
    ‘Is Madame Grandmaison still in
     Ouistreham?’
    ‘No, she took the car and left
     early this morning with her daughter. I suppose they went to Caen.’
    Maigret’s flu vanished.
    ‘Are you going to sit there all
     day?’ he grumbled.
    ‘Of course,’ replied Lucas
     placidly, ‘it’s easy for someone with a full stomach to wax impatient
     watching a hungry man tuck into his food. Let’s say, three minutes
     more … Oh! Don’t take the camembert away yet please!’

6. The Fall Down the
     Stairs
    The hotel-owner had not been lying, but
     the news he had passed on had been somewhat exaggerated, for Monsieur Grandmaison
     was not laid up in bed.
    When Maigret arrived at the Norman
     villa, after sending Lucas to keep his eye on the dredger, he saw through the
     picture window a form sitting in the classic pose of the patient who must stay home
     to convalesce.
    Although the inspector could not see his
     features, it was obviously the mayor.
    Further from the window stood another
     man, but that was all Maigret could determine.
    After ringing the bell, he heard more
     comings and goings inside than were necessary to open a front door. The maid arrived
     at last, a middle-aged, rather pinch-faced