Free The Misty Harbour by Georges Simenon Page B

creature who must have felt infinite
     contempt for all visitors, for she never bothered to unclench her teeth.
    Having opened the door, she went back up
     the few steps leading to the front hall and left Maigret to shut the door himself.
     Then she knocked on a double door and stood aside as the inspector entered the
     mayor’s study.
    There had been something peculiar about
     that whole performance. Nothing blatantly bizarre, but jarring little things and a
     slightly uneasy atmosphere.
    The house was a large one, almost new,
     in the prevailing
style of the French
     seaside, but given the wealth of the Grandmaison family, chief stockholders in the
     Compagnie Anglo-Normande, a touch more luxury might have been expected. Perhaps they
     had saved such embellishment for their residence in Caen?
    Maigret had hardly entered the room when
     he heard: ‘Here you are, inspector!’
    The voice came from over by the window.
     Monsieur Grandmaison was ensconced in a massive club chair with his legs propped up
     on another chair. It was difficult to see him, because of the backlighting, but he
     was clearly wearing a scarf loosely knotted around his throat instead of a stiff
     collar, and covering the left half of his face with one hand.
    ‘Do sit down.’
    Maigret took a tour of the room, then
     finally went to sit facing the ship-owner. He struggled to repress a smile, for the
     mayor was quite a sight.
    His left cheek, which his hand could not
     entirely conceal, was puffy, and his upper lip swollen, but what he was most intent
     on hiding was a stunning black eye.
    The man’s face wouldn’t have
     seemed that funny if he hadn’t been trying so hard to be as dignified as usual
     in spite of it! He was undaunted and stared at Maigret with frank suspicion.
    ‘You’ve come to report the
     results of your inquiry?’
    ‘No. You received me so graciously
     the other day, with the gentlemen from the public prosecutor’s office, that I
     wished to thank you for your hospitality.’
    There was never a hint of irony in
     Maigret’s smiles. On
the contrary!
     The more mocking he was, the more studiously solemn his face.
    He looked around the study again. The
     walls were full of technical drawings of freighters and photographs of the ships of
     the Compagnie Anglo-Normande. The furniture was nondescript, good-quality mahogany,
     but nothing more. On the desk, a few files, some letters, telegrams.
    And the inspector seemed to gaze with
     particular pleasure at the beautifully waxed floor.
    ‘It seems you’ve had an
     accident?’
    Sighing, the mayor shifted his legs and
     grumbled, ‘A misstep, coming down the stairs.’
    ‘This morning? Madame Grandmaison
     must have been terrified!’
    ‘My wife had already
     left.’
    ‘The weather is hardly suitable
     for a seaside vacation, true! Unless one is an avid duck hunter … I
     suppose that Madame Grandmaison is at Caen with your daughter?’
    ‘Paris, actually.’
    The ship-owner was carelessly dressed.
     Dark trousers, a dressing gown over a grey flannel shirt, felt slippers.
    ‘What was there at the foot of the
     stairs?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘What did you land on?’
    A venomous look. A strained reply.
    ‘The floor, obviously.’
    A lie, a whopper! Falling on the floor
     never gave anyone a black eye. Still less the marks of fingers tightly wrapped
     around one’s throat!
    As it happened, whenever the scarf moved
     the tiniest
bit, Maigret could easily see
     the bruises it was intended to conceal from him.
    ‘You were alone in the house,
     naturally.’
    ‘Why
     “naturally”?’
    ‘Because such accidents always
     happen when there’s no one around to come and help!’
    ‘The maid was doing her
     shopping.’
    ‘She’s the only servant
     here?’
    ‘I also have a gardener, but he
     has gone to Caen. He had some errands there.’
    ‘You must have been in real
     pain.’
    What worried the mayor the most was
     precisely this solemnity on Maigret’s