The Misty Harbour

by Georges Simenon

  ‘I’m not up high enough. Fifteen or twenty centimetres short.’

  Maigret walked over to a heap of stones by the road and brought back a few.

  ‘Try these.’

  ‘I can see the edge of the table, but not the people.’

  And the inspector went to fetch more stones.

  ‘That does it! … They’re playing draughts. The maid’s bringing them some steaming glasses, must be hot grog.’

  ‘Stay there.’

  Maigret began pacing up and down the road. A hundred metres on: the Buvette de la Marine, then the harbour. A baker’s van went by. The inspector almost stopped it to make sure no one was hiding inside, but instead he just shrugged.

  There are some seemingly simple police operations that prove impracticable. Hunting for the man who had vanished into thin air behind the mayor’s villa, for example! A search of the dunes, along the beach, in the harbour and village? Roadblocks everywhere? Twenty policemen would not be enough. And a smart fellow would slip through the net anyway.

  Maigret didn’t even know who he was or what he looked like.

  The inspector returned to the wall, where Lucas was still standing in an awkward position.

  ‘What are they doing?’

  ‘Still playing draughts.’

  ‘Talking?’

  ‘Not a peep. The convict has both elbows on the table and is already on his third grog.’

  Fifteen minutes later, something rang inside the house. Lucas called Maigret over.

  ‘Phone call. The mayor’s trying to get up … but Big Louis got there first.’

  Although they couldn’t hear the conversation, it seemed to have pleased Big Louis.

  ‘They’re done?’

  ‘Back to the draughts.’

  ‘Stay there!’

  Maigret went off to the bar. A few of the evening regulars were playing cards and invited the inspector to join them for a drink.

  ‘Thanks, not now. Is there a telephone here, mademoiselle?’

  It was on the wall in the kitchen. An old woman was cleaning fish.

  ‘Hello! Ouistreham switchboard? Police! Would you tell me who just called the mayor’s villa?’

  ‘Caen, sir.’

  ‘What number?’

  ‘It was 122. That’s the train station café.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He left the kitchen and for a good long moment stood lost in thought in the middle of the bar.

  Suddenly he murmured, ‘It’s twelve kilometres from here to Caen …’

  ‘Thirteen!’ Delcourt informed him, having just walked in. ‘And how’s it going, inspector?’

  Maigret hadn’t heard him.

  ‘… On a bike, that’s barely half an hour …’

  He remembered that the lock workers, most of whom lived in the village, came down to the harbour on bikes that sat all day right across from the bar.

  ‘Would you mind seeing that none of the bicycles is missing?’

  Then Maigret’s brain went into gear and moved smoothly through the chain of events.

  ‘Damn! It’s my bike that’s gone …’

  Unsurprised, the inspector asked no further questions but returned to the phone in the kitchen.

  ‘Give me the Caen police … Yes … Thank you … Hello! Police headquarters? Detective Chief Inspector Maigret here, Police Judiciaire. Is there still a train for Paris tonight? … What’s that? … Not before eleven? … No, but listen, please write this down.

  ‘First, make sure that Madame Grandmaison – the ship-owner’s wife, yes! – did in fact leave for Paris in her car.

  ‘Next, find out if any stranger showed up at Grandmaison’s office or residence today … Yes, that’s easy, but there’s more. You are taking all this down, right?

  ‘Finally, check all the garages in Caen. How many are there? Around twenty? … Then only those renting out cars will be of interest. Start with the ones close to the train station … Right! You’re looking for someone who rented a car, with or without a driver, for Paris – or who might have bought a second-hand car … Hello? Don’t hang up, damn it! … The man probably abandoned a bicycle in Caen.

  ‘Yes, that’s it. But do you have enough officers to take care of all that? … Good, that’s it then … And as soon as you have any information whatsoever, call me at the Buvette de la Marine in Ouistreham.’

  The harbour men at their aperitifs in the overheated main room had heard every word. When Maigret walked back in, their faces were grave, tense with anxiety.

  ‘You think my bike …?’ began one lock worker, but in vain.

  ‘A grog!’ Maigret called out curtly.

  Gone was the fellow who had smilingly raised a glass with them all over the past few days. He hardly saw or recognized them now.

  ‘The Saint-Michel, she’s not back from Caen?’

  ‘Supposed to be here in time for the evening tide, but with this weather she may not be able to get out.’

  ‘A storm?’

  ‘We’re in for some rough weather at least. And the wind’s veering to the north, that’s not good news. Can’t you hear?’

  And there was a kind of hammering, from the waves breaking on the jetty pilings. Wind gusts rattled the door.

  ‘If there’s a call for me, let me know. I’ll be about a hundred metres up the road.’

  ‘Right by the mayor’s house?’

  Maigret had a terrible time lighting his pipe outside. The massive clouds running low across the sky seemed to snag on the crowns of the poplars lining the road. From five metres away, he couldn’t make out Lucas standing on his wall.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘They’ve stopped playing draughts. All of a sudden Louis just swept the pieces off the board as if he were tired of the game.’

  ‘What are they doing?’

  ‘The mayor’s slumped in his chair. The other one’s smoking cigars and drinking grogs. He’s already picked a dozen cigars to pieces, with a sarcastic look on his face, as if to provoke Grandmaison on purpose.’

  ‘How many grogs?’

  ‘Five or six.’

  Maigret couldn’t see anything but that thin strip of light down the façade. Some builders going home after work pedalled past towards the village. Next came a farmer’s cart. Sensing a human presence in the darkness, the driver whipped up his horse and looked back nervously a few times.

  ‘The maid?’

  ‘Haven’t seen her. She must be in her kitchen. Will I be up here much longer? Because in that case, you’d best get me more stones, so I don’t have to stand on tiptoe.’

  Maigret brought some. The din of the ocean was growing louder. All along the beach, the waves must have been almost two metres high, crashing into white foam on the sand.

  Down by the harbour, a door opened and closed. It was the bar. A figure appeared, trying to see in the darkness, and Maigret ran over to him.

  ‘Ah! It’s you. You’re wanted on the phone.’

  Caen was calling back already.

  ‘Hello? Detective Chief Inspector? How did you know! … Madame Grandmaison went through Caen this morning, heading for Paris. She left at noon, in a car. Her daughter stayed at home in the care of the governess. And regarding the stranger, you were right. At the very first garage we checked, the one across from the station, we learned that a man had arrived by bicycle and wanted to rent a car, no driver. They told him that the garage did not arrange that sort of thing.

  ‘The man seemed impatient and asked if he could at least buy a car in a hurry, second-hand if possible, so they sold him one for twenty thousand francs, which he paid, cash on the barrel. It’s a yellow touring car, bearing the letter W because it was for sale.’

  ‘Do they know which way he went?’

  ‘The man asked for directions for the road to Paris through Lisieux and Évreux.’

  ‘Telephone the national and local police in Lisieux, Évreux, Mantes and Saint-Germain. Warn Paris that all the entrances to the city must be watched, e
specially Porte Maillot.’

  ‘We’re to stop the car?’

  ‘And arrest its occupant, yes! Do you have a description?’

  ‘From the garage-owner … A rather tall man, middle-aged, in an elegant, light-coloured suit.’

  ‘Same instructions as before: phone me at Ouistreham as soon as—’

  ‘Excuse me, sir: it’s almost seven o’clock, and the Ouistreham exchange shuts down at seven. Unless you go to the mayor’s house …’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because the phone number there is 1 and is directly linked at night to Caen.’

  ‘Send someone to the post office. If any call coming through their telephone exchange asks for the mayor, listen in on the conversation. Do you have a car?’

  ‘Yes, a small one.’

  ‘That will be enough to come and alert me. At the Buvette de la Marine, as before.’

  Back in the main room, Captain Delcourt was bold enough to ask, ‘Is it the murderer you’re after?’

  ‘I’ve no idea!’

  The men there could not understand how Maigret, so cordial and friendly until then, could now be so distant and even cantankerous. He left without telling them anything. Outside, he plunged again into the roar of the wind and the sea and had to button his overcoat up tightly, especially to cross the bridge, which was shaking in the storm.

  Standing in front of Joris’ cottage, he hesitated for a moment, then looked through the keyhole. He saw the kitchen door, its glass panels lit up. Behind them a form went back and forth between the stove and the table.

  He rang. Julie froze, holding a dish, then set it down, opened the door and came into the front hall.

  ‘Who is it?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Inspector Maigret!’

  She opened the door and stood aside. She was nervous. Her eyes were still red and she kept glancing fearfully around her.

  ‘Come in, I’m glad you’re here. If you knew how scared I am, by myself in this house! I don’t think I’ll be staying on.’

  The inspector entered the kitchen, which was as clean and neat as always. On the white oilcloth covering the table sat only a small bowl and some bread and butter. A pot on the stove was giving off a sweet aroma.

  ‘Hot chocolate?’ exclaimed the inspector, surprised.

  ‘I haven’t any heart to cook just for myself … So I made some chocolate.’

  ‘Pretend I’m not here. Go on, eat …’

  She fussed a bit, then did fill her bowl and added big pieces of buttered bread to soak. Staring straight ahead, she ate this with a spoon.

  ‘Your brother hasn’t come to see you yet?’

  ‘No! I don’t understand … I went as far as the harbour, just now, hoping to see him. When they’re at loose ends, sailors always hang around the harbour.’

  ‘Did you know your brother was a friend of the mayor?’

  She looked at him as if in shock.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They’re busy playing draughts together.’

  She thought he was joking and, when persuaded that he was not, she became frightened.

  ‘I don’t understand …’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the mayor keeps his distance from people … And he certainly does not like Louis. He’s tried to make trouble for him a few times. He didn’t even want to let him live here.’

  ‘And with Captain Joris?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Was Monsieur Grandmaison friends with the captain?’

  ‘The way he is with everyone! A handshake in passing. He makes a little joke. A remark about the weather. But that’s all. Sometimes, I already told you this, he would take the captain along hunting … although that was simply so he wouldn’t be alone.’

  ‘Have you received a letter from the lawyer yet?’

  ‘Yes! It says I’m the sole legatee. What exactly does that mean? Is it true that I’ll inherit the house?’

  ‘Along with three hundred thousand francs, yes!’

  She calmly kept eating, then shook her head and murmured, ‘That’s impossible … It makes no sense. I’ve told you, I’m certain the captain never had three hundred thousand francs!’

  ‘Where did he sit? Did he eat in the kitchen?’

  ‘Where you are, in the wicker armchair.’

  ‘Did you eat together?’

  ‘Yes … Except that I would get up to do my cooking and handle the plates. He liked to read his paper while he ate … Once in a while he’d read an article out loud.’

  Maigret was not in a mood for sentiment. And yet, something about the restful atmosphere was getting to him. The clock seemed to tick more slowly than clocks anywhere else. The long reflection from the brass pendulum swung back and forth on the wall in front of him. And the sweet smell of the chocolate … The wicker of the armchair creaked familiarly at his slightest movement, as it must have when Captain Joris was sitting in it.

  Julie was afraid, off in the cottage on her own. And yet she was loath to leave it! Maigret realized that there was something keeping her in this snug and comfortable place.

  Julie rose and went to the door. He watched her. She let in the white cat, which went over to a dish of milk at the foot of the stove.

  ‘Poor Puss!’ she said. ‘Her master was fond of her … After dinner, Puss would sit on his lap until he went to bed.’

  A calm so intense that it became in some way threatening! A warm, heavy calm …

  ‘Do you really have nothing to tell me, Julie?’

  She looked up at him questioningly.

  ‘I believe I’m about to discover the truth. A word from you might help me … That’s why I’m asking you if you have anything else to say.’

  ‘I swear to you …’

  ‘About Captain Joris?’

  ‘Nothing!’

  ‘About your brother?’

  ‘Nothing, I swear.’

  ‘About anyone who came here whom you didn’t know!’

  ‘I don’t understand …’

  She kept eating that sugary mush, the mere sight of which nauseated the inspector.

  ‘Well, I’d best be going.’

  She seemed disappointed; she would be alone again. She was anxious to ask him one last question.

  ‘Tell me, about the funeral … I suppose they can’t go on waiting much longer? A dead person … I mean …’

  ‘He’s on ice,’ said Maigret reluctantly.

  And a great shiver ran through her.

  ‘Are you there, Lucas?’

  It was pitch black, impossible to see anything now. And the roar of the storm drowned out everything else. In the harbour, each man at his post awaited the arrival of a boat from Glasgow that had missed the channel and could be heard whistling out between the jetties.

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘What are they doing?’

  ‘Eating. I wish I were. Some shrimp, clams, an omelette and what looks like cold veal.’

  ‘At the same table?’

  ‘Yes. Big Louis is still leaning on his elbows.’

  ‘Talking?’

  ‘Not much. Every now and then their lips move, but they must not be saying much.’

  ‘Drinking?’

  ‘Louis, yes! There are two bottles of wine on the table. Nice old bottles. The mayor keeps filling Louis’ glass.’

  ‘Trying to make him drunk?’

  ‘Right. The maid’s face is something to see. Whenever she has to go behind the sailor, she gives him a wide berth.’

  ‘No more phone calls?’

  ‘No. Now here’s Louis blowing his nose in his napkin and standing up. Wait. He’s fetching a cigar. The box is on the mantelpiece. He’s holding it out to the mayor, who’s shaking his head. The maid’s bringing in the cheese.

  ‘If I could just sit down!’ added Sergeant Lucas plaintively. ‘My feet are ice-cold. I’m afraid to move for fear I might tumble off …’

  It wasn’t enough to impress Maigret, who had been
in similar situations at least a hundred times.

  ‘I’ll bring you something to eat and drink.’

  The inspector’s place was set at his table in the Hôtel de l’Univers. Without sitting down, he simply devoured a piece of pâté and some bread. He then made a sandwich for his colleague and carried off the rest of the bottle of Bordeaux.

  ‘And here I’ve prepared a bouillabaisse for you the likes of which you’d not find even in Marseilles!’ wailed the hotel-owner.

  But nothing could touch the inspector, who returned to the wall to ask the same question for the tenth time.

  ‘What are they doing?’

  ‘The maid has cleared the table. The ship-owner, in his armchair, is chain-smoking. I do believe Louis is falling asleep. He still has his cigar between his teeth, but I don’t see the slightest wisp of smoke.’

  ‘Did he have any more to drink?’

  ‘A full glass of the bottle that was on the mantelpiece.’

  ‘Armagnac,’ muttered Maigret.

  ‘Hold on! There’s a light upstairs … It must be the maid going to sleep. The mayor is standing up. He—’

  The sound of voices over by the bar. A car engine. Some faint words …

  ‘A hundred metres on? In the house?’

  ‘No, outside.’

  Maigret set out to intercept the car, which was heading his way. He saw the uniformed men inside and stopped it some distance from the villa so as not to alert the mayor.

  ‘Any news?’

  ‘Évreux has informed us that the man in the yellow car has been arrested.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Well, listen – he’s protesting the arrest! He threatens to inform his ambassador.’

  ‘He’s a foreigner?’

  ‘Norwegian! Évreux gave us the name over the phone, but it was impossible to understand. Martineau, or Motineau … His papers seem to be in order, and the police want to know what they should do.’

  ‘Have them bring him here, with the yellow car. They must have an officer who can drive. Hurry, get back to Caen and try to find out where Madame Grandmaison stays when she goes to Paris.’

  ‘They already told us that a little while ago, it’s the Hôtel de Lutèce, Boulevard Raspail.’

  ‘Telephone from Caen to find out if she arrived and what she’s doing. Wait! If she is there, phone the Police Judiciaire for me and ask them to have her discreetly followed by an inspector.’