The Misty Harbour

by Georges Simenon

  The car needed to back up at three different angles to turn around on the narrow road. Maigret went back once again to Lucas on his wall but found him clambering down.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘There’s nothing more to see.’

  ‘They’ve left?’

  ‘No, but the mayor came over to the curtains and drew them tightly closed.’

  A hundred metres away, the boat from Glasgow moved gently into the lock as orders were given in English. A sudden gust carried the inspector’s hat off in that direction.

  The topmost light in the villa suddenly went out, leaving the façade in complete darkness.

  8. The Mayor’s Inquiry

  Maigret was standing in the middle of the road, both hands in his pockets, frowning.

  ‘Something worrying you?’ asked Lucas, who knew his boss.

  ‘Inside is where we should be,’ grumbled the inspector, studying the villa’s windows one after the other.

  But they were all closed tight. There was no way to get into the house. Maigret went quietly up to the front door, leaned down and listened, gesturing to Lucas for silence. In the end they both had their ears glued to the oak panel.

  They heard no voices, could identify no words. There were footsteps in the study, however, and some steady, dull thuds.

  Were the two men fighting? Unlikely, for the pounding was too evenly spaced. Two struggling men would come and go, staggering and bumping into furniture, with pauses and flurries of punches. This was like a pile-driver. And they could even distinguish the rhythmic breathing of the man landing the blows: ‘Huh! … Huh! … Huh! …’

  In counterpoint, low moaning.

  The two policemen looked at each other. The inspector turned towards the lock and pointed; the sergeant understood and pulled a set of skeleton keys from his pocket.

  ‘Don’t make any noise,’ whispered Maigret.

  The house seemed silent now. Ominously quiet. No more blows. No more footsteps. Maybe – but this was hard to tell – the hoarse gasping of an exhausted man.

  Lucas signalled. The door opened. Dim light filtered into the hall from around the study door on the left. Maigret shrugged with irritation and anger. He was exceeding his authority – by a considerable extent, even, and in the home of a hostile official like the mayor of Ouistreham.

  ‘Too bad!’

  From the hall he could clearly hear breathing, but only one person’s. No movement. Lucas had his hand on his revolver. Maigret opened the door with one shove.

  He stopped short, as stunned and confused as he had ever been. Had he been expecting to catch someone red-handed?

  This was something else! And completely baffling. Monsieur Grandmaison’s lip was split, his chin and dressing gown all bloodied, his hair mussed up, and he looked as punch-drunk as a boxer who had stumbled to his feet after a knock-out.

  And he seemed barely able to stand, propped up against a corner of the mantelpiece but leaning so far back that it seemed impossible for him to stay upright.

  A few steps away, a rough-looking Big Louis with blood on his still-clenched fists. The mayor’s blood!

  It was Big Louis’ panting they had heard out in the corridor. He was the one out of breath, doubtless from beating the other man. He smelled of alcohol. The glasses on the small table had been tipped over.

  The policemen were so astounded and the others so exhausted that it was a good minute at least before anyone said a word.

  Then Monsieur Grandmaison wiped his lip and chin with a corner of his dressing gown and stammered, while trying to stand up straight, ‘What the … What …?’

  ‘Do excuse me,’ said Maigret courteously, ‘for having entered your home unannounced. I heard a noise, and the front door was not locked.’

  ‘That’s not true!’

  The mayor had evidently recovered his spirits.

  ‘In any case, I’m glad we arrived in time to protect you and …’

  He glanced over at Big Louis, who did not seem the least bit upset and was now even smiling strangely while studying the mayor’s reaction.

  ‘I do not need to be protected.’

  ‘But this man has attacked you …’

  Standing at a mirror, Monsieur Grandmaison was trying to make himself more presentable and seemed frustrated at failing to stop his lip from bleeding.

  It was an extraordinary and unsettling display of strength and weakness, self-assurance and cowardice.

  With his impressive shiner, wounds and bruises, his face had lost its slightly childish, rosy-cheeked glow, and there was a dull look in his eyes.

  He was recovering his aplomb surprisingly quickly, though, and, leaning against the mantelpiece, he soon challenged the policemen.

  ‘I take it that you broke into my house.’

  ‘Pardon me: we wished to come to your rescue.’

  ‘Not true, because you did not know that I was in any danger at all! And … I … was … not!’

  Maigret studied the impressive figure of Big Louis from head to toe.

  ‘Nonetheless, I trust that you will allow me to take this gentleman away.’

  ‘Absolutely not!’

  ‘He beat you. And rather brutally at that.’

  ‘We’ve sorted it all out! And it’s nobody’s business but my own!’

  ‘I have every reason to believe that it was on him that you fell this morning, while going a bit quickly downstairs.’

  Big Louis’ grin was as pretty as a picture. He was in heaven. While he was getting his breath back, he missed nothing of what was happening and found these developments delightful. He, at least, must have understood all the hidden facets of the situation and could savour the jest to the full!

  ‘I did tell you earlier today, Monsieur Maigret, that I’d undertaken my own investigation. I am not meddling with yours. Do me the favour of not interfering with mine. And don’t be surprised if I file a complaint against you for illegal entry.’

  It was hard to tell whether he cut a tragic or comic figure. He was standing on his dignity and drawing himself up imposingly – with a bleeding lip! And a face that was one big bruise! And a dressing gown in tatters!

  Big Louis even seemed to be egging him on.

  The main thing was what had just happened, and it wasn’t hard to picture: the ex-convict, punching so hard and so much and so well that he wore himself out.

  ‘Please forgive me if I don’t leave right away, Monsieur Grandmaison. Given that you are the only person in Ouistreham with a telephone connection at night, I’ve taken the liberty of having a few calls directed here.’

  The mayor’s only response was, ‘Shut the door!’ – for it had been left wide open.

  Then he picked up one of the cigars lying scattered on the mantelpiece and tried to light it, but its contact with his lip must have been painful, for he threw it violently away.

  ‘Lucas, would you get Caen on the line for me?’

  Maigret kept studying the mayor, then Big Louis, then the mayor again. And he was having difficulty marshalling his thoughts.

  For example, a first impression might suggest that, of the two opponents, it was Monsieur Grandmaison who was the underdog, the weakest not only physically but morally.

  He had been beaten, discovered in the most humiliating circumstances.

  Well, not at all! Within a few minutes he had recouped his sang-froid and some of his bourgeois respectability.

  He was almost calm. His look, haughty.

  Big Louis had the easy part. He had been the winner. He was neither wounded nor even bruised. Moments before, his blissful smile had evoked an almost childlike joy. And now he was the one beginning to look uneasy, unsure of what to do, where to go, even where to look.

  So Maigret wondered … Assuming that one of these two was the boss, which was it? He just didn’t know. Grandmaison, at times; Louis, at others.

  ‘Hello? Caen, Police Headquarters? … Detective Chief Inspector Maigret asked me to tell you that he will be a
t the mayor’s house all night … Yes … That’s telephone number 1 … Hello! Do you have any news? Lisieux already? … Thanks … Yes.’

  Turning to Maigret, Lucas announced, ‘The car just went through Lisieux. It’ll be here very soon.’

  ‘I believe I heard you say—’

  ‘That I would spend the entire night here, yes. With your permission, of course. Twice, now, you have mentioned the inquiry you have personally undertaken, and I believe the best thing would be for you to authorize me to pool the information we have both gathered on our own.’

  Maigret was not being sarcastic. He was furious. Furious at the unbelievable situation in which he had landed himself. Furious at being flummoxed by the case.

  ‘Would you explain to me, Big Louis, why, when we arrived, you were busily … um … punching the daylights out of the town mayor?’

  But Big Louis said nothing, looking at the mayor himself as if to say, ‘You, speak up!’

  ‘That is my affair,’ remarked Monsieur Grandmaison crisply.

  ‘Of course! Everyone has the right to have himself beaten up if he likes that!’ grumbled Maigret. ‘Lucas, get me the Hôtel de Lutèce.’

  The shot hit home. Monsieur Grandmaison’s hand tightened its grip on the marble mantelpiece. He opened his mouth to speak.

  Lucas was talking on the phone.

  ‘A three-minute wait? … Thank you … Yes.’

  ‘Don’t you find that this inquiry is taking an odd turn?’ asked Maigret. ‘By the way, Monsieur Grandmaison, perhaps you can be of help here. As a ship-owner, you must know people from many countries. Have you heard of a certain … just a moment … a certain Martineau … or Motineau … from Bergen or Trondheim … A Norwegian, in any case?’

  Silence! Big Louis’ eyes had gone hard. He reached automatically for one of the glasses lying on the table and poured himself a drink.

  ‘Well, it’s too bad you don’t know him. He’s on his way here.’

  That was it. Not worth adding a single word. They wouldn’t answer. They wouldn’t even flinch. It was obvious from the poses they had taken.

  In a change of tactics, Monsieur Grandmaison, still leaning against the mantelpiece, was contemplating the floor with studied indifference while he toasted his calves before the fire of coal briquettes.

  But what a face! Slack features, splotched with blue and red, bruises and a bloody chin! A mixture of focused energy and panic, or distress.

  Big Louis? He had parked himself astride a chair. After yawning three or four times, he seemed to be dozing.

  The phone rang. Maigret grabbed the receiver.

  ‘Hello? The Hôtel de Lutèce? … Don’t cut me off: I’d like to speak to Madame Grandmaison … Yes! She should have arrived this afternoon or this evening … Yes, I’ll wait.’

  ‘I assume,’ said the mayor in a flat voice, ‘that you have no intention of involving my wife in your … rather bizarre actions at this moment?’

  No reply. Maigret waited, the receiver at his ear, staring at the tablecloth.

  ‘Hello, yes! … Repeat that? … She has already left? … One moment … From the beginning. When did the lady arrive? … Seven o’clock, fine … With her car and driver … You say she dined at the hotel, then was summoned to the telephone … She left directly afterwards? … Thank you … No! … That’s enough.’

  No one faltered. Monsieur Grandmaison seemed calmer. Maigret hung up, then picked up the receiver again.

  ‘Hello! Caen central? Police here. Would you tell me if anyone at this number put through a call to Paris today at any time before this present call? … Yes? … About fifteen minutes ago? … The Hôtel de Lutèce, wasn’t it? … Thank you.’

  Beads of perspiration stood out on Maigret’s forehead. He slowly filled a pipe with little taps of his index finger. Then he poured himself a drink, using a glass from the table.

  ‘I suppose you realize, inspector, that everything you’re doing now is illegal. You broke into my house. You’re staying here without my permission. You might very well cause great upset to my family and, finally, you are treating me like a criminal in the presence of a third person. You will pay for all this.’

  ‘Understood!’

  ‘Since I am no longer master in my own house, either, I would like permission to go to bed.’

  ‘No!’

  Maigret caught the sound of a car in the distance.

  ‘Go and wait for them at the door, Lucas.’

  He tossed a shovelful of coal into the fireplace out of habit and turned around at the very moment when the new arrivals entered: two policemen from Évreux flanking a man in handcuffs.

  ‘Leave us,’ he told the escorts. ‘Wait for me outside, even if it takes all night.’

  The mayor had not budged. Neither had the sailor. You would have thought that they hadn’t seen a thing, or didn’t want to. As for the newcomer, he was relaxed, and a smile hovered about his lips when he noticed Monsieur Grandmaison’s swollen face.

  ‘Who is in charge here?’ he asked, glancing around.

  Maigret, raising his shoulders as if in surprise at the policemen’s effrontery, pulled a small key from his pocket and removed the handcuffs.

  ‘Thank you. I was rather astonished at—’

  ‘At what?’ thundered Maigret angrily. ‘At being arrested? Are you sure you were really all that astonished?’

  ‘That’s to say, I’m still waiting to learn what I’m supposed to have done.’

  ‘Let’s start with stealing a bicycle!’

  ‘Correction! Borrowed! The garage-owner from whom I bought the car will tell you that! I left him with the bicycle and instructions to send it back to Ouistreham with some monetary compensation for its owner.’

  ‘Really! … But, you don’t actually seem to be Norwegian …’

  The man neither looked nor sounded Norwegian. He was tall, well built, still young. His nicely tailored clothes were a bit the worse for wear.

  ‘Excuse me! I am Norwegian, perhaps not by birth, but I’ve been naturalized.’

  ‘And you live in Bergen?’

  ‘Tromsø, near the Lofoten islands.’

  ‘Are you a businessman?’

  ‘I own a factory for processing waste products from cod-fishing.’

  ‘Including, for example, salted cod’s roe.’

  ‘The roe and other things. With the heads and livers we make oil. With the bones, fertilizer.’

  ‘Perfect! That’s just perfect! Now all I need to know is what you were doing in Ouistreham on the night of the 16th of September.’

  Without turning a hair, the man looked slowly around and said, ‘I was not in Ouistreham.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘And where were you? What I mean is,’ he said with a smile, ‘would you be able, out of the blue, to say what you were doing at a given hour on a given day after more than a month had gone by?’

  ‘Were you in Norway?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Look.’

  And Maigret held out to him the gold fountain-pen, which the Norwegian put in his pocket as calmly as you please.

  ‘Thank you.’

  He was a really good-looking man, the mayor’s age and height, but slimmer, yet muscular. His dark eyes were intensely alive. And the smile on his thin lips betrayed his immense self-confidence.

  Politely, pleasantly, he answered the inspector’s questions.

  ‘I rather feel there must be some mistake, and I’d very much like to continue on my way to Paris.’

  ‘That’s a different matter. Where did you first meet Big Louis?’

  Maigret was disappointed: the man’s eyes did not flick over to the sailor.

  ‘Big Louis?’ he repeated.

  ‘You met Joris during his voyages as a merchant ship captain?’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t understand.’

  ‘Evidently! And if I ask you why you preferred to sleep aboard a laid-up dredger instead of in a hotel you’ll look at me with big round eyes
…’

  ‘Certainly. Well, put yourself in my place.’

  ‘Yet you arrived yesterday in Ouistreham on the Saint-Michel. You came ashore in the dinghy before she entered the harbour. You holed up in the dredger and spent the night there. This afternoon, you walked around this very villa, then … borrowed a bicycle and sped off to Caen. Purchased a car. Left for Paris. Is it Madame Grandmaison you were going to join at the Hôtel de Lutèce? If so, don’t bother to continue your journey. Unless I’m much mistaken, she’ll arrive here later tonight.’

  Silence. The mayor had become a statue, and his stare was so vacant that it seemed devoid of life. Big Louis was scratching his head and yawning, still astride his chair, with everyone else standing around him.

  ‘So your name is Martineau?’

  ‘Jean Martineau, yes.’

  ‘Well, Monsieur Jean Martineau, why don’t you think things over? Consider whether you might not have something to tell me after all. The chances are good that someone here in this room will one day be committed for trial.’

  ‘Not only have I nothing to say to you, but I would like permission to contact my consul so that he may take the usual steps …’

  That made two of them! Grandmaison had threatened to file a complaint; Martineau was going to follow suit. Only Big Louis wasn’t trying to warn him off, instead reacting philosophically to whatever happened, as long as there was something to drink.

  Outside the tempest was raging and, at high tide, it had reached its full strength.

  What Lucas thought showed in his face: ‘Now we’re in hot water! Either we come up with something, or we’re cooked.’

  Maigret was tramping up and down the room, puffing ferociously at his pipe.

  ‘So neither of you knows anything about Captain Joris’ disappearance or his death?’

  Grandmaison and Martineau shook their heads. Silence. Maigret kept looking over at Martineau.

  Then, hurried footsteps outside; a nervous rapping at the front door. After a moment’s hesitation, Lucas went to open it. Someone ran in: Julie, all out of breath, who gasped, ‘Inspector … My … My brother …’

  And she was struck dumb at the sight of Big Louis, who stood up, dwarfing her with his great size.

  ‘Your brother?’ Maigret prompted her.