The sun’s rays turned red. The leaves on the trees barely stirred. A canoe drifted downstream; its passenger, stripped to the waist, sat at the back, doing no more than lazily steer it with a paddle.
‘What time are the carriages due to arrive?’
Maigret hung around, feeling out of place.
‘Have the Bassos arrived?’
‘They passed us on the way!’
Suddenly, someone came and stood in front of Maigret, a man of about thirty, already nearly bald, his face made up like a clown’s. He had a mischievous glint in his eyes. He spoke with a pronounced English accent:
‘Here’s someone to play the notary!’
He wasn’t completely drunk. He wasn’t completely sober, either. The rays of the setting sun turned his face purple; his eyes were bluer than the river.
‘You’ll be the notary, won’t you?’ he asked with the familiarity of a drunkard. ‘Of course you will, old chap. We’ll have a great time.’
He took Maigret’s arm and added:
‘Let’s have a Pernod.’
Everyone laughed. A woman muttered:
‘He’s got a nerve, that James.’
But James wasn’t bothered. He dragged Maigret back to the Vieux-Garçon.
‘Two large Pernods!’
He was laughing at his own little joke as they were served two glasses full to the brim.
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The Dancer at the Gai-Moulin Page 14
