The Misty Harbour (9 page)

‘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.'

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.

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 at 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.