quarrel because of the deep voices and harsh syllables, they forgot about Maigret, who took some change from his pocket, then went off to bed in the Van Hasselt Hotel.
5. Jean Duclosâs Theories
From the hotel café, as he ate his breakfast next morning, Maigret witnessed the search, about which he had not been informed in advance. Admittedly, he hadnât attempted more than a brief meeting with the Dutch police.
It was about eight oâclock. The mist had not quite cleared, but one sensed that the sun was about to break through, ushering in a fine day. A Finnish cargo ship was leaving port, pulled by a tug. In front of the little café on the corner of the quayside, a large conclave of men had gathered, in their clogs and seamanâs caps, talking in small groups.
This was the daily commodities exchange of the
schippers
, the owners of the sea-going barges of every size, crowded with wives and children, which filled one basin in the harbour.
Further along stood another handful of men: the Quayside Rats. And two uniformed gendarmes had just arrived. They had stepped on to the deck of Oostingâs boat, and he himself had emerged from the forward hatch, since when he was in Delfzijl he always slept on board.
A man in civilian clothes now arrived: Inspector Pijpekamp, officially in charge of the case. He took off his hat and spoke politely. The two gendarmes vanished inside.
The search was beginning. All the
schippers
had seen it.
But there wasnât the slightest movement from them, not even any show of curiosity.
Nor did the Quayside Rats budge an inch. Just a few glances, that was all.
It lasted a good half-hour. When they emerged, the gendarmes gave a military salute. Pijpekamp seemed to be apologizing.
Only, this particular morning, the Baes did not seem to want to come ashore. Instead of joining his friends on the quay, he sat down on a thwart, crossed one leg over the other, looked out to sea, where the Finnish vessel was moving heavily along, and remained there motionless, smoking his pipe.
When Maigret turned round, Jean Duclos was coming downstairs from his room, carrying a briefcase and an armful of books and folders, which he placed on the table he had reserved.
He merely looked questioningly at Maigret, without any greeting.
âWell?â
âWell, I think I should wish you good morning.â
The other man stared at him in some surprise and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say: not worth getting bothered about.
âHave you discovered anything?â
âHave you?â
âYou know that, in theory, Iâm not supposed to leave here. Your Dutch colleague has fortunately understood that my knowledge might be helpful to him, so I have been kept
informed of the results of the investigation. Thatâs a practice the French police might like to take as an example â¦â
âOh for goodnessâ sake!â
The professor hurried towards Madame Van Hasselt as she entered the room with her hair in rollers, greeted her as he would have done in a polite drawing room and apparently enquired after her health.
Maigret looked at the papers spread out on the table and recognized a new set of plans and diagrams, not only of the Popinga house but of almost the whole town, with dotted lines drawn on them which must indicate the paths taken by certain persons.
The sun, shining through the multicoloured stained-glass windows, filled the glossy-panelled room with green, red and blue shafts of light. A brewerâs dray had pulled up at the door, and during the entire conversation that followed, two gigantic men were rolling barrels continuously across the floor under the eye of Madame Van Hasselt in her early-morning attire. Never had the mingled aromas of genever and beer been so overpowering. And never had Maigret been so aware of the smell of Holland.
âYouâve identified the murderer, then?â he asked with a sly smile, pointing to the papers.
A
5. Jean Duclosâs Theories
From the hotel café, as he ate his breakfast next morning, Maigret witnessed the search, about which he had not been informed in advance. Admittedly, he hadnât attempted more than a brief meeting with the Dutch police.
It was about eight oâclock. The mist had not quite cleared, but one sensed that the sun was about to break through, ushering in a fine day. A Finnish cargo ship was leaving port, pulled by a tug. In front of the little café on the corner of the quayside, a large conclave of men had gathered, in their clogs and seamanâs caps, talking in small groups.
This was the daily commodities exchange of the
schippers
, the owners of the sea-going barges of every size, crowded with wives and children, which filled one basin in the harbour.
Further along stood another handful of men: the Quayside Rats. And two uniformed gendarmes had just arrived. They had stepped on to the deck of Oostingâs boat, and he himself had emerged from the forward hatch, since when he was in Delfzijl he always slept on board.
A man in civilian clothes now arrived: Inspector Pijpekamp, officially in charge of the case. He took off his hat and spoke politely. The two gendarmes vanished inside.
The search was beginning. All the
schippers
had seen it.
But there wasnât the slightest movement from them, not even any show of curiosity.
Nor did the Quayside Rats budge an inch. Just a few glances, that was all.
It lasted a good half-hour. When they emerged, the gendarmes gave a military salute. Pijpekamp seemed to be apologizing.
Only, this particular morning, the Baes did not seem to want to come ashore. Instead of joining his friends on the quay, he sat down on a thwart, crossed one leg over the other, looked out to sea, where the Finnish vessel was moving heavily along, and remained there motionless, smoking his pipe.
When Maigret turned round, Jean Duclos was coming downstairs from his room, carrying a briefcase and an armful of books and folders, which he placed on the table he had reserved.
He merely looked questioningly at Maigret, without any greeting.
âWell?â
âWell, I think I should wish you good morning.â
The other man stared at him in some surprise and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say: not worth getting bothered about.
âHave you discovered anything?â
âHave you?â
âYou know that, in theory, Iâm not supposed to leave here. Your Dutch colleague has fortunately understood that my knowledge might be helpful to him, so I have been kept
informed of the results of the investigation. Thatâs a practice the French police might like to take as an example â¦â
âOh for goodnessâ sake!â
The professor hurried towards Madame Van Hasselt as she entered the room with her hair in rollers, greeted her as he would have done in a polite drawing room and apparently enquired after her health.
Maigret looked at the papers spread out on the table and recognized a new set of plans and diagrams, not only of the Popinga house but of almost the whole town, with dotted lines drawn on them which must indicate the paths taken by certain persons.
The sun, shining through the multicoloured stained-glass windows, filled the glossy-panelled room with green, red and blue shafts of light. A brewerâs dray had pulled up at the door, and during the entire conversation that followed, two gigantic men were rolling barrels continuously across the floor under the eye of Madame Van Hasselt in her early-morning attire. Never had the mingled aromas of genever and beer been so overpowering. And never had Maigret been so aware of the smell of Holland.
âYouâve identified the murderer, then?â he asked with a sly smile, pointing to the papers.
A
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