The Misty Harbour by Georges Simenon

business”!’
    ‘What was a filthy
     business?’ the inspector asked the ex-convict, but Big Louis simply looked him
     in the eye. They had moved closer and could now see each other’s faces. Big
     Louis’ features looked swollen; one cheek was
bigger than the other, or simply seemed so because of the
     way he always tilted his head to one side. Puffy flesh, and big eyes that seemed to
     start from his head.
    ‘You were here yesterday!’
     said the inspector sharply.
    The water was at the proper level; the
     upper gates were opening. The steamer moved smoothly into the canal, and Delcourt
     hurried over to record her tonnage and provenance.
    A voice shouted down from the bridge:
     ‘Nine hundred tons! … Rouen!’
    The
Saint-Michel
remained in
     the lock, however, and each of the men stationed there to deal with her, aware that
     something unusual was happening, waited, wrapped in shadows, listening
     carefully.
    Delcourt returned, writing the necessary
     information in his notebook.
    ‘Well?’ asked Maigret
     impatiently.
    ‘Well, what?’ grumbled
     Louis. ‘You says I was here yesterday! That’s ’cause I
     was …’
    It was hard to understand him, because
     he had a peculiar way of chewing on his words with his mouth almost closed, as if he
     were eating. Not to mention his thick local accent …
    ‘Why did you come here?’
    ‘See my sister.’
    ‘And, not finding her at home, you
     left her a note.’
    In the meantime, Maigret was stealthily
     observing the schooner’s captain, who was dressed just like Louis. There was
     nothing special about him; indeed, he seemed more like a seasoned bosun’s mate
     than the skipper of a coaster.
    ‘We were
     three days at Fécamp for repairs,’ the man now piped up, ‘so Louis
     grabbed his chance to come here and see Julie!’
    All around the lock, the men on duty
     must have been straining to listen in, keeping as quiet as possible. The fog horn
     still moaned in the distance, and the fog itself was growing wetter, leaving the
     cobblestones black and gleaming.
    A hatchway opened in the
     schooner’s deck, and a man’s head emerged, with unkempt hair and a bushy
     beard.
    ‘What’s wrong? Why’re
     we sitting here?’
    ‘Shut it, Célestin!’ said
     his skipper quickly.
    Delcourt was stamping up and down the
     quay to warm himself up – and perhaps to save face as well, for he didn’t know
     if he should stay there or not.
    ‘Louis, what made you think that
     Joris was in danger?’
    ‘Huh!’ said Louis, and
     shrugged. ‘He’d already had his skull stove in, hadn’t he, so it
     wasn’t hard to work out.’
    It was so difficult to make out the
     syllables all mashed together in the man’s grunting that Maigret could have
     done with an interpreter.
    The atmosphere felt intensely
     uncomfortable and in a way, mysteriously threatening.
    Louis looked towards the cottage but
     couldn’t see a thing, not even a darker patch in the night.
    ‘She’s there, our
     Julie?’
    ‘Yes. Are you going to go and see
     her?’
    Louis shook his head with big sweeps,
     like a bear.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Sure she’ll cry.’
    It sounded like
     ‘Shore shale crah’ – and in the disgusted tone of a man who can’t
     take the sight of tears.
    They were still standing there; the fog
     was thickening, soaking their shoulders, and Delcourt decided to intervene.
    ‘Anyone for a drink?’
    A lock worker chimed in, off at his post
     in the darkness.
    ‘They just closed the
     bar!’
    ‘We could go below to the cabin,
     if you like,’ offered the
Saint-Michel
’s captain.
    There were four of them: Maigret,
     Delcourt, Big Louis and the skipper, whose name was Lannec. The cabin wasn’t
     large, and the small stove gave off heat so intense that the air was hazy with
     humidity. The paraffin lamp, set in gimbals, looked almost red hot.
    Cabin walls of varnished pitch pine. A
     scarred oak table, so worn that the entire surface was uneven. Dirty dishes