The Grand Banks Café

by Georges Simenon

  Cod was still being extracted from the gaping hold in the glare of the acetylene lamps. But Maigret had had enough of trucks, dockers, the quays, the jetties and the lighthouse.

  He was standing on a world of plated steel and, half-closing his eyes, he imagined being out on the open sea, in a field of surging swells through which the bows ploughed an endless furrow, hour after hour, day after day, week after week.

  ‘Don’t imagine we walk around like we’re doing now …’

  Men below serving the engines. Men in the forward crew quarters. And on the after deck, a handful of God’s creatures: the captain, his first mate, the chief mechanic and the wireless operator.

  A small binnacle light to see the compass by. Charts spread out.

  Three months!

  When they’d got back, Captain Fallut had written his will, in which he stated his intention to put an end to his life.

  An hour after they’d berthed, he’d been strangled and dumped in the harbour.

  And Madame Bernard, his landlady, was left grieving because now there would be no marriage of two ideally suited people. The chief mechanic shouted at his wife. The girl called Adèle defied an unknown man, but ran off with him the moment Maigret held a picture of herself scribbled on in red ink under her nose.

  And in his prison cell the wireless operator Le Clinche in a foul temper.

  The boat hardly moved. Just a gentle motion, like a chest breathing. One of the three men he’d seen in the foredeck was playing the accordion.

  As he turned his head, Maigret made out the shapes of two women on the quayside. Suddenly galvanized, he hurried down the gangway.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  He felt his face burn because he had sounded gruff, but especially because he was aware that he too was being infected by the frenzy which filled all those involved in the case.

  ‘We wanted to see the boat,’ said Madame Maigret with disarming self-effacement.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ said Marie Léonnec. ‘I was the one who insisted on …’

  ‘All right! That’s fine! Have you eaten?’

  ‘It’s ten o’clock … Have you?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  The windows of the Grand Banks Café were more or less the only ones still lit. A few shadowy figures could be made out on the jetty: tourists dutifully out for their evening stroll.

  ‘Have you found out anything?’ asked Le Clinche’s fiancée.

  ‘Not yet. Or rather, not much.’

  ‘I don’t dare ask you a favour.’

  ‘You can always ask.’

  ‘I’d like to see Pierre’s cabin. Could I?’

  He shrugged and took her there. Madame Maigret refused to walk over the gangway.

  Literally a metal box. Wireless equipment. A steel table, a seat and a bunk. Hanging on a wall, a picture of Marie Léonnec in Breton costume. Old shoes on the floor and a pair of trousers on the bed.

  The girl inhaled the atmosphere with a mixture of curiosity and delight.

  ‘Yes! But it isn’t at all how I’d imagined. His shoes have never been cleaned … Oh look! He kept drinking from the same glass without ever washing it …’

  A strange girl! An amalgam of shyness, delicacy and a good upbringing on the one hand and dynamism and fearlessness on the other. She hesitated.

  ‘And the captain’s cabin?’

  Maigret smiled faintly, for he realized that deep down she was hoping to make a discovery. He led the way. He even fetched a lantern he found on deck.

  ‘How can they live with this smell?’ she sighed.

  She looked carefully around her. He saw her become flustered and shy as she said:

  ‘Why has the bed been raised up?’

  Maigret stopped drawing on his pipe. She was right. All the crew slept in berths which were more or less part of the architectural structure of the boat. Only the captain had a metal bed.

  Under each of its legs a wooden block had been placed.

  ‘You don’t think that’s strange? It’s as if …’

  ‘Go on.’

  All trace of ill-humour had gone. Maigret saw the girl’s pale face lighten as her mind worked and her elation grew.

  ‘It’s as if … but you’ll only laugh at me … as if the bed’s been propped up so that someone could hide underneath … Without those pieces of wood, the bedstead would be much too low, but the way it is now …’

  And before he could stop her, she lay down flat on the floor regardless of the dirt on the floor and slid under the bed.

  ‘There’s enough room!’ she said.

  ‘Right. You can come out now.’

  ‘Just a minute, if you don’t mind. Pass me that lamp for a minute, inspector.’

  She went quiet. He couldn’t work out what she was doing. He lost patience.

  ‘Well?’

  She reappeared suddenly, her grey suit covered with dust and eyes shining.

  ‘Pull the bed out … You’ll see.’

  Her voice broke. Her hands shook. Maigret yanked the bed away from the wall and looked at the floor.

  ‘I can’t see anything …’

  When she didn’t answer he turned and saw that she was crying.

  ‘What did you see? Why are you crying?’

  ‘There … Read it.’

  He had to bend down and place the lamp against the wall. Then he could make out words scratched on the wood with a sharp object, a pin or a nail.

  Gaston – Octave – Pierre – Hen …

  The last word was unfinished. And yet it did not look as if it had been done in a hurry. Some of the letters must have taken an hour to inscribe. There were flourishes, little strokes, the sort of doodling that’s done in an idle moment.

  A comic note was struck by two stag’s antlers above the name ‘Octave’.

  The girl was sitting on the edge of the bed, which had been pulled into the middle of the cabin. She was still crying, in silence.

  ‘Very curious!’ muttered Maigret. ‘I’d like to know if …’

  At this point, she stood up and said excitedly:

  ‘Of course! That’s it! There was a woman here! She was hiding! … All the same, men would come looking for her … Wasn’t Captain Fallut called Octave?’

  The inspector had rarely been so taken off guard.

  ‘Don’t go jumping to conclusions!’ he said, though there was no conviction in his words.

  ‘But it’s all written down! … The whole story is there! Four men who …’

  What could he say to calm her down?

  ‘Look, I’ve a lot of experience, so take it from me. In police matters, you must always wait before making judgements … Only yesterday, you were telling me that Le Clinche is incapable of killing.’

  ‘Yes,’ she sobbed. ‘Yes, and I still believe it! Isn’t it …’

  She still clung desperately to her hopes.

  ‘His name is Pierre …’

  ‘I know. So what? One sailor in ten is called Pierre, and there were fifty men on board … There’s also a Gaston … And a Henry …’

  ‘So what do you think?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Are you going to tell the examining magistrate about this? And to think it was me who …’

  ‘Calm down! We haven’t found out anything, except that the bed was raised for one reason or another and that someone has written names on a wall.’

  ‘There was a woman there.’

  ‘Why a woman?’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Come on. Madame Maigret is waiting for us on the quay.’

  ‘You’re right.’

  She wiped her tears, meek now, and sniffled.

  ‘I shouldn’t have come … But I thought … But it’s not possible that Pierre … Listen! I must see him as soon as I can! I’ll talk to him, alone … You can arrange it, can’t you?’

  Before starting down the gangway, she looked back with eyes full of hate at the dark ship, which was no longer the same to her now that
she knew that a woman had been hiding on board.

  Madame Maigret watched her, intrigued.

  ‘Come! You mustn’t cry! You know everything will all turn out all right.’

  ‘No, it won’t,’ she said with a despairing shake of her head.

  She couldn’t speak. She could hardly breathe. She tried to look at the boat one more time. Madame Maigret, who did not understand what was going on, looked inquiringly at her husband.

  ‘Take her back to the hotel. Try and calm her down.’

  ‘Did something happen?’

  ‘Nothing specific. I expect I’ll be back quite late.’

  He watched them walk away. Marie Léonnec turned round a dozen times, and Madame Maigret had to drag her away like a child.

  Maigret thought about going back on board. But he was thirsty. There were still lights on in the Grand Banks Café.

  Four sailors were playing cards at a table. Near the counter, a young cadet had his arm round the waist of the serving girl, who giggled from time to time.

  The landlord was watching the card game and was offering suggestions.

  He greeted Maigret with: ‘Hello! You back again?’

  He did not look overjoyed to see him. The very opposite. He seemed rather put out.

  ‘Look sharp, Julie! Serve the inspector! Whatever’s your poison. It’s on me.’

  ‘Thanks. But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll order like any other customer.’

  ‘I didn’t want to get on the wrong side of you … I …’

  Was the day going to end with the mark of rage still on it? One of the sailors muttered something in his Norman dialect which Maigret translated roughly as:

  ‘Watch out, I smell more trouble.’

  The inspector looked him in the eye. The man reddened then stammered:

  ‘Clubs trumps!’

  ‘You should have played a spade,’ declared Louis for something to say.

  5. Adèle and Friend

  The phone rang. Léon snatched the receiver, then called Maigret. It was for him.

  ‘Hello?’ said a bored voice on the other end of the line. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Maigret? It’s the duty desk officer at Fécamp police station. I’ve just phoned your hotel. I was told you might be at the Grand Banks Café. I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. I’ve been glued to the phone for half an hour. I can’t get hold of the chief anywhere. As for the head of the Flying Squad, I’m wondering if he’s still actually here in Fécamp … Thing is, I’ve got a couple of odd customers who’ve just turned up saying they want to make statements, all very urgent, apparently. A man and a woman …’

  ‘Did they come in a grey car?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Are they the pair you’re looking for?’

  Ten minutes later, Maigret was at the police station. All the offices were closed except for the inquiries area, a room divided in two by a counter. Behind it the duty officer was writing. He smoked as he wrote. A man was waiting. He was sitting on a bench, elbows on knees, chin in his hands.

  And a woman was walking up and down, beating a tattoo on the floorboards with her high heels

  The moment the inspector appeared, she walked right up to him, and the man got to his feet with a sigh of relief and growled between gritted teeth:

  ‘And not a minute too soon!’

  It was indeed the couple from Yport, both a little crosser than during the domestic shouting-match Maigret had sat through.

  ‘Come next door with me.’

  Maigret showed them into the office of the chief inspector, sat down in his chair and filled a pipe while he took a good look at the pair.

  ‘Take a seat.’

  ‘No thanks,’ said the woman, who was clearly the more highly strung of the two. ‘What I’ve got to say won’t take long.’

  He now had a frontal view of her, lit by a strong electric light. He did not need to look too hard to situate her type. Her picture with the head removed had been enough.

  A good-looking girl, in the popular sense of the expression. A girl with alluring curves, good teeth, an inviting smile and a permanent come-hither look in her eye.

  More accurately, a real bitch, a tease, on the make, always ready to create a scandal or burst into gales of loud, vulgar laughter.

  Her blouse was pink silk. To it was pinned a large gold brooch as big as a 100-sou coin.

  ‘First off, I want to say …’

  ‘Excuse me,’ interrupted Maigret. ‘Please sit down as I’ve already asked. You will answer my questions.’

  She scowled. Her mouth turned ugly.

  ‘Look here! You’re forgetting I’m here because I’m prepared to …’

  Her companion scowled, irritated by her behaviour. They were made for each other. He was every inch the kind who is always seen with girls like her. His appearance was not exactly sinister. He was respectably dressed, though in bad taste. He wore large rings on his fingers and a pearl pin in his tie. Even so, the effect was disturbing. Perhaps because he gave off a sense of existing outside the established social norms.

  He was the type to be found at all times of day in bars and brasseries, drinking cheap champagne with working girls and living in third-class hotels.

  ‘You first. Name, address, occupation …’

  He started to get to his feet.

  ‘Sit down.’

  ‘I just want to say …’

  ‘Just say nothing. Name?’

  ‘Gaston Buzier. At present, I’m in the business of selling and renting out houses. I’m based mainly in Le Havre, in the Silver Ring Hotel.’

  ‘Are you a registered property agent?’

  ‘No, but …’

  ‘Do you work for an agency?’

  ‘Not exactly …’

  ‘That’s enough. In a word you dabble … What did you do before?’

  ‘I was a commercial traveller for a make of bicycle. I also sold sewing machines out in the sticks.’

  ‘Convictions?’

  ‘Don’t tell him, Gaston!’ the woman broke in. ‘You’ve got a nerve! It was us who came here to …’

  ‘Be quiet! Two convictions. One suspended for passing a dud cheque. For the other I got two months for not handing over to the owner an instalment I’d received on a house. Small-time stuff, as you see.’

  Even so, he gave the impression that he was used to having to deal with policemen. He stayed relaxed, with something in his eye that suggested he could turn nasty.

  ‘You next,’ said Maigret, turning to the woman.

  ‘Adèle Noirhomme. Born in Belleville.’

  ‘On the Vice Squad register?’

  ‘I was put on it five years ago in Strasbourg because some rich cow had it in for me on account of me having snatched her husband off her … But ever since …’

  ‘… you’ve never been bothered by the police! … Fine! … Now tell me in what capacity you signed on for a cruise on the Océan.’

  ‘First we’d better explain,’ the man replied, ‘because if we’re here, it means we’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. At Yport, Adèle told me you had a picture of her. She was sure you were going to arrest her. Our first thought was to hop it so we wouldn’t get into trouble. Because we both know the score. When we got to Étretat, I saw policemen stopping cars up ahead and I knew they’d go on looking for us. So I decided to come in voluntarily.’

  ‘Now you, lady! I asked what you were doing on board the trawler.’

  ‘Dead simple! I was following my boyfriend.’

  ‘Captain Fallut?’

  ‘Yes, the captain. I’d been with him, so to say, since last November. We met in Le Havre, in a bar. He fell for me. He used to come back to see me two or three times a week. Though from the start I thought he was a bit odd, because he never asked me to do anything. It’s true! He was ever so prissy, everything had to be just so! He set me up in a room in a nice little hotel, and I started thinking that if I played my cards right he’d end up marrying me. Sailors don’t get rich, but it’s steady money, and t
here’s a pension.’

  ‘Did you ever come to Fécamp with him?’

  ‘No. He wouldn’t have that. It was him who came to me. He was jealous. He was a decent enough sort who can’t have been around much because he was fifty and was as shy with women as a schoolboy. That plus the fact that he’d got me under his skin …’

  ‘Just a moment. Were you already the mistress of Gaston Buzier?’

  ‘Sure! But I’d introduced Gaston to Fallut. Said he was my brother.’

  ‘I see. So in short you were both being subsidized by the captain.’

  ‘I was working!’ protested Buzier.

  ‘I can see you now, hard at it every Saturday afternoon. And which of you came up with the scheme for sending you to sea on the boat?’

  ‘Fallut. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving me by myself while he was away playing sailors. But he was also scared witless, because the rules about that sort of thing are strict, and he was a stickler for rules. He held out until the very last minute. Then he came and fetched me. The night before he was to set sail, he took me to his cabin. I quite fancied the idea because it made a change. But if I’d known what it was going to be like, I’d have been off like a shot!’

  ‘Buzier didn’t try to stop you?’

  ‘He couldn’t make up his mind. Do you understand? We couldn’t go against what the old fool wanted. He’d promised me he’d retire as soon as he got back after that trip and marry me. But the whole set-up was nothing to write home about! It was no fun being cooped up all day in a cabin that stank of fish! And on top of that, every time anybody came in, I had to hide under the bed! We’d been at sea no time when Fallut start regretting he’d taken me along. I never saw a man have the jitters like him! A dozen times a day he’d check to see if he’d locked the door. If I spoke, he shut me up in case anyone overheard. He was grumpy, on pins … Sometimes he’d stare at me for minutes on end as if he was tempted to get rid of me by throwing me overboard.’

  Her voice was shrill, and she was waving her arms about.

  ‘Not to mention the fact that he got more and more jealous! He asked me about my past … he tried to find out … then he’d go three days without talking to me, spying on me like I was his enemy. Then all of a sudden, he’d be madly in love with me again. There were times when I was really scared of him!’