The Grand Banks Café

by Georges Simenon

  All this time, Buzier was facing him down, bristling with impatience and fury.

  ‘That’s right! Make him talk! But he’d better be telling the truth or else I swear I’ll …’

  ‘Hold your tongue! Well, Le Clinche?’

  The young man passed his hand over his brow and winced, literally, with pain.

  ‘I don’t know! He can go hang for all I care!’

  ‘But you did see a man wearing tan shoes attack Fallut.’

  ‘I forget.’

  ‘That’s what you said when you were first interviewed. That wasn’t very long ago. Are you sticking to what you said then?’

  ‘No, that is … Look, I saw a man wearing tan shoes. That’s all I saw, I don’t know if he was the murderer.’

  The longer the interview went on, the more confident Gaston Buzier, who also looked rather seedy after a night in the cells, became. He was now shifting his weight from one leg to the other, with one hand in his trouser pocket.

  ‘See? He’s backing down! He doesn’t dare repeat the lies he told you.’

  ‘Answer me this, Le Clinche. Thus far, we know for certain that there were two men near the trawler at the time when the captain was murdered: you were one, and Buzier the other. You say you didn’t kill anybody. Now, after pointing the finger at this man, you seem to be withdrawing the accusation. So was there a third person there? If so, then it is impossible you could not have seen him. So who was it?’

  Silence. Pierre Le Clinche continued to stare at the ground.

  Maigret, still leaning with elbows propped up on the fireplace, had taken no part in the interrogation, happy to leave it to his colleague and content just to observe the two men.

  ‘I repeat the question: was there a third person on the quay?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said the prisoner in a crushed voice.

  ‘Is that a yes?’

  A shrug of the shoulder which meant: ‘As you wish.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘It was dark.’

  ‘In that case tell me why you said the murderer was wearing tan shoes … Wasn’t it a way of drawing attention away from the real murderer who was someone you knew?’

  The young man clutched his head in both hands.

  ‘I can’t take any more!’ he groaned.

  ‘Answer me!’

  ‘No! You can do what you like …’

  ‘Bring in the next witness.’

  The moment the door was open, Adèle walked through it with an exaggerated swagger. She swept the room with one glance to get a sense of what had been going on. Her eye lingered in particular on the wireless operator, whom she seemed shocked to see looking so defeated.

  ‘I assume, Le Clinche, that you recognize this woman, whom Captain Fallut hid in his cabin throughout the entire voyage and with whom you were intimate.’

  He looked at her coldly. Yet already Adèle’s lips were parting and preparing to frame a captivating smile.

  ‘That’s her.’

  ‘To cut a long story short, there were three of you on board, who, in plain language, were sniffing around her: the captain, the chief mechanic and you. You went to bed with her at least once. The chief mechanic got nowhere. Was the captain aware that you had deceived him?’

  ‘He never spoke to me about it.’

  ‘He was very jealous, wasn’t he? And it was because he was so jealous that he didn’t speak to you for three months?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No? Was there some other reason?’

  Now he was red-faced, not knowing which way to look, talking too fast:

  ‘Well it could have been that. I don’t know …’

  ‘What else was there between you that might have created hatred or suspicion?’

  ‘I … There wasn’t anything … You’re right, he was jealous.’

  ‘What feelings did you have that led you to become Adèle’s lover?’

  A silence.

  ‘Were you in love with her?’

  ‘No,’ he sighed in a small dry voice.

  But the woman screeched:

  ‘Thanks a million! Always the gentleman, eh? But that didn’t stop you hanging round me until the very last day! Isn’t that the truth? And it’s also true that you probably had another girl waiting for you on shore!’

  Gaston Buzier pretended to be whistling under his breath, with his fingers hooked in the arm-holes of his waistcoat.

  ‘Tell me again, Le Clinche, if, when you went on board after witnessing the death of the captain, Adèle was still locked inside her cabin.’

  ‘Locked in, yes!’

  ‘So she couldn’t have killed anyone.’

  ‘No! It wasn’t her, I swear!’

  Le Clinche was getting ruffled. But Chief Inspector Girard went on remorselessly:

  ‘Buzier states that he didn’t kill anybody. But, after accusing him, you withdraw the accusation … Another way of looking at it is that the pair of you were in it together.’

  ‘Oh very nice, I must say!’ cried Buzier in a burst of brutal contempt. ‘When I take up crime, it won’t be with a … a …’

  ‘All right! Both of you could have killed because you were jealous. Both of you had been sleeping with Adèle.’

  Buzier said with a sneer:

  ‘Me jealous! Jealous of what?’

  ‘Have any of you anything further to add? You first, Le Clinche.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Buzier?’

  ‘I wish to state that I am innocent and demand to be released immediately.’

  ‘And you?’

  Adèle was putting on fresh lipstick.

  ‘Me …’ – a thick stroke of lipstick – ‘… I …’ – a look in her mirror – ‘… I’ve nothing to say, not a thing … All men are skunks! You heard that boy there, the one I’m supposed to have been prepared to do silly things for … It’s no good looking at me like that, Gaston. Now if you want my opinion, there’s things we know nothing about in this business with the boat. The minute you found out a woman had been on board, you thought it explained everything … But what if there was something else?’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘How should I know? I’m not a detective …’

  She crammed her hair under her red straw toque. Maigret saw Pierre Le Clinche look away.

  ‘The two chief inspectors exchanged glances. Girard said:

  ‘Le Clinche will be returned to his cell. You two will stay in the waiting room … I’ll let you know whether you are free to go or not in a quarter of an hour.’

  The two detectives were left alone. Both looked worried.

  ‘Are you going to ask the magistrate to let them go?’ asked Maigret.

  ‘Yes. I think it’s the best thing. They may be mixed up in the killing, but there are other things we may be missing …’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Hello, operator? Get me the law courts at Le Havre … Hello? … Yes, public prosecutor’s office please …’

  A few moments later, while Chief Inspector Girard was talking to the magistrate, there was the sound of a disturbance outside. Maigret ran to see what was happening and saw Le Clinche on the ground, struggling with three uniformed officers.

  He was terrifyingly out of control. His eyes were bloodshot and looked wild and staring. Spittle drooled from his mouth. But he was being held down now and couldn’t move.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘We hadn’t ’cuffed him, seeing as how he was always so quiet … Anyway, as we were moving him down the corridor, he made a grab for the gun in my belt … He got it … was going to use it to kill himself … I stopped him firing it.’

  Le Clinche lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling. His teeth were digging into the flesh of his lips, reddening his saliva with blood.

  But most disturbing were the tears which streamed down his leaden cheeks.

  ‘Maybe get the doctor …?’

  ‘No! Let him go!’ barked Maigret.

  When the prisoner was alone on h
is back on the stone floor:

  ‘On your feet! … Look sharp now! … Get a move on! … And no antics … otherwise you’ll feel the back of my hand across your face, you miserable little brat!’

  The wireless operator did what he was told, unresistingly, fearfully. His whole body trembled with the aftershock. In falling he had dirtied his clothes.

  ‘How does your girlfriend fit into that little display?’

  Chief Inspector Girard appeared:

  ‘He agreed,’ he said. ‘All three are free to go, but they mustn’t leave Fécamp … What happened here?’

  ‘This moron tried to kill himself! If it’s all right with you, I’ll look after him.’

  The two of them were walking along the quays together. Le Clinche had splashed water over his face. It had not washed the crimson blotches away. His eyes were bright, feverish and his lips too red.

  He was wearing an off-the-peg suit with three buttons which he’d done up anyhow, not caring about what he looked like. His tie was badly knotted.

  Maigret, hands in pockets, walked grimly and kept muttering as if for his own benefit:

  ‘You’ve got to understand that I haven’t got time to tell you what you should and should not do, except for this: your fiancée is here. She’s a good kid, got a lot of grit. She dropped everything and came here all the way from Quimper. She’s moving heaven and earth … Maybe it wouldn’t be such a good idea to dash her hopes …’

  ‘Does she know?’

  ‘There’s no point in talking to her about that woman.’

  Maigret never stopped watching him. They reached the quays. The brightly coloured fishing boats were picked out by the sunshine. The streets nearby were busy.

  There were a few moments when Le Clinche seemed to be rediscovering his zest for life, and he looked hopefully at his surroundings with optimism. At others, his eyes hardened, and he glared angrily at people and things.

  They had to pass close by the Océan, now in the final day of unloading. There were still three trucks parked opposite the trawler.

  The inspector spoke casually as he gestured to various points in space.

  ‘You were there … Gaston Buzier was here … And it was on that spot that the third man strangled the captain.’

  Le Clinche breathed deeply, then looked away.

  ‘Only it was dark, and none of you knew who the others were. Anyway, the third man wasn’t the chief mechanic or the first mate. They were both with the crew in the Grand Banks Café.’

  The Breton, who was outside on deck, spotted the wireless operator, went over to the hatch and leaned his head in. Three sailors came out and looked at Le Clinche.

  ‘Come on,’ said Maigret. ‘Marie Léonnec is waiting for us.’

  ‘I can’t …’

  ‘What can’t you?’

  ‘Go there! … Please, leave me alone! … What’s it to you if I do kill myself? … Anyway, it would be best for all concerned!’

  ‘Is the secret so heavy to bear, Le Clinche?’

  No answer.

  ‘And you really can’t say anything, is that it? Of course you can. One thing: do you still want Adèle?’

  ‘I hate her!’

  ‘That’s not what I asked. I said want, the way you wanted her all the time you were at sea. Just between us men: had you had lots of girls before you met Marie Léonnec?’

  ‘No. Leastways nothing serious.’

  ‘And never deep urges? Wanting a woman so much you could weep?’

  ‘Never!’ he sighed and looked away.

  ‘So it started when you were on board ship. There was only one woman, the setting was uncouth, monotonous … Fragrant flesh in a trawler that stank of fish … You were about to say something?’

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘You forgot all about the girl you were engaged to?’

  ‘That’s not the same thing …’

  Maigret looked him in the eye and was astounded by the change that had just come over it. Suddenly the young man had acquired a determined tilt to his head, his gaze was steady, and his mouth bitter. And yet, for all that, there were traces of nostalgia and fond hopes in his expression.

  ‘Marie Léonnec is a pretty girl,’ Maigret went on in pursuit of his line of thought.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And much more refined than Adèle. Moreover, she loves you. She is ready to make any sacrifice for …’

  ‘Why don’t you leave it alone!’ said the wireless operator angrily. ‘You know very well … that …’

  ‘… that it’s something else! That Marie Léonnec is a good, well-brought-up girl, that she will make a model wife and a caring mother but … but there’ll always be something missing? Isn’t that so? Something more elemental, something you discovered on board shut away inside the captain’s cabin, when fear caught you by the throat, in the arms of Adèle. Something vulgar, brutal … The spirit of adventure! … And the desire to bite, to burn your bridges, to kill or die …’

  Le Clinche stared at him in amazement.

  ‘How did you …’

  ‘How do I know? Because everyone has had a sight of the same adventure come his way at least once in his life! … We cry hot tears, we shout, we rage! Then, a couple of weeks later, you look at Marie Léonnec and you wonder how on earth you could have fallen for someone like Adèle.’

  As he walked, the young man had been keeping his eyes firmly on the glinting water of the harbour. In it were reflected the reds, whites and greens that decorated the taffrails of boats.

  ‘The voyage is over. Adèle has gone. Marie Léonnec is here.’

  There was a moment of calm. Maigret went on:

  ‘The ending was dramatic. A man is dead because there was passion on that boat and …’

  But Le Clinche was again in the grip of wild ideas.

  ‘Stop it! Stop it!’ he repeated in a brittle voice. ‘No! Surely you can see it’s not possible …’

  He was haggard-eyed. He turned to see the trawler, which, almost empty now, sat high in the water, looming over them.

  Then his fears took hold of him once more.

  ‘I swear … You’ve got to let me alone …’

  ‘And on board, throughout the entire voyage, the captain was also stretched to breaking point, wasn’t he?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘And the chief mechanic too?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It wasn’t just the two of you. It was fear, Le Clinche, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know … Please leave me alone!’

  ‘Adèle was in the cabin. Three men were on the prowl. Yet the captain would not give in to his urges and refused to speak to his woman for days on end. And you, you looked in through the portholes but after just one encounter you never touched her again …’

  ‘Stop it!’

  ‘The men down in the bunkers, the crew in the foredeck, they were all talking about the evil eye. The voyage went from bad to worse, lurching from navigational errors to accidents. A ship’s boy lost overboard, two men injured, the cod going bad and the mess they made of entering the harbour …’

  They turned at the end of the quay, and the beach stretched out before them, with its neat breakwater, the hotels, beach-huts and multicoloured chairs dotted over the shingle.

  Madame Maigret in a deckchair was picked out by a patch of sunshine. Marie Léonnec, wearing a white hat, was sitting next to her.

  Le Clinche followed the direction of Maigret’s eyes and stopped suddenly. His temples looked damp.

  The inspector went on:

  ‘But it took more than a woman … Come on! Your fiancée has seen you.’

  And so she had. She stood up, remained motionless for a moment, as if her feelings were too much for her. And then she was running along the breakwater while Madame Maigret put down her needlework and waited.

  7. Like a Family

  It was one of those situations which crop up spontaneously from which it is difficult to get free. Marie Léonnec, al
one in Fécamp, had been placed under the wing of the Maigrets by a friend and had been taking her meals with them.

  But now her fiancé was there. All four of them were together on the beach when the hotel bell announced that it was time for lunch.

  Pierre Le Clinche hesitated for a moment and looked at the others in embarrassment.

  ‘Come on!’ said Maigret, ‘we’ll get them to lay another place.’

  He took his wife’s arm as they crossed the breakwater. The young couple followed, not speaking. Or rather, only Marie spoke and did so in a firm voice.

  ‘Any idea what she’s telling him?’ the inspector asked his wife.

  ‘Yes. She told me a dozen times this morning, to see if I thought it was all right. She’s telling him she’s not cross with him about anything, whatever it was that happened. You see? She’s not going to say anything about a woman. She’s pretending she doesn’t know, but she did say she’d be stressing the words whatever it was that happened. Poor girl! She’d go to the ends of the earth for him!’

  ‘Alas!’ sighed Maigret.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing … Is this our table?’

  Lunch passed off quietly, too quietly. The tables were set very closely together so that speaking in a normal voice was not really possible.

  Maigret avoided watching Le Clinche, to put him at his ease, but the wireless operator’s attitude gave him cause for concern, and it also worried Marie Léonnec, whose face had a pinched look to it.

  Her young man looked grim and depressed. He ate. He drank. He spoke when spoken to. But his thoughts were elsewhere. And more than once, hearing footsteps behind him, he jumped as if he sensed danger.

  The bay windows of the dining room were wide open, and through them could be seen the sun-flecked sea. It was hot. Le Clinche had his back to the view and from time to time, with a jerk of the head, would turn round quickly and scour the horizon.

  It was left to Madame Maigret to keep the conversation going, mainly by talking to the young woman about nothing in particular, to keep the silence at bay.

  Here they were far removed from unpleasant events. The setting was a family hotel. A reassuring clatter of plates and glasses. A half-bottle of Bordeaux on the table next to a bottle of mineral water.

  But then the manager made a mistake. He came up as they were finishing dessert and asked: