‘Naturally you’ve already made inquiries about me.’
He looked round for an ashtray, failed to locate one and flicked his ash on to the floor.
‘Not much to write home about, eh? But I’ve never claimed to be a saint. Anyway the colonel tells me what a rotter I am three times a day.’
What was remarkable about this was the completely frank expression on his face. Maigret was forced to admit that he was beginning to warm to Willy, who he hadn’t been able to stomach at first.
A strange mixture. Sly and foxy. Yet at the same time a spark of decency which redeemed the rest, plus an engaging touch of humour.
‘But you will have noted that I went to Eton, like the Prince of Wales. If we’d been the same age, we would have been the best of pals. But the truth is my father is a fig wholesaler in Smyrna. I can’t bear the thought! I’ve been in some scrapes. The mother of one of my Eton friends, if you must know, got me out of one of them.
‘You do understand if I don’t give you her name, don’t you? A delectable lady … But her husband became a government minister, and she was afraid of compromising his position.
‘After that … They must have told you about Monaco, then that unpleasantness in Nice. Actually the truth isn’t as bad as all that … Here’s a tip: never believe anything you’re told by a middle-aged American woman who lives it up on the Riviera and has a husband who arrives unexpectedly from Chicago. Stolen jewels have not always been stolen. But let’s move on.
‘Now, about the necklace. Either you know already or maybe you’ve not yet heard. I would have preferred to talk to you about it last night, but in the circumstances it might not have been the decent thing to do.
‘The colonel is nothing if not a gentleman. He may be a touch over-fond of whisky, I grant. But he has some justification.
‘He should have ended up a general. He was one of the men most in the public eye in Lima. But there was a scandal involving a woman, the wife of a highly placed local bigwig, and he was pensioned off.
‘You’ve seen him. A magnificent specimen, with vigorous appetites. Out there, he had thirty native boys, orderlies, secretaries and God knows how many cars and horses for his own use.
‘Then all of a sudden, all gone! Something like a hundred thousand francs a year, wiped out.
‘Did I say that he’d already been married twice before he met Mary? His first wife died in India. Second time round, he got a divorce by taking all the fault on himself after finding his lady in bed with one of the boys.
‘A real gentlemen!’
Willy, now leaning well back, was swinging one leg lethargically, while Maigret, his pipe between his teeth, stood with his back against the wall without moving.
‘That’s how it goes. Nowadays, he passes the time as well as he can. Down at Porquerolles, he lives in his old fort, which the locals call the Petit Langoustier. When he’s saved up enough money, he goes to Paris or London.
‘And just think that in India he used to give dinners for thirty or forty guests every week!’
‘Was it about the colonel you wanted to talk to me?’ murmured Maigret.
Willy did not bat an eyelid.
‘Actually, I was trying to put you in the picture. I mean, you’ve never lived in India or London or had thirty native servants and God knows how many pretty girls at your beck and call … I’m not trying to get under your skin …
‘Be that as it may, I met him two years ago.
‘You didn’t know Mary when she was alive … An adorable creature but a brain like a bird’s … And a touch loud. If you weren’t waiting hand and foot on her all the time, she’d have a fit or cause a scene.
‘By the way, do you know how old the colonel is? Sixty-eight.
‘She wore him out, if you follow me. She happily indulged his fantasies – he’s not past it yet! – but she could be a bit of a nuisance.
‘Then she got a thing about me. I quite liked her.’
‘I take it that Madame Negretti is Sir Walter’s mistress?’
‘Yes,’ the young man agreed with a scowl. ‘It’s hard to explain … He can’t live or drink on his own. He has to have people round him. We met her when we put in once at Bandol. The next morning, she didn’t leave. As far as he’s concerned, that was it. She’ll stay as long as she likes.
‘But me, I’m different. I’m one of those rare men who can hold his whisky as well as the colonel.
‘Except perhaps for Vladimir, who you’ve seen. Nine times out of ten, he’s the one who puts us both to bed in our bunks.
‘I don’t know if you have grasped my position. It’s true that I have no material worries. Still, there are times when we get stuck in a port for a fortnight waiting for a cheque from London so that we can buy petrol!
‘Yes, and that necklace, which I shall come back to in a moment, has seen the inside of a pawnshop a score of times.
‘Never mind! The whisky rarely runs out.
‘It’s not exactly a lavish lifestyle. But we sleep for as long as we want. We come and we go.
‘Speaking personally, I much prefer it to being knee-deep in my father’s figs.
‘At the beginning, the colonel bought several items of jewellery for his wife. From time to time she would ask him for money.
‘To buy clothes and so that she had a little pocket-money, if you follow me.
‘But whatever you might think, I swear I got a colossal shock yesterday when I realized it was her in that awful photo! So did the colonel, actually … But he’d go through fire and water rather than show his feelings. That’s his style. And so very English!
‘When we left Paris last week – it’s Tuesday today, isn’t it – the cash was running low. The colonel sent a cable to London asking for an advance on his pension. We waited for it at Épernay. The draft arrived at around this time of day, I think.
‘Thing is, I’d left a few debts unpaid in Paris. I’d asked Mary once or twice why she didn’t sell her necklace. She could easily have told her husband she’d lost it or said it had been stolen.
‘Thursday evening was the party, as you know. But you really shouldn’t get any wrong ideas about what went on. The moment Lampson catches sight of pretty women, he has to invite them on board.
‘Then a couple of hours later, when he’s had too much to drink, he tells me to get rid of them as cheaply as possible.
‘On Thursday, Mary got up much earlier than usual, and by the time we’d all staggered out of our bunks, she’d already gone outside.
‘After lunch, there was a brief moment when the two of us were alone. She was very affectionate. Affectionate in a special way, a sad way.
‘At one point, she put her necklace in my hand and said: “Just sell it.”
‘I’m sorry if you don’t believe me … I felt awkward, had a qualm or two. If you’d known her, you’d understand.
‘Although she could be a real bitch at times, at others she could be quite touching.
‘Don’t forget that she was over forty. She was looking out for herself. But she must have had an inkling that her time had gone.
‘Then someone came in. I slipped the necklace into my pocket. In the evening, the colonel dragged us all off to the palais de danse, and Mary stayed on board by herself.
‘When we got back, she wasn’t there. Lampson wasn’t worried. It wasn’t the first time she’d run off like that.
‘And not for the reasons you might think. On one occasion, for instance, during the festival of Porquerolles, there was a rather jolly orgy at the Petit Langoustier which lasted the best part of a week. For the first couple of days, Mary was the life and soul of the party. But on day three, she disappeared.
‘And do you know where we found her? Staying at an inn at Giens, where she was happily passing the time playing mummies with a couple of unwash
ed brats.
‘I was not comfortable with the business of the necklace. On Friday, I went up to Paris. I nearly sold it. But then I told myself that if there were problems I could land myself in serious trouble.
‘Then I remembered the two girls from the night before. With girls like that, you can get away with anything. Besides, I’d already met Lia in Nice and knew I could count on her.
‘I gave the necklace to her. Just in case, I told her that if anyone asked, she was to say that Mary herself had given it to her to sell.
‘It’s as simple as that, and very stupid! I would have been far better off keeping quiet. All the same, if I come up against policemen who aren’t very bright, it’s the sort of thing that could well land me in court.
‘I realized this yesterday the minute I heard that Mary had been strangled.
‘I won’t ask you what you think. To be honest, I’m expecting to be arrested.
‘That would be a mistake, a big mistake! Look, if you want me to help, I’m ready to lend you a hand.
‘There are things that may strike you as odd but are quite straightforward really.’
He was now almost flat on the bed, still smoking, with his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Maigret took up a position by the window to cover his perplexity.
‘Does the colonel know that you’re here telling me all this?’ he asked, turning round suddenly.
‘No more than he knows about the business with the necklace. Actually, though I’m obviously in no position to ask, I would prefer if he went on not knowing.’
‘And Madame Negretti?’
‘A dead weight. A beautiful woman who is incapable of existing except on a couch, smoking cigarettes and drinking sweet liqueurs. She started the day she first came on board and has been doing it ever since … Oh sorry: she also plays cards. I think it’s the only thing that really interests her.’
The screech of rusted iron indicated that the lock gates were being opened. Two mules trudged past the front of the house then stopped a little further on, while an empty barge continued moving, swinging as it lost way, looking as though it were trying to climb up the bank.
Vladimir, bent double, was baling out the rainwater which threatened to swamp the dinghy.
A car crossed the stone bridge, attempted to drive on to the towpath, stopped, then made several clumsy attempts to turn before coming to a complete stop.
A man dressed all in black got out. Willy, who had got off the bed, glanced out of the window and said:
‘It’s the undertaker.’
‘When is the colonel thinking of leaving?’
‘Immediately after the funeral.’
‘Which will take place here?’
‘Anywhere’ll do! He already has one wife buried near Lima and another now married to a New Yorker who will finish up under six feet of American soil.’
Maigret glanced across at him instinctively, as if he was trying to work out if he was joking. But Willy Marco was perfectly serious, though that little ambiguous spark still flickered in his eye.
‘If, that is, the money draft has come through! Otherwise, the funeral will have to wait.’
The man in black halted uncertainly by the yacht, put a question to Vladimir, who answered without stopping what he was doing, then finally climbed aboard and vanished into the cabin.
Maigret had not seen Lucas come out.
‘You’d better go,’ he said to Willy.
Willy hesitated. For a moment, a look of anxiety flitted across his face.
‘Are you going to ask him about the necklace?’
‘I don’t know.’
The moment had passed. Willy, his usual cool self once more, knocked out the dent in his felt hat, waved a goodbye with one hand and went downstairs.
When, shortly after, Maigret followed him down, there were two bargees leaning on the bar nursing bottles of beer.
‘Your mate’s on the phone,’ said the landlord. ‘Asked for a Moulins number.’
A tug sounded its hooter several times in the distance. Maigret counted mechanically and muttered:
‘Five.’
On the canal it was business as usual. Five barges approaching. The lock-keeper, wearing clogs, emerged from his house and made for the sluices.
Lucas came out of the phone booth. His face was red.
‘Whew! That was hard work …’
‘What is it?’
‘The colonel told me his wife’s maiden name was Marie Dupin. For the wedding, she produced a birth certificate with that name on it issued at Moulins. Now I’ve just phoned them there, pulling rank …’
‘And?’
‘There’s only one Marie Dupin on their register. She is forty-two years old, has three children and is married to a man called Piedbœuf, who is a baker in the high street. The clerk in the town hall I talked to said she had seen her serving in the shop only yesterday. Apparently she weighs all of 180 pounds.’
Maigret said nothing. Looking like a well-to-do bystander with time on his hands, he wandered over to the lock without another thought for his companion and followed every stage of the operation closely. All the while, one thumb angrily tamped down the tobacco in his pipe.
A little later, Vladimir approached the lock-keeper. He touched his white forage cap with one hand and asked where he could fill up with fresh water.
5. The YCF Badge
Maigret had gone to bed early, while Inspector Lucas, who had his orders, went off to Meaux, Paris and Moulins.
When he left the bar, there had been three customers, two bargees and the wife of one of them who had joined her husband and was sitting in a corner, knitting.
The atmosphere was cheerless and heavy. Outside, a barge had tied up less than two metres from the Southern Cross, whose portholes were all lit up.
Now, suddenly, the inspector was dragged from a dream so confused that even as he opened his eyes he could remember nothing of it. Someone was knocking urgently on his door, and a voice was calling in a panic:
‘Inspector! Inspector! Come quickly! My father …’
He ran to the door in his pyjamas and opened it. Outside he was surprised to see the landlord’s daughter looking distraught. She leaped on him and literally buried herself in his arms.
‘Ah! … You must go, hurry! … No, stay here! … Don’t leave me by myself! … I couldn’t bear it! … I’m scared! …’
He had never paid much attention to her. He’d thought she was a sturdy girl, well upholstered, but without a nerve in her body.
And here she was, face convulsed, heaving for breath, hanging on to him with an insistence that was embarrassing. Still trying to extricate himself, he moved towards the window and opened it.
It was probably about six in the morning. It was barely first light and cold as a winter dawn.
A hundred metres beyond the Southern Cross, in the direction of the stone bridge and the Épernay road, four or five men were using a heavy boat hook to fish out something floating in the water, while one of the barge men untied his dinghy and began rowing across.
Maigret’s pyjamas had seen better days. He threw his overcoat over his shoulders, located his ankle boots and inserted his bare feet into them.
‘You realize … It’s him! … They’ve …’
With a sudden movement, he broke free of the clutches of this strange girl, hurried down the stairs and was going outside just as a woman carrying a baby in her arms was bearing down on the group.
He hadn’t been there when Mary Lampson’s body had been found. But this new discovery was if anything more grim because, as an effect of this recurrence of crime, a feeling of almost mystical anguish now hung over this stretch of the canal.
The men called to each other. The landlord of the Café de la Marine, who had been first to spot a bo
dy floating in the water, was directing operations.
Twice the boat hook had snagged the corpse and each time the metal end had slipped. Each time, the body had dipped a few centimetres before returning to the surface.
Maigret had already recognized Willy’s dark suit. He could not see the face because the head, being heavier, remained submerged.
The man in the dinghy suddenly nudged it, grabbed the body by the chest and raised it with one hand. But he had to haul it over the side of the boat.
The man was not squeamish. He lifted the legs one after the other, threw his mooring rope on to the bank then wiped his streaming forehead with the back of his hand.
For one moment, Maigret had a glimpse of Vladimir’s sleep-dulled head appearing through a hatch on the yacht. The Russian rubbed his eyes. Then he vanished.
‘Don’t touch anything!’
Behind him, one of the men protested, saying that back in Alsace his brother-in-law had been revived after being in the water for nearly three hours.
The landlord of the café pointed to the corpse’s throat. There was no doubt: two finger marks, black, just like the ones on the neck of Mary Lampson.
This death was the more shocking of the two. Willy’s eyes were wide open, looking much, much larger than usual. His right hand was still clutching a handful of reeds.
Maigret suddenly sensed an unexpected presence behind him. He turned and saw the colonel, also in pyjamas with a silk dressing gown thrown over them and blue kid slippers on his feet.
His silver hair was dishevelled and his face slightly puffy. He was a strange sight dressed like that, surrounded by canal men wearing clogs and thick coarse clothes, in the mud and damp of the early morning.
He was the tallest and broadest there. He gave off a faint whiff of eau de Cologne.
‘It’s Willy!’ he said in a hoarse whisper.
Then he said a few words in English, too fast for Maigret to understand, bent down and touched the face of the young man.
The girl who had woken the inspector was leaning on the café door for support, sobbing. The lock-keeper came running.
The Carter of ’La Providence’ Page 5