A Crime in Holland by Georges Simenon

claim you had seen a stranger lurking by the house. He probably told you that it was the only way to save a certain someone … Who?’
    â€˜I swear on the head of my mother he didn’t tell me who. I don’t know! I want to die!’
    â€˜Tut, tut! At eighteen, everyone wants to die. You don’t have any more questions, Monsieur Pijpekamp?’
    The Dutch officer shrugged his shoulders, a gesture signifying that he had no idea what was going on.
    â€˜All right, young man, you can be off now.’
    â€˜You know, it wasn’t Beetje …’
    â€˜Possibly. Time for you to run off and join your college friends.’
    And he pushed him outside, muttering:
    â€˜Next! Has Oosting arrived? Unfortunately that one doesn’t understand French.’
    The electric bell rang again. Presently, the duty officer brought in the Baes, who was holding his new cap as well as his pipe, which he had allowed to go out.
    He looked in only one direction, at Maigret. And, strange to say, his expression was reproachful. He stood in front of the Dutch inspector’s desk and greeted him.
    â€˜Would you mind asking him where he was when Popinga was shot?’
    Pijpekamp translated. Oosting embarked on a long speech that Maigret couldn’t understand, which didn’t prevent him interrupting.
    â€˜No! Stop him. Just get him to answer the question in a couple of words.’
    Pijpekamp translated. Another reproachful stare. And an answer, translated at once:
    â€˜On board his boat.’
    â€˜Tell him that is not true.’
    And Maigret paced up and down again, hands behind his back.
    â€˜What does he say to that?’
    â€˜He swears it’s true.’
    â€˜Right, well in that case, get him to tell you who stole his cap.’
    Pijpekamp was all docility. It is true that Maigret was now conveying the impression that he was in charge.
    â€˜Well?’
    â€˜He was in his cabin. Doing the accounts. He saw through the porthole some legs up on deck. He recognized a seaman’s trousers.’
    â€˜And he followed the man?’
    Oosting hesitated, half-shut his eyes, snapped his fingers and spoke volubly.
    â€˜What’s he saying?’
    â€˜That he prefers to tell the truth. That he is quite sure that his innocence will be recognized. By the time he got up on deck, the seaman was far away. He followed at a distance. And he was led along the Amsterdiep to a point near the Popinga house. Then the sailor hid. Oosting was intrigued, so he hid as well.’
    â€˜Did he hear the shot, an hour or two later?’
    â€˜Yes, but he couldn’t catch the man who was running away.’
    â€˜He saw the man enter the house?’
    â€˜The garden, at any rate. He supposes he must have climbed to the first floor, using the drainpipe.’
    Maigret smiled. The vague, contented smile of a man who is digesting his meal with total satisfaction.
    â€˜Would he recognize this man again?’
    Translation, shrug of shoulders.
    â€˜He doesn’t know.’
    â€˜He saw Barens spying on Beetje and his tutor?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜And since he was afraid he would be accused himself,
and since he also wanted to give the police a line to follow, he got Cornelius to testify on his behalf.’
    â€˜That’s what he says. But I don’t have to believe him, do I? He’s clearly guilty …’
    Jean Duclos was showing signs of impatience. Oosting was calm, a man who was now ready for anything. He spoke again and the policeman translated his words.
    â€˜He’s saying now that we can do what we like with him, but that Popinga was both his friend and his benefactor.’
    â€˜And what are you going to do?’
    â€˜Hold him in custody. He’s admitted he was there.’
    Still under the influence of the cognac, Pijpekamp’s voice was louder than usual, his gestures less controlled, and his decisions reflected this. He wanted to appear