The Carter of ’La Providence’ by Georges Simenon

inspector had time to wipe the sweat from his face
now that he had a glimpse of what looked like light at the end of the tunnel. He was breathing hard and was hot. He had just ridden fifty kilometres
without once stopping for a beer.
    â€˜Where is your bike now?’
    â€˜Open the sluices, will you, François?’ the lock-keeper shouted to a carter.
    He led Maigret to his house. The outside door opened straight into the kitchen, where men from the boats were drinking white wine which was being poured by a woman who did not put her baby down.
    â€˜You’re not going to report us, are you? Selling alcohol isn’t allowed. But everybody does it. It’s just to do people a good turn. Here we are.’
    He pointed to a lean-to made of wooden boards clinging to one side of the house. It had no door.
    â€˜Here’s the bike. It’s the wife’s. Can you imagine, the nearest grocer’s is four kilometres from here? I’m always telling her to bring the bike in for the night. But she says it makes a mess in the house. But
I’ll say that whoever used it must be a rum sort. I would never have noticed it myself …
    â€˜But as a matter of fact, the day before yesterday, my nephew, who’s a mechanic at Rheims, was here for the day. The chain was broken. He mended it and at the same time cleaned the bike and oiled it.
    â€˜Yesterday no one used it. Oh, and he’d put a new tyre on the back wheel.
    â€˜Well, this morning, it was clean, though it had rained all night. And you’ve seen all that mud on the towpath.
    â€˜But the left pedal is bent, and the tyre looks as if it’s done at least a hundred kilometres.
    â€˜What do you make of it? The bike’s been a fair old way, no question. And whoever brought it back took the trouble to clean it.’
    â€˜Which boats were moored hereabouts?’
    â€˜Let me see … The
Madeleine
must have gone to La Chaussée, where the skipper’s brother-in-law runs a bistro. The
Miséricorde
was tied up here, under the lock …’
    â€˜On its way from Dizy?’
    â€˜No, she’s going downstream. Came from the Saône. I think there was just the
Providence
. She passed through last night around seven. Went on to Omey, two kilometres further along. There’s good mooring there.’
    â€˜Do you have another bike?’
    â€˜No. But this one is still rideable.’
    â€˜No it isn’t. You’re going to have to lock it up somewhere. Hire another one if you need to. Can I count on you?’
    The barge men were coming out of the kitchen. One of them called to the lock-keeper.
    â€˜Deserting your mates, Désiré?’
    â€˜Half a tick, I’m with this gentleman.’
    â€˜Where do you think I can catch up with the
Providence
?’
    â€˜Lemme see. She’ll still be making pretty good time. I’d be surprised if you’d be up with her before Vitry.’
    Maigret was about to leave. But he turned, came back, took a spanner from his tool bag and removed both pedals from the lock-keeper’s wife’s bicycle.
    As he set off, the pedals he had pushed into his pockets made two unsightly bulges in his jacket.
    The lock-keeper at Dizy had said to him jokingly:
    â€˜When it’s dry everywhere else, there are at least two places where you can be sure of seeing rain: here and Vitry-le-François.’
    Maigret was now getting near Vitry, and it was starting to rain again, a fine, lazy, never-ending drizzle.
    The look of the canal was now changing. Factories appeared on both banks, and the inspector rode for some time through a swarm of mill girls emerging from one of them.
    There were boats almost everywhere, some being unloaded, while others, which were lying up having their bilges emptied, were waiting.
    And here again were the small houses which marked the outskirts of a town, with rabbit hutches made from old packing-cases and pitiful gardens.
    Every