The Carter of ’La Providence’ by Georges Simenon Page B

bike?’
    â€˜Who, Jean? No!’
    She laughed and, resuming her work, she explained:
    â€˜I can’t see him getting on a bike, not with those little legs! My husband’s got one. But he hasn’t ridden a bike for over a year. Anyway I think the tyres have got punctures.’
    â€˜You spent last night at Omey?’
    â€˜That’s right! We always try to stay in a place where I can buy my groceries. Because if, worse luck, you have to make a stop during the day, there are always boats that will pass you and get ahead.’
    â€˜What time did you get there?’
    â€˜Around this time of day. We go more by the sun than by clock time, if you follow me. Another little drop? It’s gin. We bring some back from Belgium every trip.’
    â€˜Did you go to the shop?’
    â€˜Yes, while the men went for a drink. It must have been about eight when we went to bed.’
    â€˜Was Jean in the stable?’
    â€˜Where else would he have been? He’s only happy when he’s with his horses.’
    â€˜Did you hear any noises during the night?’
    â€˜Not a thing. At three, as usual, Jean came and made the coffee. It’s our routine. Then we set off.’
    â€˜Did you notice anything unusual?’
    â€˜What sort of thing do you mean? Don’t tell me you suspect poor old Jean? I know he can seem a bit, well, funny, when you don’t know him. But he’s been with us now for eight years, and I tell you, if he went, the
Providence
wouldn’t be the same!’
    â€˜Does your husband sleep with you?’
    She laughed again. And since Maigret was within range, she gave him a sharp dig in the ribs.
    â€˜Get away! Do we look as old as that?’
    â€˜Could I have a look inside the stable?’
    â€˜If you want. Take the lantern. It’s on deck. The horses are still out because we’re still hoping to go through tonight. Once we get to Vitry, we’ll be fine. Most boats go down the Marne canal to the Rhine. It’s a
lot quieter on the run to the Saône – except for the culvert, which is eight kilometres long and always scares me stiff.’
    Maigret made his way by himself towards the middle of the barge, where the stable loomed. Taking the storm lantern, which did service as a navigation light, he slipped quietly into Jean’s private domain, which was full of a strong smell of
horse manure and leather.
    But his search was fruitless, though he squelched around in it for a quarter of an hour, during which time he could hear every word of what the skipper of the
Providence
was discussing on the wharf-side with the other men from the
barges.
    When a little while later he walked to the lock, where, to make up lost time, all hands were working together amid the screech of rusty crank-handles turning and the roar of roiling water, he spotted
the carter at one of the gates, his horse whip coiled round his neck like a necklace, operating a sluice.
    He was dressed as he had been at Dizy, in an old suit of ribbed corduroy and a faded slouch hat which had lost its band an age ago. A barge was emerging from the lock chamber, propelled by means of boat hooks because there was no other way of
moving forward through the tangle of boats. The voices that called from one barge to another were rough and irritable, and the faces, lit at intervals by a navigation light, were deeply marked by fatigue.
    All these people had been on the go since three or four in the morning and now had only one thought: a meal followed by a bed on to which they would at last be able to drop.
    But they all wanted to be first through the congested lock so that they would be in the right place to start the next day’s haul. The lock-keeper was everywhere, snatching up documents here and there as he passed through the crowd, dashing
back to his office to sign and stamp them, and stuffing his tips into his pocket.
    â€˜Excuse me!’
    Maigret had tapped the carter on the arm.