The Misty Harbour by Georges Simenon

his paper
     while he ate … Once in a while he’d read an article out
     loud.’
    Maigret was not in a mood for sentiment.
     And yet, something about the restful atmosphere was getting to him. The clock seemed
     to tick more slowly than clocks anywhere else. The long reflection from the brass
     pendulum swung back and forth on the wall in front of him. And the sweet smell of
     the chocolate … The wicker of the armchair creaked familiarly at his
     slightest movement, as it must have when Captain Joris was sitting in it.
    Julie was afraid, off in the cottage on
     her own. And yet she was loath to leave it! Maigret realized that there was
     something keeping her in this snug and comfortable place.
    Julie rose and went to the door. He
     watched her. She let in the white cat, which went over to a dish of milk at the foot
     of the stove.
    ‘Poor Puss!’ she said.
     ‘Her master was fond of her … 
After dinner, Puss would sit on his lap until he went to
     bed.’
    A calm so intense that it became in some
     way threatening! A warm, heavy calm …
    ‘Do you really have nothing to
     tell me, Julie?’
    She looked up at him questioningly.
    ‘I believe I’m about to
     discover the truth. A word from you might help me … That’s why
     I’m asking you if you have anything else to say.’
    ‘I swear to you …’
    ‘About Captain Joris?’
    ‘Nothing!’
    ‘About your brother?’
    ‘Nothing, I swear.’
    ‘About anyone who came here whom
     you didn’t know!’
    ‘I don’t
     understand …’
    She kept eating that sugary mush, the
     mere sight of which nauseated the inspector.
    ‘Well, I’d best be
     going.’
    She seemed disappointed; she would be
     alone again. She was anxious to ask him one last question.
    ‘Tell me, about the
     funeral … I suppose they can’t go on waiting much longer? A dead
     person … I mean …’
    ‘He’s on ice,’ said
     Maigret reluctantly.
    And a great shiver ran through her.
    ‘Are you there, Lucas?’
    It was pitch black, impossible to see
     anything now. And the roar of the storm drowned out everything else. In the harbour,
     each man at his post awaited the arrival of a boat
from Glasgow that had missed the channel and could be
     heard whistling out between the jetties.
    ‘I’m here.’
    ‘What are they doing?’
    ‘Eating. I wish I were. Some
     shrimp, clams, an omelette and what looks like cold veal.’
    ‘At the same table?’
    ‘Yes. Big Louis is still leaning
     on his elbows.’
    ‘Talking?’
    ‘Not much. Every now and then
     their lips move, but they must not be saying much.’
    ‘Drinking?’
    ‘Louis, yes! There are two bottles
     of wine on the table. Nice old bottles. The mayor keeps filling Louis’
     glass.’
    ‘Trying to make him
     drunk?’
    ‘Right. The maid’s face is
     something to see. Whenever she has to go behind the sailor, she gives him a wide
     berth.’
    ‘No more phone calls?’
    ‘No. Now here’s Louis
     blowing his nose in his napkin and standing up. Wait. He’s fetching a cigar.
     The box is on the mantelpiece. He’s holding it out to the mayor, who’s
     shaking his head. The maid’s bringing in the cheese.
    ‘If I could just sit down!’
     added Sergeant Lucas plaintively. ‘My feet are ice-cold. I’m afraid to
     move for fear I might tumble off …’
    It wasn’t enough to impress
     Maigret, who had been in similar situations at least a hundred times.
    ‘I’ll bring you something to
     eat and drink.’
    The inspector’s place was set at
     his table in the Hôtel de l’Univers. Without sitting down, he simply devoured
     a piece
of pâté and some bread. He then
     made a sandwich for his colleague and carried off the rest of the bottle of
     Bordeaux.
    ‘And here I’ve prepared a
     bouillabaisse for you the likes of which you’d not find even in
     Marseilles!’ wailed the hotel-owner.
    But nothing could touch the inspector,
     who returned to the wall to ask the same question for the tenth