The Two-Penny Bar by Georges Simenon Page B

deny
it.’
    Luckily Maigret had come across women like her before, otherwise he could have been suffocated by this tirade. He was not surprised by her complete lack of conscience.
    It was less than two weeks since Feinstein had been killed, apparently by Basso.
    And here was his wife, in their dreary apartment, with her husband’s picture on the wall and his cigarette holder still in the ashtray, talking about her ‘duty’.
    James’s face spoke volumes. Not just his face! His whole slumped posture seemed to be saying: ‘Can you believe this woman?’
    She turned towards him.
    â€˜You see, the inspector …’
    â€˜The inspector said no such thing.’
    â€˜I hate you! You’re not a real man. You’re afraid of everything. Suppose I tell him why you came here today …’
    This took James so by surprise that his face went brightred. He was blushing like a child, to the roots of his hair. He tried to speak, but the words didn’t come out. He tried to regain his composure, but only managed to
emit a strained laugh.
    â€˜Go on, you may as well tell him now.’
    Maigret was watching the woman. She was a little thrown by what James had said.
    â€˜I didn’t mean to …’
    â€˜No, you never mean to do anything! But you always end up doing it anyway!’
    The room seemed smaller, more intimate. Mado shrugged her shoulders as if to say: ‘Fine, I will. On your head be it.’
    â€˜Excuse me,’ the inspector interjected, trying to keep a straight face as he spoke to James, ‘I noticed you addressed her as
tu
. As I recall, in Morsang you were more formal …’
    He could scarcely disguise his amusement, so great was the contrast between the James he knew and the sorry figure now standing in front of him. James had the look of a naughty schoolboy waiting outside the headmaster’s study.
    At his apartment, with his wife crocheting in the other corner, he had maintained a certain aloof demeanour.
    Here, he seemed a stammering wreck.
    â€˜You must have worked it out by now. Yes, Mado and I were lovers too.’
    â€˜Luckily not for long,’ she sneered.
    He seemed disconcerted by this remark. He looked to Maigret for help.
    â€˜There you have it. It was a long time ago. My wife never knew about it.’
    â€˜And wouldn’t she let you know about it if she did!’
    â€˜Knowing her as I do, I would never hear the last of it as long as I lived. So I came to ask Mado not to say anything if she was questioned.’
    â€˜And did she agree?’
    â€˜Only on the condition that I gave her Basso’s current address. Can you believe that? He’s with his wife and child. He’s probably already left the country.’
    He said that last bit less decisively. He was lying.
    Maigret sat down in one of the armchairs, which gave a creak under his weight.
    â€˜Were you lovers for long?’ he asked, like some friend of the family.
    â€˜Too long!’ Madame Feinstein snapped.
    â€˜Not long … a few months,’ James sighed.
    â€˜Did you meet in a furnished apartment like the one in the Avenue Niel?’
    â€˜No! James rented a place in Passy.’
    â€˜Were you already going to Morsang at the weekend?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜And Basso?’
    â€˜Yes. It’s been the same gang for the last seven or eight years, with one or two exceptions.’
    â€˜Did Basso know you were lovers?’
    â€˜Yes. He wasn’t in love with me then. He only became interested about a year ago.’
    In spite of himself, Maigret felt jubilant. He looked round the little apartment, with its useless and ratherhideous ornaments, and remembered James’s rather more modern and pretentious studio, with its doll’s house
plywood partitions.
    Then he thought of Morsang, the Vieux-Garçon, the canoes and sailing-boats, the rounds of drinks on the shady terrace, in a gentle, beautiful