The Carter of ’La Providence’ by Georges Simenon Read Free Book Online Page A

he did not believe that was the case.
    â€˜But let’s suppose the victim did get on the boat of her own free will. Do you know what you are going to do, Lucas? You’re going to ask Sir Walter what his wife’s maiden name was. Then get on the phone and find out what
you can about her.’
    There were two or three patches of sky where the sunlight still lingered, but the rain was coming down more and more heavily. Lucas had hardly left the Café de la Marine and was heading towards the yacht, when Willy Marco stepped off it, wearing
a suit and tie, loose-limbed and casual, looking at nothing in particular.
    It was definitely a trait shared by all the passengers on the
Southern Cross
that they always looked as though they hadn’t had enough sleep or as if large amounts of alcohol did not agree with them.
    The two men passed each other on the towpath. Willy appeared to hesitate when he saw Lucas go aboard. Then, lighting a fresh cigarette with the one he had just finished, he made straight for the café.
    He was looking for Maigret and did not pretend otherwise.
    He did not take off his soft felt hat but touched it absently with one finger as he murmured:
    â€˜Hello, inspector. Sleep well? I wanted a quick word …’
    â€˜I’m listening.’
    â€˜Not here, if it’s all the same to you. Could we possibly go up to your room, do you think?’
    He had lost nothing of his relaxed, confident manner. His small eyes sparkled with something not far from gleeful elation, or perhaps it was malevolence.
    â€˜Cigarette?’
    â€˜No thanks.’
    â€˜Of course! You’re a pipe man.’
    Maigret decided to take him up to his room, though it hadn’t yet been cleaned. After a glance out at the yacht, Willy sat down at once on the edge of the bed and began:
    â€˜Naturally you’ve already made inquiries about me.’
    He looked round for an ashtray, failed to locate one and flicked his ash on to the floor.
    â€˜Not much to write home about, eh? But I’ve never claimed to be a saint. Anyway the colonel tells me what a rotter I am three times a day.’
    What was remarkable about this was the completely frank expression on his face. Maigret was forced to admit that he was beginning to warm to Willy, who he hadn’t been able to stomach at first.
    A strange mixture. Sly and foxy. Yet at the same time a spark of decency which redeemed the rest, plus an engaging touch of humour.
    â€˜But you will have noted that I went to Eton, like the Prince of Wales. If we’d been the same age, we would have
been the best of pals. But the truth is my father is a fig wholesaler in
Smyrna. I can’t bear the thought! I’ve been in some scrapes. The mother of one of my Eton friends, if you must know, got me out of one of them.
    â€˜You do understand if I don’t give you her name, don’t you? A delectable lady … But her husband became a government minister, and she was afraid of compromising his position.
    â€˜After that … They must have told you about Monaco, then that unpleasantness in Nice. Actually the truth isn’t as bad as all that … Here’s a tip: never believe anything you’re told by a middle-aged
American woman who lives it up on the Riviera and has a husband who arrives unexpectedly from Chicago. Stolen jewels have not always been stolen. But let’s move on.
    â€˜Now, about the necklace. Either you know already or maybe you’ve not yet heard. I would have preferred to talk to you about it last night, but in the circumstances it might not have been the decent thing to do.
    â€˜The colonel is nothing if not a gentleman. He may be a touch over-fond of whisky, I grant. But he has some justification.
    â€˜He should have ended up a general. He was one of the men most in the public eye in Lima. But there was a scandal involving a woman, the wife of a highly placed local bigwig, and he was