The Closed Harbour by James Hanley Read Free Book Online

time she's stolen somebody, says they come to her, rubbish."
    "Philippe should come late at night," he thought, "it glows with horror," it made him think of Marie, quiet, sad, between those innocent beds.
    "Am I right? Or wrong? And yet it's the first time she has wavered, ever."
    Doubt flung itself up as powerful as a wave, fell quickly as he thought of Follet.
    "There is a man who believes in nothing but himself, yet in some queer way, when I tell about my work, for he often asks me, then he says, 'I wish I were you, you are good, Labiche.' "
    Where is the truth of it?
    There was a tiny shop at the end of the Rue Thoird, and always by its door an old, old man, who would wait for Labiche to pass. He would say good-evening, Monsieur Labiche, are you after the devil again? and he would smile, and thinking of him as he approached the shop, Labiche hoped he would yet be there, there was something in the old man's smile that pleased him.
    To-night the shop was closed, and no Monsieur Noste was to be seen. Labiche turned the corner.
    Children everywhere, old people seated on doorsteps, women, in shifts, a mass of rubbish to kick under one's feet, he always called this, "the street of floating trash", and sometimes he asked himself if this were the children, or merely the rubbish of that day flung rudely out of doors. The grey of the stone, the blood shine of the brick, it struck at the eyes. The air stank.
    "Not far to go now," he thought, and almost without realizing it he had reached the bottom of the hill.
    "Now for that woman."
    You could tell Madame Lustigne's house anywhere, because it looked the most respectable, and its high walls, pockmarked, smeared, with its one solitary climbing rose. It seemed to grin in the sun. It was situated at the end of the road. One high wall directly facing the hill was completely blank, windowless, and held only a large hideous Michelin placard, which now hung mournfully downwards, having been torn from the wall by a high wind, and needing only a single gust to send it flying into the road. And there was the door which was of brightest green, and in front of it the wrecked street lamp, headless, and above this the tall narrow windows, glittering in the sun.
    Labiche had been here once before. He had used the front entrance. To-night he would use the back, and so passed through a court-yard littered with household utensils, pails, brushes, a heap of old clothes, an empty barrel, a bundle of soiled newspapers, and above this a long clothes line, but Labiche did not look that far. He found the door and knocked.
    It opened. The interior was so dark that Labiche could not at first discern who the opener was. And he got the smell of scent and stale smoke and new wine to his nostrils.
    "Madame Lustigne," he said.
    "Who're you?"
    "Aristide Labiche."
    "Doesn't mean a bloody thing to me, names never do, what d'you want?
    "I've already said, Madame Lustigne?"
    "Are you from the police? The girls were examined on Tuesday. I say are you from the police?"
    " Me? " said Labiche, and laughed, then wondered why he had laughed.
    "I'm not the police Inspector."
    "In which case you'd better come in."
    "Thank you."
    He saw him then, and recognized him. Henri. Her husband.
    A man in the early sixties, his mouse-coloured, tousled grey hair upset Labiche at sight, and he noted that the man wore only a vest and black trousers, heel-less slippers. The face was grey and ashen, the eyes dull.
    "This way," Henri said, and went off down the corridor, closely followed by Labiche, he talked as he walked.
    "If you're a customer, the price's up five francs, how anybody lives to-day astounds me. This way," he said again.
    "Who's that, Henri?"
    "A Monsieur Labiche."
    "Bring him in."
    Labiche blinked a little as he passed from darkness to light.
    "Oh," she said, "it's you. You're a menace, Labiche, a menace."
    Labiche smiled. "You know why I've come?"
    Madame Lustigne was seated on a sort of throne, it always reminded him of a