A Crime in Holland by Georges Simenon Page B

matter of Oosting’s cap!’ he said. ‘You heard Jean Duclos’s theories. You’ve read the books by Grosz he told you about. One principle! Never allow yourself to be distracted from the truth by psychological considerations. Follow to the end the reasoning resulting from material evidence.’
    It was impossible to know whether he was serious or whether he was teasing her.
    â€˜And here we have a cap, and the stub of a cigar! Somebody must have brought them or thrown them into the house.’
    Madame Popinga sighed to herself:
    â€˜I can’t believe that Oosting …’
    Then suddenly, lifting her head:
    â€˜That makes me think of something I’d forgotten.’
    Then she fell silent, as if fearing she had said too much, terrified by the consequences of her words.
    â€˜Tell me.’
    â€˜No, no, it’s nothing.’
    â€˜I would still like …’
    â€˜When Conrad went seal-hunting on the Workum sandbanks …’
    â€˜Yes? What about it …?’
    â€˜Beetje went with them. Because she goes hunting too … Here in Holland, girls have a lot of freedom.’
    â€˜Did they spend the night away?’
    â€˜Sometimes one night. Sometimes two.’
    She took her head in her hands with a gesture of the most extreme frustration and groaned.
    â€˜No! I don’t want to think about it! It’s too horrible! Too horrible.’
    This time, sobs were rising in her throat, ready to break out, and Any took her sister by the shoulders and gently propelled her into the next room.

7. Lunch at the Van Hasselt
    When Maigret arrived back at the hotel, he realized that something unusual was happening. The previous day he had dined at the table next to Jean Duclos’s.
    Now, three places were laid on the round table in the centre of the dining room. A dazzling white cloth, with knife-sharp creases, had been spread. And at each place stood three glasses, which in Holland is only done for a truly ceremonial meal.
    As soon as he came in, Maigret was greeted by Inspector Pijpekamp, who advanced towards him, hand outstretched, with the wide smile of a man who has arranged a pleasant surprise.
    He was in his best clothes: a wing-collar eight centimetres high! A formal jacket. He was freshly shaved, and must have come straight from the barber’s, for around him there still hovered a scent of Parma violets.
    Less formally dressed, Jean Duclos stood behind him, looking slightly jaundiced.
    â€˜You must forgive me, my dear colleague. I should have warned you this morning … I would have liked to invite you back home, but I live in Groningen and I’m a bachelor. So I have taken the liberty of inviting you to lunch here. Just a simple lunch, no fuss.’
    And looking, as he pronounced the last words, at the
cutlery and crystal glasses, he was obviously waiting for Maigret to contradict him.
    He did no such thing.
    â€˜I thought that since the professor is your compatriot, you would be happy to …’
    â€˜Very good! Very good!’ said Maigret. ‘Would you excuse me while I go to wash my hands.’
    He did so, looking grumpy, at the little washbasin in an adjacent room. The kitchen was next door, and he could hear much bustle, the clink of dishes and saucepans.
    When he went back to the dining room, Pijpekamp himself was pouring port into the glasses and murmuring with a modest but delighted smile:
    â€˜Just like in France, eh?
Prosit!
Your very good health, my dear colleague.’
    His goodwill was touching. He was making an effort to find the most sophisticated expressions and show that he was a man of the world to his fingertips.
    â€˜I ought to have invited you yesterday. But I was so … how would you say? So shaken about by this affair. Have you discovered anything?’
    â€˜No, nothing.’
    The Dutchman’s eyes lit up, and Maigret thought to himself:
    â€˜Aha, my little man,