My Friend Maigret by Georges Simenon

Casimir? Casimir won the Petit Provençal championship last year, and you know what that means.”
    From the pink it had been a short while ago, the church at the far end of the square was becoming violet; the sky was gently turning a pale green and the men began to depart one after the other; now and again a shrill woman’s voice could be heard calling in the distance:
    â€œHey, Jules!…The soup’s ready…”
    Or else a small boy would come boldly in to look for his father and pull him by the hand.
    â€œWell, aren’t we going to have a game?”
    â€œIt’s too late.”
    It was explained to Maigret that after the game of boules it was cards, but that the latter hadn’t taken place because of him. The sailor from the Cormorant , a dumb colossus with immense bare feet, who smiled at the chief inspector with all his teeth, now and again raised his glass and made a strange gobbling noise which took the place of: “ Here’s to you! ”
    â€œDo you want to eat straightaway?”
    â€œHave you seen the inspector?”
    â€œHe went out while you were upstairs. He didn’t say anything. That’s his way. He’s marvelous, you know. In the three days he’s been ferreting about the island, he knows almost as much as I do about all the families.”
    Leaning forward, Maigret could see that the de Greefs had left and the Englishman was alone in front of the chessboard.
    â€œWe eat in half an hour,” he announced.
    Paul asked him in a low voice, indicating the Scotland Yard detective:
    â€œDo you think he likes our cooking?”
    A few minutes later Maigret and his colleague went out for a walk and, quite naturally, walked toward the harbor. They had fallen into the habit. The sun had disappeared, and there was a feeling, as it were, of an immense release in the air. The noises were no longer the same. One could hear the faint lapping of the water against the stone of the jetty, and the stone had become a harder gray, like the rocks. The greenery was dark, almost black, mysterious, and a torpedo boat with a huge number painted in white on the hull slid silently toward the open sea, at what appeared to be a giddy speed.
    â€œI just beat him,” Mr. Pyke had declared at the outset. “He’s very good, very much his own master.”
    â€œIt was he that suggested the game?”
    â€œI had taken the chessmen, to practice” (he didn’t add: while you were upstairs with Ginette), “not expecting to find an opponent. He sat down at the next table with his girlfriend and I realized, from his way of looking at the pieces, that he wanted to pit his wits against mine.”
    After this there had been a long silence and now the two men were strolling along the jetty. Near the white yacht there was a little boat, the name of which could be seen on the stern: Fleur d’amour .
    It was de Greef’s boat, and the couple were on board. There was a light under the roof, in a cabin just wide enough for two, where it was impossible to stand up. A noise of spoons and crockery was coming from within. A meal was in progress.
    When the detectives had passed the yacht, Mr. Pyke spoke again, slowly, with his habitual precision.
    â€œHe’s the sort of son good families hate to have. Actually you can’t have many specimens in France.”
    Maigret was quite taken aback, for it was the first time, since he had known him, that his colleague had expressed general ideas. Mr. Pyke seemed a little embarrassed himself, as though overcome with shame.
    â€œWhat makes you think we have hardly any in France?”
    â€œI mean not of that type, exactly.”
    He picked his words with great care, standing still at the end of the jetty, facing the mountains which could be seen on the mainland.
    â€œI rather think that in your country, a boy from a good family can commit some bêtises , as you say, so as to have a good time, to enjoy