The Flemish House by Georges Simenon, Georges Simenon; Translated by Shaun Whiteside

suspended …’
    And he cut his bread with a
     penknife.
    â€˜Are you thirsty? … We might leave
     tomorrow … We’re waiting to see if the bridge at Namur is cleared …’
    â€˜Now tell me why you made up the
     story of the woman you saw on the quay.’
    â€˜Me?’
    He took some time to think and pretended
     to eat hungrily.
    â€˜Admit it, you didn’t see
     anything at all!’
    Maigret caught a flicker of joy in the
     other man’s eyes.
    â€˜That’s what you think? Well!
     I’m sure you’re right!’
    â€˜Who asked you to give that
     statement?’
    â€˜Me?’
    And he was still laughing. He spat his
     sausage skin out right in front of him.
    â€˜Where did you meet Gérard
     Piedboeuf?’
    â€˜Oh! I see …’
    But he was face to face with a man as
     placid as himself.
    â€˜Did he give you
     something?’
    â€˜He bought some rounds
     …’
    Then, suddenly, with a silent
     chuckle:
    â€˜Except it isn’t true!
     I’m just saying that to please you … If you want me to tell the court the
     opposite, you just have to give me a sign …’
    â€˜What did you see
     exactly?’
    â€˜If I told you, you wouldn’t
     believe me.’
    â€˜Tell me anyway!’
    â€˜Well! I saw a woman waiting …
     then a man came, and she threw herself into his arms …’
    â€˜Who was it?’
    â€˜How do you expect me to recognize
     them in the dark?’
    â€˜Where were you?’
    â€˜I was coming back from the bar
     …’
    â€˜And where did the couple go? To
     the Flemish house?’
    â€˜No! They went in the back
     way.’
    â€˜The back of what?’
    â€˜The back of the house … But if
     you don’t think I’m telling the truth … I’m used to it, you
     understand! … They told so many stories at my trial … Even my lawyer, who was the
     worst liar of all …’
    â€˜Do you go and have a glass at the
     Flemish house from time to time?’
    â€˜Me? … They refuse to serve me, on
     the grounds that I once broke the scales by punching my fist down on them … They
     need customers who get off their faces without moving or saying anything
     …’
    â€˜Did Gérard Piedboeuf speak to
     you?’
    â€˜What did I tell you a moment
     ago?’
    â€˜That he’d asked you to say
     …’
    â€˜Well! That’s the truth …
     And the truth, honest to God, is that I’ll never tell you what I know, because
     I hate the cops, you as much as the others! … You can go and tell the judge …
     I’ll swear you beat me, and I’ll show them the marks … Which won’t
     stop me offering you a glass of red wine, if your stomach can take it …’
    At that very moment, Maigret looked him
     in the eyes and suddenly got to his feet.
    â€˜Show me around your boat!’
     he said curtly.
    Surprise? Fear? Simple annoyance?
     Whatever it was, the man, his mouth full, pulled a face.
    â€˜What do you want to
     see?’
    â€˜One moment …’
    And Maigret went outside and came back a
     few seconds later with a customs officer in an oilskin glistening with rain. The
     bargeman sniggered:
    â€˜I’ve already passed the
     inspection …’
    Maigret was talking to the customs
     officer.
    â€˜You’re used to it … I
     imagine all boats do a certain amount of smuggling …’
    â€˜Not a certain amount!’
    â€˜Where do they usually hide the
     goods?’
    â€˜It depends … In the old days they
     used to lock it up in waterproof boxes that they fastened under the boat … But now
     we put a chain under the hull, so they can’t do that now … Under the floor
     too, sometimes, between the floor and the bottom … But we tend to make a few holes
     with a huge drill that you might have seen on the quay