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

…’
    â€˜So?’
    â€˜Wait! What’s your
     cargo?’
    â€˜Ironwork …’
    â€˜It would take too long …’
     grunted the customs officer. ‘We’ll have to look elsewhere …’
    And Maigret didn’t take his eyes
     off the bargeman. He hoped for a revealing glance towards some hiding place. The man
     was still eating, not hungrily, just to do something. He wasn’t frightened. On
     the contrary, he sat firmly where he was.
    â€˜Get up!’
    This time he obeyed with bad grace.
    â€˜Am I not allowed to sit down in
     my own place these days?’
    On the chair there was a filthy cushion,
     which Maigret picked up. Three sides of the cushion were sewn normally. The fourth
     bore coarse stitches that hadn’t been made by a seamstress.
    â€˜Thank you! I don’t need you
     any more!’ Maigret said to the customs man.
    â€˜You think he’s
     smuggling?’
    â€˜Not in the slightest … Thank you
     …’
    And he waited until the official
     reluctantly left.
    â€˜What is it?’
    â€˜Nothing at all!’
    â€˜Do you usually put things as hard
     as that in cushions?’
    The stitches parted, revealing something
     black. And soon Maigret unfolded a little worn serge coat, full of creases.
    It was the same serge described in the
     report from the Belgian public prosecutor’s office. There was no label. The
     piece of clothing had been made by Germaine Piedboeuf herself.
    But that wasn’t the most
     interesting object. In the middle of the parcel there was a hammer, its handle
     polished with use.
    â€˜The funniest thing,’ the
     bargeman muttered, ‘is that you’re making a big mistake … I
     haven’t done anything! … I got those two things there out of the Meuse, on the
     fourth of January, first thing …’
    â€˜And you thought it was a good
     idea to put them in a safe place!’
    â€˜I’m starting to get used to
     it!’ the man replied complacently. ‘Are you arresting me?’
    â€˜Is that all you have to
     say?’
    â€˜That you’re making a big
     mistake!’
    â€˜Are you still leaving
     tomorrow?’
    â€˜If you don’t arrest me,
     it’s very likely.’
    It must have been the biggest surprise
     in the world to see Maigret carefully making up the parcel again, slipping it under
     his overcoat and leaving without a word.
    He watched him walk off in the rain,
     along the quay,passing in front of the customs man, who saluted
     him. Then he went back down into his cabin, shaking his head, and poured himself a
     drink.

7. A Three-Hour Gap
    When Maigret arrived at his hotel for
     lunch, the landlord told him the postman had turned up with a recorded delivery
     letter at his address but hadn’t wanted to leave it.
    It was like a signal for a thousand
     petty concerns to get together and start harassing a man. As soon as he sat down,
     the inspector asked after his colleague. No one had seen him. He had them call his
     hotel. He was told that he had left half an hour before.
    It didn’t matter. Maigret
     didn’t even have the power to give instructions to Machère. But he would have
     liked to suggest that he keep an eye on the bargeman.
    At two o’clock he was at the post
     office, where he was handed the recorded delivery letter. It was a silly story. Some
     furniture he had bought and refused to pay for because it wasn’t what
     he’d ordered. The supplier had sent him a formal demand.
    He had to spend half an hour writing his
     reply, then a letter to his wife to give her instructions on the subject.
    No sooner had he finished than he was
     called to the phone. It was the head of the Police Judiciaire asking him when he
     would be back and requesting that he send some details about two or three cases
     currently under way.
    Outside, it was still raining. The café
     floor was covered with sawdust. There was no