The Two-Penny Bar by Georges Simenon Page B

large swig then spat on the floor.
    â€˜Stupid, isn’t it? One man ends up dead. A family is ruined. And the whole machinery of the law swings into action. Even the papers come along for the ride.’
    The strangest thing was that there was no vehemence in his voice. He seemed to be talking aimlessly, gazing round the room at nothing in particular.
    â€˜And that’s trumps,’ the landlord said triumphantly from the back of the room.
    â€˜And Feinstein, who has spent his whole life chasing after money, trying to sort out his finances. Because that’s what his life has been – one long nightmare of unpaid bills and invoices. To the point where he has to put the squeeze
on his wife’s lovers. And that’s obviously worked well, now that he’s dead …’
    â€˜Now that he’s been killed,’ Maigret corrected him dreamily.
    â€˜Do we really know which of the two actually killed the other?’
    There was a heavy, morbid quality to James’s words that fitted in with the growing gloom inside the bar.
    â€˜It’s stupid! It’s so obvious what happened. Feinstein needs money. He has been watching Basso since the previous evening, waiting for his chance. Even during the mock wedding, when he is dressed up as an old
woman, he is still thinking about his debts! He watches Basso dancing with his wife. You see what I’m saying? So the next day he makes a move. Basso’s been tapped for money before. He doesn’t play ball. Feinstein won’t give up that easily, pulls out his sob story:
ruin, shame, he’d rather end it all now … the full works. I’d lay money on it being something like that. Just what you want on a fine Sunday afternoon by the river!
    â€˜Of course, it’s all for effect. Feinstein is making it very clear that he is not as blind to his wife’s peccadilloes as he likes to make out.
    â€˜Anyway, there they are behind the lean-to. Basso’s thinking about his nice villa, his wife and kid across the river. He has to hush this whole thing up. He tries to stop him pulling the trigger, it’s all getting out of hand, he
makes a grab for the gun … then bang! That’s it. One bullet from a tiny little revolver …’
    James finally looked at Maigret.
    â€˜So I ask you. What the hell does any of this matter?’
    He laughed. A laugh of contempt.
    â€˜And now we have hundreds of people scuttling around like ants who’ve just had their ant-hill set alight. The Bassos are being hunted like animals. And to cap it all, Mado still can’t give up on her lover. Landlord!’
    The landlord reluctantly put down his cards.
    â€˜What do I owe you?’
    â€˜But now Basso has 300,000 francs at his disposal.’
    James merely shrugged his shoulders as if to reiterate his earlier question: ‘What the hell does any of this matter?’
    Then suddenly, he exclaimed:
    â€˜Wait! I remember how all this started. It was a Sunday. Some people were dancing in the garden of the villa. Basso was dancing with Madame Feinstein, and someone bumped into them, knocking them to the ground. They were lying there in each
other’s arms. Everyone laughed, including Feinstein.’
    James picked up his change, but didn’t seem to want to leave. Finally, he sighed:
    â€˜Another glass, landlord.’
    He had downed six glasses, but he wasn’t drunk. He must have had a bit of a sore head. He frowned and wiped his brow with his hand.
    â€˜Well, you’ve got to get back to the chase.’
    He sounded like he felt sorry for Maigret.
    â€˜Three poor devils; a man, a woman and a child, all being hounded simply because the man slept with Mado.’
    Was it his voice, his physical presence, the atmosphere of the bar? Whatever it was, he wove a fascinating spell, and Maigret was struggling to regain his objective view of the events that had taken place.
    â€˜Cheers, drink up. I’d better be