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By Georges Simenon

The regularity of lifestyles in a quiet village at the English Channel is damaged while the neighborhood harbor-master is murdered. Inspector Maigret, down from Paris, is on strange floor right here as he plunges into the harborside gloom, looking for killer and rationale. Translated via Stuart Gilbert.A Helen and Kurt Wolff Book

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It’s close to the time the owner finishes his video game of playing cards and closes down. And as soon as he’s in mattress he wouldn’t budge for the President himself! ” “Thanks. I’ll glance you up the next day to come. ” “Right. I come on accountability the following at ten, for the morning tide. ” They shook palms; neither had rather noticeable the other’s face. A blind man’s world—of sightless contacts. there has been not anything really sinister approximately it, yet Maigret used to be aware of a undeniable uncanniness, of anything within the air that fretted the nerves; of the feeling of being in a land of shadows, peopled by way of males who went their mystery methods, a existence during which he had no position… That sailing-ship, for example, ready its flip; it has to be rather close to, yet there wasn’t the faintest signal of it. He handed back the fisherman sitting less than his lamp, and was once moved to talk to him. “Any good fortune? ” the guy simply spat into the water. Maigret walked on, livid with himself for making so idiotic a comment. The final sound he heard ahead of moving into the lodge used to be the clatter of the shutters being closed at the best flooring of Joris’s cottage. Julie’s anxiousness. The cat that had slipped out once they have been getting into the home… “Will the foghorn move on making that blasted noise all evening? ” Maigret inquired peevishly of the inn owner, who had simply approached him. “As lengthy because the fog lasts. yet you get used to it. ” He had a stressed night—the type of evening that comes of overeating, or while, as a toddler, one is asking ahead to an outstanding deal with subsequent day. two times he rose and pressed his brow to the icy panes, yet all he may perhaps see was once the empty street and the veering lighthouse-beam suffering to pierce a cloudbank. And all evening the foghorn saved on baying, extra stridently, it appeared, than ever. at the moment get together he checked out his watch. It used to be four a. m. there has been a clatter of wood clogs at the street: fishermen tramping all the way down to their boats, baskets slung throughout their backs. shortly afterwards, because it appeared to him, there has been a banging on his door. It opened ahead of he’d had time to claim “Come in. ” It was once the owner of the resort. heavily disenchanted, judging via his expression. extra time had handed than Maigret had meant, for solar used to be streaming throughout the home windows. The foghorn, although, used to be nonetheless at it, complete blast. “Get up. The Captain’s loss of life. ” “What Captain? ” “Joris. Julie’s simply rushed all the way down to the village to fetch the medical professional. She informed me to inform you right now. ” Maigret had already pulled on his blouse and trousers. He thrust his toes into his sneakers with out troubling to lace them up. Nor did he difficulty to sweep his snarled hair. He slipped on his coat and ran down the steps, collarless. “Won’t you could have whatever earlier than you pass? A cup of espresso? a pitcher of rum? ” Maigret shook his head impatiently and rushed out. even though the solar was once vivid, the air used to be nippy. the line used to be nonetheless sopping wet with dew. As he moved quickly around the lock he had a short glimpse of the ocean, a faded expanse of blue; just a slim strip, for the fogbank started rather close to the shore. at the bridge one of many neighborhood police hailed him.

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