The Two-Penny Bar (3 page)

‘You'll be the notary, won't you?' he asked with the familiarity of a drunkard. ‘Of course you will, old chap. We'll have a great time.'

He took Maigret's arm and added:

‘Let's have a Pernod.'

Everyone laughed. A woman muttered:

‘He's got a nerve, that James.'

But James wasn't bothered. He dragged Maigret back to the Vieux-Garçon.

‘Two large Pernods!'

He was laughing at his own little joke as they were served two glasses full to the brim.

By the time they got to the Two-Penny Bar, things hadn't yet clicked for Maigret, as he liked to say. He hadn't had any high hopes in following Monsieur Basso. At the Vieux-Garçon he had looked on gloomily as the people milled about.
But he hadn't felt that nibble, that little shift, the ‘click' that told him he was on to something.

While James was forcing him to have a drink with him, he had seen customers come and go, helping each other to try on their ridiculous costumes, laughing, shouting. The Bassos had turned up, and their son, whom they had made up as a carrot-headed
village idiot, had gone down a storm.

‘Don't mind them,' said James each time Maigret turned round to look at the group. ‘They're having a good time and they're not even drunk …'

Two carriages had drawn up. More shouting. More laughing and jostling. Maigret sat next to James, while the landlord, his wife and the staff of the Vieux-Garçon lined up on the terrace to see them off.

The sun had given way to a blue-tinted twilight. The lights from the windows of the quiet villas on the far bank of the Seine glimmered in the dusk.

The carriages trundled onwards. The inspector took in the scene around him: the coachman, whom everyone teased and who responded with a laugh through gritted
teeth; a young girl who had made herself up as the simple country lass,
and who was trying to put on a peasant accent; a grey-haired man dressed like a granny …

It was all very confusing. Such an unexpected mix of people that Maigret could scarcely work out who went with whom. He needed to get things in focus.

‘See her over there? That's my wife …' James told him, pointing out the plumpest of the women, who was wearing leg-of-mutton sleeves. He said this in a cheerless tone, with a glint in his eyes.

They sang. They passed through Seine-Port, and people came out on to their doorsteps to watch the procession go by. Little boys ran after the carriages for some distance, whooping with delight.

The horses slowed to walking pace. They crossed a bridge. A sign could just about be made out in the half-light:

Eugène Rougier – Licensee

A tiny little whitewashed house squeezed in between the towpath and the hillside. The lettering on the sign was crude. As they approached, they could hear snatches of music, interspersed with a grinding noise.

What was it that finally clicked? Maigret couldn't put his finger on it. Perhaps the mildness of the evening, the little white house with its two lighted windows and the contrast with this invading circus troupe?

Perhaps the couple who came forward to see the ‘wedding party' – the man a young factory worker, the woman
in a pink silk dress, standing with her hands on her hips …?

The house had only two rooms. In the one on the right, an old woman was busy at her stove. In the one on the left could be seen a bed, some family portraits.

The bistro was at the back. It was a large lean-to with one wall completely open to the garden. Tables and benches, a bar, a mechanical piano and some Chinese lanterns. Some bargees were drinking at the bar. A girl of about twelve was keeping an
eye on the piano, occasionally rewinding it and slipping two sous into the slot.

The evening got going very quickly. No sooner had the new arrivals climbed down from the carriages than they cleared away the tables and started dancing, calling for drinks. Maigret had lost sight of James and found him again at the bar, lost in
thought over a Pernod. The waiters were laying the tables outside under the trees.

One of the carriage drivers moaned: ‘I hope they don't keep us too late! It's Saturday! …'

Maigret was alone. Slowly, he turned full circle. He saw the little house with its plume of smoke, the carriages, the lean-to, the two young lovers, the crowd in fancy dress.

‘This is it,' he murmured to himself.

The Two-Penny Bar! The name might refer to the poverty of the establishment, or perhaps to the two coins you had to put into the mechanical piano to make it work.

And somewhere here there was a murderer! Perhaps one of the wedding party! Perhaps the young factory hand! Perhaps one of the bargees!

Where was James? Where was Monsieur Basso? …

There was no electric lighting. The lean-to was lit by two oil lamps, and other lamps on the tables and in the garden, so the whole scene was a patchwork of light and dark.

‘Come on … food's ready!'

But they carried on dancing. A few people must have been knocking back the aperitifs, for within a quarter of an hour there was a distinctly drunken atmosphere in the place.

The old woman from the bistro waited at the tables herself, anxious that the food was going down well – salami, then an omelette, then rabbit – but no one cared much. They hardly noticed what they were eating. And everyone wanted their glass
refilled.

A noisy hubbub, drowning out the music. The bargees at the bar watched the goings-on and carried on their meandering conversation about the canals of the North and electric haulage systems.

The two lovers danced cheek to cheek, but they couldn't take their eyes away from the tables where all the merrymaking was going on.

Maigret didn't know anyone. He was sitting next to a woman who had a ridiculous painted moustache and beauty spots dabbed all over her face, who for some reason kept calling him Uncle Arthur.

‘Would you pass the salt, Uncle Arthur? …'

Everyone was on first-name terms. There was much backslapping and ribbing going on. Was this a group of people who knew each other well? Or just a crowd that had been thrown together by chance?

And what did they do in real life? For example, the grey-haired man dressed as the granny?

Or the woman dressed up as a little girl, who spoke in a falsetto voice?

Were they middle-class like the Bassos? Marcel Basso was sitting next to the bride. They weren't flirting. Occasionally they exchanged a meaningful glance that probably meant:

‘This afternoon was good, wasn't it?'

Avenue Niel, in a furnished apartment! Was her husband here too?

Someone let off a firecracker. A Bengal light was lit in the garden, and the young couple watched it tenderly, hand in hand.

‘It's just like in a theatre,' said the pretty girl in pink.

And there was a murderer!

‘Speech! … Speech! … Speech!'

Monsieur Basso got to his feet, a beaming smile on his face. He coughed, pretended to be embarrassed and began an absurd speech that was interrupted by rounds of applause.

Now and again his eye fell on Maigret. His was the only serious face around the tables. And Maigret sensed the man's discomfort as he turned his head away. Nevertheless, his gaze returned to Maigret twice, three times more, questioning,
troubled.

‘… and I'm sure you'll join me in a toast: to the bride!'

‘To the bride!'

Everyone stood up. People kissed the bride, clinked
glasses. Maigret saw Monsieur Basso go over to James and ask him a question. No doubt it was:

‘Who's that?'

He heard the reply:

‘I don't know … just a pal … He's fine …'

The tables had been abandoned. Everyone was dancing in the lean-to. A small group of people, barely distinguishable from the tree trunks in the dark, had gathered to watch the fun.

Corks were popping.

‘Come and have a brandy!' said James. ‘I guess you aren't a dancer.'

What an odd fellow! He had already drunk enough to lay out four or five normal men, but he wasn't really drunk. He just slouched around, looking sour, not joining in. He took Maigret back into the house. He sat in the landlord's
high-backed armchair.

A stooping old woman was doing the washing-up while the landlord's wife, who didn't look far off fifty, and who was no doubt her daughter, busied herself around the kitchen.

‘Eugène! … Another six bottles of bubbly … It might be a good idea to ask the coachman to go and fetch some more from Corbeil.'

A country cottage interior, very poor. A pendulum clock in a carved walnut case. James stretched out his legs, picked up the bottle of brandy he had ordered and poured out two glasses.

‘Cheers …'

The sound of the voices and the music were now a
distant hubbub. Through the open door they could see the fast-moving current of the Seine.

‘Little cubby holes for canoodling couples,' said James contemptuously.

He was thirty years old. But it was obvious he wasn't the canoodling type.

‘I bet they're at it already at the bottom of the garden …'

He watched the old woman bent double over her washing-up.

‘Here, give me a tea towel.'

He started drying the glasses and dishes, pausing only to take a swig of cognac.

Now and again someone passed by the door. Maigret took advantage of a moment when James was talking to the old woman to slip away. He'd only gone a few paces out of the door when someone asked him for a light. It was the grey-haired man in
the woman's dress.

‘Thanks … You don't dance either?'

‘Never!'

‘Not like my wife, then. She hasn't missed a single dance.'

‘The bride?'

‘Yes … And when she does stop, she'll catch her death …'

He gave a sigh. He looked grotesque, a serious-looking middle-aged man in an old woman's dress. The inspector wondered what he did in real life, what he normally looked like.

‘I feel like we've already met,' he said casually.

‘Me too … I've seen you somewhere before … But where? … Maybe you've bought a shirt in my shop …'

‘You're a haberdasher?'

‘On the Grands Boulevards …'

His wife was now making more noise than anyone. She was obviously drunk, and was becoming quite over-exuberant. She was dancing with Basso and was clinging to him so tightly that Maigret turned away in embarrassment.

‘A funny little girl,' the man sighed.

Little girl! This thirty-year-old, buxom woman with her sensual lips and her come-hither look, now throwing herself at her gentleman partner.

‘She's a bit wild once she gets going …'

The inspector looked at his companion, unable to tell whether he was being angry or affectionate.

At that moment someone shouted:

‘They're off to the bridal chamber! … Take your places, everyone! … Where's the bridegroom? …'

The bridal chamber was a small outhouse at the end of the lean-to. Someone got the door open, someone else went to find the bridegroom at the end of the garden.

Maigret was observing the real husband, who was smiling.

‘First the garter!' someone shouted.

It was Monsieur Basso who removed the garter, cut it up into small pieces and distributed them among the crowd. The bride and groom were bundled into the outhouse and the door locked behind them.

‘She's enjoying herself …' murmured Maigret's companion. ‘Are you married yourself?'

‘Oh, yes …'

‘Is your wife here?'

‘No … she's on holiday.'

‘Does she like being with young people too?'

Maigret couldn't tell if he was being serious or teasing. He took advantage of a lapse in conversation to cross the garden, passing close to the factory worker and his girlfriend, who were pressed up against a tree.

In the kitchen James was talking pleasantly with the old woman while drying glasses, and emptying them.

‘What's going on?' he asked Maigret. ‘Have you seen my wife?'

‘I haven't noticed her.'

‘Hard to miss her, surely.'

The night wound down quickly. It must have been around one in the morning. Some people started talking about making a move. Someone was being sick by the river. The bride had regained her freedom. Only the younger members of the group were still
dancing.

The carriage driver came up to James.

‘Do you think it'll be much longer? The old woman's been waiting for me for an hour …'

‘You're married too?'

So James rounded everyone up. In the carriages, some people started nodding off to sleep, while others were trying to keep the party spirit going, singing and laughing with varying degrees of conviction.

They passed a line of sleeping barges. A train whistled in the distance. They slowed down when they reached the bridge.

The Bassos got out at their villa. The haberdasher had already left the group at Seine-Port. A woman was whispering to her husband, who was drunk: