The Grand Banks Café Read Online Free PDF

looked after him and expected to marry
     him.
    He ate with her, in her dining room,
     under a portrait of her first husband, who sported a blond moustache. Afterwards, he
     would go to his room and settle down with an exciting book.
    And then that peace was shattered.
     Another woman burst on to the scene. Captain Fallut went to Le Havre frequently,
     took more care of his appearance, shaved more closely, even bought silk socks and
     hid it all from his landlady.
    Still, he wasn’t married, he had made no promises.
     He was free and yet he had never appeared once in public in Fécamp with his unknown
     woman.
    Was it the grand passion, his belated
     big adventure? Or just a sordid affair?
    Maigret reached the beach, saw his wife
     sitting in a red-striped deckchair and, just by her, Marie Léonnec, who was
     sewing.
    There were a few bathers on the shingle,
     which gleamed white in the sun. A drowsy sea. And further on, on the other side of
     the jetty, the
Océan
at her berth, and the cargo of cod that was still
     being unloaded, and the resentful sailors exchanging veiled comments.
    He kissed Madame Maigret on the
     forehead. He nodded politely to the girl and replied to her questioning look:
    â€˜Nothing special.’
    His wife said in a level voice:
    â€˜Mademoiselle Léonnec has been
     telling me her story. Do you think that her young man is capable of doing such a
     thing?’
    They walked slowly towards the hotel.
     Maigret carried both deckchairs. They were about to sit down to lunch when a
     uniformed policeman arrived, looking for the inspector.
    â€˜I was told to show you this, sir.
     It came an hour ago.’
    And he held out a brown envelope, which
     had been already opened. There was no address on it. Inside was a sheet of paper. On
     it, in a tiny, thin, cramped hand, was written:
No one should be accused of bringing about my death,
     and no attempt should be made to understand my action.
    These are my last wishes. I
     leave all my worldly goods to Madame Bernard, who has always been kind to me, on
     the condition that she sends my gold chronometer to my nephew, who is known to
     her, and that she sees to it that I am buried in Fécamp cemetery, near my
     mother.
    Maigret opened his eyes wide.
    â€˜It’s signed Octave
     Fallut!’ he said in a whisper. ‘How did this letter get to the police
     station?’
    â€˜Nobody knows, sir. It was in the
     letterbox. It seems that it’s his handwriting right enough. The chief
     inspector informed the public prosecutor’s department immediately.’
    â€˜Despite the fact that he was
     strangled! And that it is impossible to strangle yourself!’ muttered
     Maigret.
    Close by, guests who had ordered the set
     menu were complaining loudly about some pink radishes in a hors d’oeuvres
     dish.
    â€˜Wait a moment while I copy this
     letter. I imagine you have to take it back with you?’
    â€˜I wasn’t given any special
     instructions but I suppose so.’
    â€˜Quite right. It must be put in
     the file.’
    A moment or two later, Maigret, holding
     the copy in his hand, looked impatiently round the dining room, where he was about
     to waste an hour waiting for each course to arrive. All this time, Marie Léonnec had
     not taken her eyes off him but had not dared interrupt his grim reflections. Only
     Madame Maigret reacted, with a sigh, at the sight of pale cutlets.
    â€˜We’d have been better off going to
     Alsace.’
    Maigret stood up before the dessert
     arrived and wiped his mouth, eager to get back to the trawler, the harbour, the
     fishermen. All the way there, he kept muttering:
    â€˜Fallut knew he was going to die!
     But did he know he would be killed? Was he trying in advance to save his
     killer’s neck? Or was it just that he intended to commit suicide? Then again,
     who dropped the brown envelope in the station’s postbox? There was no stamp on
     it, no