The Two-Penny Bar Read Online Free PDF

a
nautical outfit, did the honours.
    â€˜Brandy,
quetsche, mirabelle
? Unless you’d rather have a Vouvray?’
    There were vague introductions to the other players, not all of whom had been present the night before, but who were still part of the Sunday crowd.
    â€˜Monsieur … er …’
    â€˜Maigret.’
    â€˜Monsieur Maigret, who plays bridge …’
    It was almost like the set of a light opera, so vivid and spruce was the décor. Nothing to remind you of theserious business of life. The child had clambered into a white-painted canoe, and his mother called out:
    â€˜Be careful, Pierrot!’
    â€˜I’m going to meet James!’
    â€˜A cigar, Monsieur Maigret? If you prefer a pipe, there is some tobacco in this pot. Don’t worry, my wife is used to it.’
    Directly opposite on the other bank stood the Two-Penny Bar.
    The first part of the afternoon passed uneventfully. Maigret noticed, however, that Monsieur Basso wasn’t playing and that he appeared a little more on edge than this morning.
    He didn’t look like the nervous type. He was tall and well built and seemed to ooze vitality through every pore. A man who loved life, a rough and ready sort from sturdy working-class stock.
    Monsieur Feinstein played bridge like a real aficionado and called Maigret to task on more than one occasion.
    At around three o’clock the Morsang crowd began to fill the garden, and then the room where they were playing. Someone put on a record. Madame Basso poured out the Vouvray, and fifteen minutes later there were half a dozen couples dancing
around the bridge players.
    At that moment Monsieur Feinstein, who had seemed completely absorbed by the game, murmured:
    â€˜Hey, what’s happened to our friend Basso?’
    â€˜I think I saw him get into a boat!’ someone said.
    Maigret followed the haberdasher’s gaze to the oppositebank of the river, where a small boat had just arrived right next to the Two-Penny Bar. Monsieur Basso climbed out of it and walked up towards the inn. He returned a
short while later, looking preoccupied, despite his ostensible air of good humour.
    Another incident which passed almost unnoticed. Monsieur Feinstein was winning at cards. Madame Feinstein was dancing with Basso, who had just come back. James, a glass of Vouvray in his hand, joked:
    â€˜Some people couldn’t lose if they tried.’
    The haberdasher didn’t flinch. He dealt out the cards. Maigret was watching his hands, and they were as steady as ever.
    Another hour or two went past. The dancers were getting tired. Some of the guests had gone for a swim. James, who had lost at cards, stood up and muttered:
    â€˜How about a change of scene? Anyone for the Two-Penny Bar?’
    He bumped into Maigret on the way out.
    â€˜Come with me.’
    He had reached that level of drunkenness that he never went beyond, no matter how much he drank. The others all stood up. A young man cupped his hands around his mouth and called out:
    â€˜Everyone to the Two-Penny Bar!’
    â€˜Careful you don’t fall!’
    James helped the inspector to climb into his six-metre sailing boat, pushed off with a boat-hook and sat down in the stern.
    There wasn’t a breath of wind. The sail flapped. Theystruggled against the current, even though it was virtually non-existent.
    â€˜We’re not in any hurry!’
    Maigret saw Marcel Basso and Feinstein get into the same motor-boat, cross the river in no time and step out in front of the bar.
    Then came the dinghies and the canoes. Though it had set out first, James’s boat soon brought up the rear, because of the lack of wind, and the Englishman seemed reluctant to use the oars.
    â€˜They’re a good bunch,’ James suddenly murmured, as if following his own line of thought.
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜All of them. They have such boring lives. But what can you do about that? Everyone’s life is boring.’
    It was