A Crime in Holland Read Free Page A

Poor Conrad! He will never see it again. The swimming opens tomorrow. He used to come every day, other years. He’d stay in the water for an hour.’
    Maigret, as he walked, kept his eyes on the ground.

2. The Baes’s Cap
    Contrary to his usual habit, Maigret noted down a few physical details, mainly topographical, and that was in fact a true case of intuition, since, in the end, the solution proved to be a matter of minutes and metres.
    Between the Liewens farm and the Popinga residence, the distance was about twelve hundred metres. Both buildings were on the bank of the canal, and to go from one to the other, the only route was the towpath.
    This canal had more or less fallen into disuse, following the construction of a much wider and deeper channel, the Ems Canal, linking Delfzijl to Groningen.
    The smaller canal, the Amsterdiep, silted up, meandering and shaded by fine trees, was now used almost exclusively for floating timber, and by the occasional boat of low tonnage.
    A few farms scattered about. A boatyard for repairs.
    On leaving the Popinga house to go to the farm, the next building one reached, just thirty metres away, was the Wienands villa. Then came a plot under construction. After that, a long empty stretch, and the timber yard with its stacks of wood.
    Beyond the yard came another uninhabited section, preceded by a bend in the canal and the path. From there, the Popinga windows were clearly visible, as was, just to the
left, the white-painted lighthouse on the far side of the town.
    â€˜Does the lighthouse have a revolving beam?’ Maigret asked.
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜So at night, it must light up this part of the road …’
    â€˜Yes,’ she exclaimed again, with a little laugh, as if it brought back some happy memory.
    â€˜Not too good for courting couples!’ he concluded.
    She left him before they reached the Popinga house, claiming that she could take a short cut, but probably so as not to be seen in his company.
    Maigret did not stop. The house was modern, brick-built, with a small garden in front, a vegetable plot behind, a path along the right-hand side, and a patch of waste ground on the left.
    He preferred to head for the town, only five hundred metres further along. His steps took him to the lock separating the canal from the harbour. The basin was crammed with boats of between a hundred and three hundred tons, moored side by side, masts in the air, forming a floating world.
    On the left was the Van Hasselt Hotel, into which he walked.
    A dark lounge with varnished woodwork, and a complex smell of beer, genever and furniture polish. A large billiard table. Another table with newspapers stretched on brass rods.
    A man sitting in the corner stood up as soon as Maigret arrived and came to meet him.
    â€˜Are you the man the French police have sent me?’
    He was tall and gaunt, with a long face, sharp features, horn-rimmed glasses and a crew cut.
    â€˜You must be Professor Duclos,’ Maigret replied.
    He hadn’t expected him to look so young. Duclos was about thirty-five to thirty-eight. But there was something slightly unusual about him that struck Maigret.
    â€˜You’re from Nancy?’
    â€˜I have the chair of sociology in the university there.’
    â€˜But you weren’t born in France?’
    It was as if a little tussle had started.
    â€˜I was born in French Switzerland. But I’ve been naturalized a French citizen. I completed all my studies in Paris and Montpellier.’
    â€˜And you’re a Protestant?’
    â€˜How can you tell?’
    By nothing and everything! Duclos belonged to a category of men that the inspector knew well. Men of science. Study for study’s sake. Ideas for ideas. A certain austerity of manner and lifestyle, combined with a taste for international contacts. A passion for lectures, conferences and exchanges of letters with foreign correspondents.
    He seemed rather on edge, if this could be