The Two-Penny Bar Read Free Page B

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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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:
    â€˜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.
    â€˜It’s just like in a theatre,’ said the pretty girl in pink.
    And there was a murderer!
    â€˜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.
    â€˜â€¦ and I’m sure you’ll join me in a toast: to the bride!’
    â€˜To the bride!’
    Everyone stood up. People kissed the bride, clinkedglasses. Maigret saw Monsieur Basso go over to James and ask him a question. No doubt it was:
    â€˜Who’s that?’
    He heard the reply:
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Come and have a brandy!’ said James. ‘I guess you aren’t a dancer.’
    What an odd