OU_214051 UNIVERSA - Osmania University
OU_214051 UNIVERSA - Osmania University OU_214051 UNIVERSA - Osmania University
196 MAINLY MAIGRET " Of course you do. At eighteen one often wishes one was dead. ... Have you any further questions, Monsieur Pijpekamp? " The latter shrugged his shoulders in a way which showed he was quite out of his depth. " That's all right, little one! You can run along now." " It's not Beetje, anyhow... ." " I dare say you're right, but now be off with you and get back on board." And he pushed him roughly, but not unkindly, out of the room. " And now for the other," he growled. " Is Oosting here? ... If only he could speak French! " The bell was rung again, and a little later the policeman brought in the Baes, who held his new cap in one hand and his pipe in the other. He threw a look, a single look, at Maigret. And, strangely enough it was a look of reproach. Then he walked up and stood in front of Pijpekamp's desk. " If you wouldn't mind asking him . .. Where was he when Popinga was killed? " Pijpekamp translated. Oosting replied with a long rigmarole, which Maigret could not get the hang of at all. But that did not prevent him cutting in with: " No. Stop him! I want an answer in three words." When that was translated there was another reproachful look from the Baes. " He was on board his boat," said Pijpekamp, translating the reply. " Tell him it isn't true." And Maigret went on pacing up and down, his hands clasped behind his back. " What does he say to that? " " He swears he was." " All right. In that case he can tell you how his cap was stolen." Pijpekamp was now merely an interpreter. He was docility itself. He hadn't much choice. Maigret gave such an impression of power that there was no question of taking the lead out of his hands. "Well?" " He was in his cabin. He was doing his accounts. Looking through the port-holes in the coaming of the coach-roof, he saw the legs of someone standing on deck. Trousers. Sailor trousers... •"
A CRIME IN HOLLAND 197 " Did he follow the man? " When that question reached him, Oosting hesitated with halfclosed eyes. Then he started speaking volubly, impatiently. " What's he saying? " " He admits he wasn't telling the truth at first. But now he wants to tell everything. He knows his own innocence is bound to be established . .. When he came up on deck, the sailor was already making off. He followed, keeping his distance. The man led him along the Amsterdiep to the neighbourhood of the Popingas' house, where he hid among the stacks of timber. Wondering what it was all about, Oosting hid in turn." " And later, he heard the shot fired? " " Yes.... But he couldn't catch the man, who ran away." " He saw him enter the house? " " Into the garden, at any rate. ... He thinks he must have climbed up to the first floor by means of the drain-pipe." Maigret smiled. A vague happy smile of a man who has dined well and whose digestion is excellent. " Would he recognize the man again? " Translation. A shrug of the shoulders from the Baes. " He's not sure." " Did he see Barens spying on Beetje and Popinga? " " Yes." " And as he was afraid of being accused himself, he thought the best way to put the police on the right track was to get Cor to tell them? " " Exactly. That's what he says. . . . But I oughtn't to believe him, ought I? . .. Of course he's guilty—I can see that now." Jean Duclos was fidgeting with impatience. Oosting, on the other hand, was perfectly calm, like a man who is prepared for the worst. He spoke again, and the Dutch detective promptly translated. " He says we can do what we like with him now, but he wants us to know that Popinga Was his friend and benefactor." " And what are you going to do with him? " " I shall have to detain him. ... He admits he was there. ..." The effect of the cognac had not worn off. Pijpekamp's voice was louder than usual, his gestures more jerky, his decisions more abrupt. He wanted to appear a man who knew how to make up his mind. He was no longer the docile interpreter. Now that the case was obvious, he would show this foreigner what the Dutch police was worth.
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A CRIME IN HOLLAND 197<br />
" Did he follow the man? "<br />
When that question reached him, Oosting hesitated with halfclosed<br />
eyes. Then he started speaking volubly, impatiently.<br />
" What's he saying? "<br />
" He admits he wasn't telling the truth at first. But now he wants<br />
to tell everything. He knows his own innocence is bound to be<br />
established . .. When he came up on deck, the sailor was already<br />
making off. He followed, keeping his distance. The man led him<br />
along the Amsterdiep to the neighbourhood of the Popingas' house,<br />
where he hid among the stacks of timber. Wondering what it was<br />
all about, Oosting hid in turn."<br />
" And later, he heard the shot fired? "<br />
" Yes.... But he couldn't catch the man, who ran away."<br />
" He saw him enter the house? "<br />
" Into the garden, at any rate. ... He thinks he must have<br />
climbed up to the first floor by means of the drain-pipe."<br />
Maigret smiled. A vague happy smile of a man who has dined<br />
well and whose digestion is excellent.<br />
" Would he recognize the man again? "<br />
Translation. A shrug of the shoulders from the Baes.<br />
" He's not sure."<br />
" Did he see Barens spying on Beetje and Popinga? "<br />
" Yes."<br />
" And as he was afraid of being accused himself, he thought the<br />
best way to put the police on the right track was to get Cor to tell<br />
them? "<br />
" Exactly. That's what he says. . . . But I oughtn't to believe<br />
him, ought I? . .. Of course he's guilty—I can see that now."<br />
Jean Duclos was fidgeting with impatience. Oosting, on the other<br />
hand, was perfectly calm, like a man who is prepared for the worst.<br />
He spoke again, and the Dutch detective promptly translated.<br />
" He says we can do what we like with him now, but he wants<br />
us to know that Popinga Was his friend and benefactor."<br />
" And what are you going to do with him? "<br />
" I shall have to detain him. ... He admits he was there. ..."<br />
The effect of the cognac had not worn off. Pijpekamp's voice<br />
was louder than usual, his gestures more jerky, his decisions more<br />
abrupt. He wanted to appear a man who knew how to make up his<br />
mind. He was no longer the docile interpreter. Now that the case<br />
was obvious, he would show this foreigner what the Dutch police<br />
was worth.
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