OU_214051 UNIVERSA - Osmania University

THE SAILORS' RENDEZVOUS 265
the sucking of Maigret's pipe could be heard. Then he suddenly
rose with an effort.
" If you were to ask me what was characteristic about this
affair," he said, " I should say that it stands under the sign of Mars.
Everybody belonging to that boat is quarrelsome, irritable, shorttempered.
At the Rendezvous des Terre-Neuvas the crew gets
drunk and fights. When I take the operator's fiancee to him, he can
scarcely conceal his impatience and gives her a very chilly welcome.
He practically told her to mind her own business! At Yport, the
chief engineer gives his wife hell and treats me like a dog. Finally
I find two other people who seem to come under the same influence:
the woman called Adele and her companion have a quarrel on the
beach and only make it up so that they can get away."
" What conclusions do you come to, then? " inquired the Le
Havre superintendent.
" Me? No conclusions at all! I'm just remarking that I feel as if
I were moving in a circle of maniacs. . . . Well, good evening,
gentlemen. Down here I am an amateur. My wife is waiting for me
at the hotel. You'll let me know, Superintendent, if they find the
Yport woman and the man in the grey car? "
" Of course! Good night. . .."
Instead of going through the town, Maigret lounged along the
quays, his hands in his pockets, his pipe between his teeth. The
empty dock made a vast black rectangle reflecting the lights of the
Ocdan, which was still being unloaded.
"... Under the sign of Mars! " he growled to himself.
No one paid any attention to him when he went on board. He
walked apparently aimlessly along the bridge and saw a light in the
fo'c's'le deck hatchway. He stooped down and was greeted by a
warm breath of air, the smell of a barrack-room, a refectory, and a
fish shop, all combined.
He went down the iron ladder and found himself face to face
with three men who were eating out of mess-tins held between
their knees. For light they had an oil-lamp hung from a swivel.
In the middle of the fo'c's'le was a cast-iron stove encrusted with
slag.
Along the bulkheads were four tiers of bunks, some still filled
with straw, others empty. Boots and sou'-westers were hanging
about.
The only one of the three who rose was P'tit Louis. The other
two were the Breton and a Negro with bare feet.