The Methods of Maigret ( PDFDrive )

one probably doesn’t come across very many of that type in France. Here there
isn’t any hypocrisy. Perhaps there isn’t enough.”
Was he alluding to the surroundings, the world the two of them had been
plunged in since their arrival, to the Monsieur Émiles, the Chariots, the Ginettes,
who lived among the others without being singled out for opprobrium?
Maigret felt a little anxious, a little piqued. Without being attacked, he was
stung by an urge to defend himself.
“Openly,” pursued Mr. Pyke, “these people reject everything en bloc, the
good and the bad. Look! he has taken a young girl away from her family. She’s
sweet, very desirable. I don’t think, however, that it was from desire for her that
he did it. It was because she belonged to a good family, because she was a young
girl who used to go to Mass every Sunday with her mother. It’s because her
father is probably an austere and high-minded gentleman. And also because he
was taking a big risk in carrying her off. But, of course, I may be quite wrong.”
“I don’t think so.”
“There are some people who, in a clean and elegant setting, feel the need to
defile. De Greef feels the need to defile life, to defile anything. And even to
defile his girl friend.”
This time Maigret was astounded. He was bowled over, as they say, for he
realized that Mr. Pyke had thought the same thing as he had. When De Greef had
admitted going several times on board the North Star, it had immediately
occurred to him that it was not only to drink, but that more intimate and less
admissible relations existed between the two couples.
“They are very dangerous fellows,” Mr. Pyke concluded.
He added: “Perhaps they are very unhappy too?”
Then, probably finding the silence a little too solemn, he said, in lighter tone:
“He speaks perfect English, you know. He hasn’t even got an accent. I
shouldn’t be surprised if he went to one of our best public schools.”
It was time to go to dinner. It was long past the half hour. The darkness was
almost complete, and the boats in the harbor were swaying to the rhythm of the
sea’s breathing. Maigret emptied his pipe and knocked it against his heel,
hesitated to fill another. As they passed, Maigret studied the Dutchman’s boat
closely.
Had Mr. Pyke just spoken for the sake of speaking? Had he, in his own way,
wanted to convey some sort of message?
It was difficult, if not impossible, to tell. His French was perfect, too perfect,