By Georges Simenon
In Lock 14, Simenon plunges Maigret into the strange canal international of shabby bars and shadowy towpaths, drawing jointly the strands of a sad case of misplaced identification.
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Additional info for Lock 14 (Inspector Maigret, Book 2)
I heard a story the other day,’ he said cautiously. The others didn’t blink away from the fire. He finished chewing and then sipped at his drink. His eyes flicked around and he saw them all still staring into the fire. ‘The other day when I was harvesting in the Gidgee they told me this story about a bloke who drove a bus . ’ No one looked up. ‘. . When he’d finished his run or it was a weekend, he tended bees. ’ Dave watched him with one eye open. ’ asked Donny. ’ ‘Box tree? ’ He started again and this time they listened as they stared into the fire.
Millvan had always seen it like that. It couldn’t change now. Suddenly he felt determination sweep over him as if he’d opened the window to let the air rush in. It took about four hours to drive home. He’d try to figure out what he was going to do on the way. Before he set off he went by the Rural Traders to check the price of pine. Afterwards he spent the rest of the afternoon picking up the oil and groceries Michelle had asked for. An hour before dark he pulled the ute out onto the main drag and the town slipped behind him.
He did fairly well on the bulls but not even he was up for a stint on that bull. Bloke had seen more horn than a French milkmaid and it wasn’t like him to shy away. ‘So Millvan went and inspected it and came back as white as an aspirin. He said to Ducko, “You can strike me pink and call me Dolly if I stay on this thing. ” He carried on about it to us too, but since none of us wanted to ride it either, we put up with him at first. Anyhow, our man took it on the chin but he bitched on and on about it.