Lock No. 1 by Georges Simenon

In any case, one was not expected.
    â€˜Have you thought any more about
     the proposal I made this morning?’
    But Ducrau had no high hopes. Perhaps he
     might even have been disappointed by a positive response.
    â€˜My wife left this evening to
     arrange the furniture in the new house.’
    â€˜Where is it?’
    â€˜Between Meung and
     Tours.’
    The quays were deserted. By the time
     they reached Rue Saint-Antoine, they had passed only two cars. The driver lowered
     the glass between them.
    â€˜Which way?’
    Ducrau replied as if he were rising to a
     challenge.
    â€˜You can drop me at the
     Maxim.’
    And that was where he got out, ponderous
     and determined in his large blue suit with the black band on one sleeve. The hotel
     commissionaire probably knew him but sprang into action all the same.
    â€˜Coming in for a moment,
     inspector?’
    â€˜No thanks.’
    Ducrau was already halfway through the
     revolving door, so they did not shake hands or even have time to nod a
     goodnight.
    It was 1.30 a.m. The commissionaire
     asked Maigret:
    â€˜Taxi?’
    â€˜Yes … no …’
    There was no one in the flat on
     Boulevard Richard-Lenoir, and the double bed had been dispatched to the
country. Maigret followed Ducrau’s
     example: he found a hotel room at the far end of Rue Saint-Honoré.
    His wife, who had arrived safely, was
     sleeping in their new house for the first time.

7.
    The slow, steady sound of shuffling feet
     could still be heard coming from the far end of the cemetery even though the front
     of the funeral procession was already back at the main gate. The crunch of gravel,
     the dust which clouded the air and hatched little bursts of iridescence, the
     ponderous progress of this moving herd which was forced at intervals to stop and
     mark time, all combined to heighten further the effects of the heat.
    With his back against the open gate of
     the cemetery, Émile Ducrau, dressed entirely in black with a very white shirt, was
     wiping his forehead with his balled-up handkerchief, shaking the hand of all those
     who paid their respects as they left. No one could have said for sure what he was
     thinking. He had shed no tears and more, he had not stopped looking at people as if
     he had nothing at all to do with this funeral. His son-in-law, spare and smartly
     turned out, had red eyes. The faces of the women were not visible under their
     mourning veils.
    The procession had choked the streets of
     Charenton. Behind the two carriages full of flowers and wreaths had walked hundreds
     of men from the canal boats, all scrubbed and well turned out, wearing blue and
     holding their caps in their hands.
    They gave little bows, one by one, as
     they left the cemetery
murmuring their
     condolences, after which they formed embarrassed groups and then went off in search
     of a bar. Pearls of sweat stood out on their foreheads. Their skin was patently
     clammy inside their double-breasted jackets.
    Maigret was on the pavement opposite
     standing next to the flower stall and wondering if he was going to stay any longer.
     A taxi pulled up nearby. One of his inspectors got out and looked round for him.
    â€˜Over here, Lucas!’
    â€˜Has anything happened? I’ve
     just learned that at half past eight this morning old Gassin bought a revolver from
     a gunsmith’s near the Bastille.’
    Gassin was there, still fifty metres
     from the family, who were standing in a line. He was moving with the crowd, not
     speaking to those next to him, dull-eyed and showing no sign of impatience.
    Maigret had already noticed him because
     it was the first time he had seen him in his Sunday best, beard trimmed, wearing a
     new shirt and suit. Had he finally abandoned his drinking bout? But in any case he
     was more dignified and much calmer. He no longer kept muttering words under his
     breath, and it was actually somewhat disconcerting to see him looking so