Deadlock

After dark he continued his wanderings, calling in at several bars. He chatted to barmen, excellent sources of local knowledge. He found the shop which sold couques near the Pont de Charles de Gaulle.

He was adopting his normal reporter's technique on arrival at a new place, getting his bearings, studying life along the Meuse waterfront. He slept like a dog that night, had an early breakfast, and strolled along the river bank to where a barge was moored. The Nantes.

'Good morning,' he called up to a thin-faced man with dark eyes who was watching him from inside the wheel-house at the stern of the vessel. 'May! come aboard? I have a favour to ask…'

With some reluctance the bargee gestured for him to cross the gangplank. Newman walked slowly on to the deck. He would have only one chance to get the man talking. What was the right approach? Chance lent him a hand.

A woman appeared, climbing the few steps which he took to lead to the living-quarters. About forty, she was slim with long dark hair and the look of a hard worker. She also looked worried. She stopped at the head of the steps and Newman smiled.

He explained he was writing a series of articles for the Brussels paper Le Soir on Belgian waterways, their importance as a means of transport, the neglect of the government in appreciating their importance.

Tell him about it, Willy,' the woman urged. 'You won't tell the authorities. Tell him. And tell him who you are. Have you forgotten your manners?'

'I'm Willy Boden. This is my wife, Simone.' The bargee extended a wiry hand, still watching Newman cautiously. 'You won't mention my name if we talk to you? The authorities can make life difficult for us if they think we're interfering.'

'No names,' Newman promised. 'Not even a mention of Dinant – just a Meuse bargee. Who would identify you from that?'

'I have your word on that, Mr Newman? And why would an Englishman work for a Brussels newspaper?'

'It's an exchange system,' Newman said, making it up as he went along. 'One of Le Soir's reporters spends six months with my outfit in London, I come over here. Is there something worrying your wife?'

'No, of course not. Why should there be? We had better go down into the saloon. No one will see us talking there.'

They were seated in the cramped saloon on long banquettes with a table between them when his wife started again on her husband. She had a strong face, alert eyes.

'Tell him – or I will. I sense we can trust Mr Newman…'

'You and your feminine instincts…'

Then I'll tell him.'

'Oh, all right. Leave it to me. I saw what happened. And our guest would like some coffee, I'm sure. So would I – I was up at five this morning,' he explained to Newman as Simone went to a tiny galley at the for'ard end of the saloon. From where he sat with his back to the river bank Newman could see through a porthole a barge passing upstream. Boden followed his gaze.

'That's what Simone is talking about…'He was having difficulty getting started. Bargees lived in a closed community, didn't talk easily to outsiders, Newman thought.

'I see,' he remarked, although he didn't.

'Do get on with it, Willy,' Simone called out from the galley. Tell him about Haber and the Gargantua. Then about the Erika.'

'Joseph Haber is a friend,' Boden began. 'Not a close friend. He keeps to himself. He's an ambitious man. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose.'

'Can lead to problems sometimes,' Newman commented.

That's what I tell him. He won't listen. He wants to be the King of the Meuse – that's how he puts it. Sounds funny, but he's quite serious. He wants to own the biggest fleet of barges on the Meuse. He owns three already…'

'No, he doesn't,' Simone snapped as she served steaming coffee in large mugs. 'He owns one – the Gargantua. The other two have large mortgages on them. Come to think of it, I'm sure he hasn't fully paid off the Gargantua yet.'

'Where is he now?' Newman asked as Simone joined them by her husband's side.

'That's the point,' Simone answered, taking over. 'Two days ago he had the Gargantua loaded up with gravel – for delivery to Liege. But when he sails he goes upstream -away from Liege – towards the French frontier and Les Dames de Meuse.'

'What's that?' Newman asked and sipped the scalding liquid.

'A very lonely section of the river deep in the Ardennes. It winds about a lot and the woody hills come right down to the water's edge. It's on the far side of the French frontier – beyond Givet where you pass Customs.'

'I still don't see why you're worried,' Newman remarked. He was beginning to think he was wasting his time.

'He's got to know a very peculiar man,' Simone went on. 'Another man who says he is a writer – a writer of books. And a bit of a businessman. A man called Klein.

Newman's face showed no reaction. He took a long drink from his mug. He had been on the verge of thinking of some excuse for leaving this couple. It could be a coincidence, of course. Lasalle had pointed out Klein was a common enough name.

'Can you describe this Klein?'he asked. 'I know someone with that name.'

'About Willy's height and weight,' Simone said. 'Six feet tall. Wears hunting clothes. His complexion is ruddy.'

Doesn't sound like the same man, Newman thought. In Paris the Corsican, Calgourli, had emphasized his chalk-white face. He felt a pang of disappointment. Then Simone spoke again.

'It's those eyes of his I don't like. I was walking along the bank when he passed me on the way to Haber's barge a few weeks ago. Very strange staring eyes. I felt he was looking into my soul when he glanced at me…'

'Stuff and nonsense,' growled Boden.

'He scares me,' Simone persisted. 'He isn't human. And Willy saw him having this violent quarrel with Haber before they took the Gargantua upstream.'

'What quarrel?'

Intrigued again, Newman listened while Boden described the scene he'd witnessed inside Haber's wheel-house. The brief struggle between the two men. Followed by a long conversation prior to Haber slipping moorings and sailing upstream.

'You mean Klein travelled aboard?' Newman asked.

'Oh, yes, and Broucker. too. That was really queer.'

'Who is Broucker?'

'Haber's employee. He mans the second barge, the Erika. It was left moored here while they sailed south. Never known that to happen before.'

'Tell him what happened later,' Simone urged.

'I'm not sure this is any of our business…'

Tell him! Or I will.'

Boden explained that normally there would be nothing strange about Haber taking his barge upstream. He travelled across the border to a landing near Fumay, a small quarry town in France where he took on board gravel. He then returned downstream past Dinant to Liege and other destinations to make delivery.

'But,' he explained, 'this time he already had a load of gravel aboard. So why return upstream? Why take Broucker, who should have stayed to look after the Erika? ' And why was this Klein aboard? It's weird.'

'It's weirder than that,' Simone broke in. 'Late the following day, close to dusk, Willy saw the Erika leaving its mooring. We had been into town to collect supplies. Willy came back first – just in time to see the Erika disappearing downstream, heading towards Namur and Liege.'

'What's weird about that?'

Newman had earlier unfolded his Michelin map of the Meuse and was making notes on it. He scribbled in shorthand the sequence of events Boden was describing.

'We haven't seen the Gargantua since it sailed south. The barge has disappeared.'

'It could have sailed back without your seeing it and continued north towards Namur,' Newman objected.

'It is impossible,' Simone said vehemently. 'We are not thick. Either one or both of us have been here since it departed upstream.'