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By Root 1288 0

in his mind. He pictured how the deed might be done, trying to imagine how everything would eventually work out. He went over it again and again, weighing the pros and cons; in the end, when he considered it coolly and dispassionately, everything seemed to suggest it was the right thing to do. Roubaud was the one obstacle standing in the way of his happiness. Once Roubaud was out of the way, he could marry Séverine, whom he adored. He would no longer have to see her secretly; she would be his, his alone, for ever. There was also the money to consider — a small fortune. He could give up his exhausting job and become the owner of a company; his friends said that mechanics in America were paid big money. He saw his new existence unfolding like a dream — he had a wife who was passionately in love with him, he would be earning millions in next to no time, life was full of opportunities, and there was no limit to what he might achieve. It was everything he could wish for. And to make this dream come true, all he had to do was get rid of one man — like the plant or the animal that stood in the way and that had to be crushed underfoot. Roubaud was no use to anybody; he had grown fat and sluggish. Whatever energy he once had was now consumed by his mindless addiction to gambling. Why spare him? Nothing, absolutely nothing, argued in his favour. He stood condemned. However you looked at it, it was in everyone’s best interest that he should die. To delay would be both foolish and cowardly.

Jacques had been lying on his stomach because his back felt hot. Suddenly he turned over. A thought had entered his head, previously only vaguely perceived but now so sharp that it felt like the point of a knife inside his skull. He had wanted to kill since he was a child and had suffered agonies as a result of this grim obsession. So why not kill Roubaud? Perhaps he might once and for all slake his thirst for murder on this one chosen victim. He would not only be doing something useful, he would also be cured. Cured! God, if only he could be free of this desire to kill, if only he could possess Séverine without that fearful awakening of the primitive male bent on slaughter! He broke out into a sweat; he saw himself with the knife in his hand, plunging it into Roubaud’s throat as Roubaud had done to the President, and feeling the satisfaction and relief as the blood ran over his hands. He would kill him; he had decided. He would be cured, he would have the wife he adored and his future would be assured. If he had to kill, and someone had to be killed, he would kill Roubaud. He would at least know why he was doing it; it made sense logically and it was in his own best interests.

Having taken his decision and as it had just struck three, Jacques tried to sleep. He was about to drop off when a violent shock made him come to and sit up in his bed gasping for breath. Good God! What right had he to kill Roubaud? If a fly annoyed him he would squash it with his hand. Once he had nearly tripped over a cat and had kicked it from under his feet and broken its back; he hadn’t meant to, it’s true. But Roubaud was a man like himself. Jacques had to rethink all his arguments in order to persuade himself of his right to murder — the right of the strong to destroy the weak who get in their way.4 It was he whom Roubaud’s wife loved, and she wanted to be free to marry him and give him her inheritance. He was simply removing the obstacle that stood in their way. When two wolves meet in the forest in search of a mate, the stronger dispatches the weaker with a single snap of its jaws. In ancient times, when men lived in caves like the wolves, the most sought-after woman belonged to the member of the tribe who could win her by slaying his rivals. This was the law of life, and it had to be obeyed, whatever moral scruples had since been invented to keep men living together.5 Gradually Jacques came to feel that his right to murder Roubaud was beyond question, and his resolve grew stronger; tomorrow he would choose the place and time, and plan how to do it. It would probably