The Beast Within - Emile Zola [218]
Monsieur Camy-Lamotte made no answer. It was true, the magistrate’s findings would enable him to bury this scandal once and for all; no one would believe Roubaud, and the President’s name would be cleared of all suspicion. The much-publicized rehabilitation of one of its most distinguished adherents could only be to the government’s advantage. Besides, since Roubaud admitted he was guilty, it did not affect the principle of justice whether he was condemned on one charge or another. That left Cabuche. If he had had nothing to do with the first murder, he certainly appeared to be guilty of the second. Justice, after all, was nothing but a grand illusion! When the path to truth was so tangled and overgrown, the belief in justice was a snare. It was better to be safe than sorry, and do what he could to prop up this ailing remnant of Empire as it teetered on the brink of collapse.
‘You didn’t find this letter, did you, monsieur?’ the magistrate repeated.
Once again Monsieur Camy-Lamotte raised his eyes and looked at him. The situation lay entirely in his hands, and, although he shared the Emperor’s misgivings, he replied quite calmly, ‘I found absolutely nothing.’
Then, smiling affably, he offered Monsieur Denizet his heartfelt congratulations. Only a slight quiver of his lips indicated the supreme irony of his words. Never had an investigation been conducted with such acumen. It had been decided officially that after the autumn recess he would be called to the bar in Paris. As he spoke he conducted him out into the hall.
‘You alone were able to untangle this affair,’ he continued. ‘What you have achieved is truly remarkable ... Once the truth is allowed to speak for itself, nothing can stand in its way, neither personal ambition nor reasons of state ... Feel free to continue. Proceed with the case in the normal way, whatever the consequences.’
‘I consider it no more than my duty,’ replied Monsieur Denizet, bidding him farewell and leaving the house in a glow of satisfaction.
Left alone, the first thing Monsieur Camy-Lamotte did was to light a candle. He then opened the drawer in which he had filed Séverine’s letter. The flame lengthened. He opened the letter, wanting to read again the two lines of handwriting. Immediately the thought of Séverine came back to him — the timid little criminal with periwinkle-blue eyes who had aroused such tender feelings in him all that time ago. Now she was dead, a tragic victim. Who could tell what secret she had taken with her? Truth, justice ... it was all an illusion! For Monsieur Camy-Lamotte, all that remained of this charming young woman, whom he had never come to know, was the fleeting desire she had aroused in him on the day they met, a desire which would remain for ever unsatisfied. As he held the letter to the flame and it began to burn, a feeling of great sadness came over him, a sense of impending calamity. Why destroy this evidence and suffer a guilty conscience, if the Empire was destined to be swept away like the charred fragment of paper that fell from his fingers?
Monsieur Denizet completed his investigation in less than a week. The Western Railway Company was most cooperative, providing him with all the documents and statements he needed; it too was anxious to see the end of a distasteful affair, which had started with one of its employees, had spread to every corner of the company and had come close to unseating its board of directors. The diseased limb needed to be amputated as quickly as possible. Once again the station staff at Rouen filed through the magistrate’s office — Monsieur Dabadie, Moulin and others — all providing damning evidence of Roubaud’s lamentable conduct. They were followed by Monsieur Bessière, the stationmaster at Barentin, and by a number of other employees at Rouen, whose statements were of crucial importance in connection with the first murder. Finally Monsieur Denizet interviewed Monsieur Vandorpe, the stationmaster at Paris, Misard, the man at the section post, and the principal guard,