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By Root 1247 0

it was worth it. There was nothing he could tell them for certain, not a single thing about the murderer that he could swear to. It would be silly to get himself involved; it would be a waste of time, he would find it stressful, and it would do nobody any good. He decided he would say nothing. Eventually he walked away, turning round twice to look at the black shape of the body humped on the ground in the yellow circle of lamplight. The sky was still overcast, and a distinct chill had fallen over the empty hillsides and the desolate countryside. Several trains had gone by, and another was approaching, a very long train, heading towards Paris. As they all passed each other, speeding towards their destinations somewhere far away, in the future, these powerful, inexorable machines had, without realizing it, passed within inches of the half-severed head of a man whom another man had murdered.

III

On the following day, a Sunday, early in the morning, the bells in Le Havre had just struck five when Roubaud came down to the station to begin his day’s work. It was still dark, but the wind blowing in from the sea had freshened and was dispersing the mists that covered the hilltops from Sainte-Adresse to the old castle at Tourneville; out to the west, over the open sea, there was a clear patch of sky in which the last stars still twinkled. Under the platform roof the gas lamps burned palely in the chill, damp air of early morning. The first train, for Montivilliers, was already in the station, being coupled together by a gang of shunters under the direction of the night foreman. The waiting rooms had not yet been opened, and the platforms were deserted as the station sluggishly began to come back to life.

As Roubaud was leaving his apartment in the upper part of the station above the waiting rooms, whom should he meet but Madame Lebleu, the cashier’s wife, standing in the central corridor that gave access to the employees’ lodgings. For weeks now Madame Lebleu had been getting up in the middle of the night to snoop on Mademoiselle Guichon, who worked in the office and whom she suspected of having an affair with the stationmaster, Monsieur Dabadie. Not that she had ever seen anything; there was not the slightest bit of evidence, nothing at all. That morning she was just about to dodge back into her room, when Roubaud opened his door. In the three seconds or so that it took Roubaud to open and close it again, she was surprised to catch sight of his wife, the delectable Séverine, standing in the dining room, already fully dressed, with her hair done and her shoes on. Usually she lazed about in bed till nine in the morning. Madame Lebleu had immediately woken her husband up to impart this extraordinary piece of news. The evening before, they had both stayed up waiting for the Paris express to arrive at five past eleven, itching to find out what had happened about Roubaud’s clash with the Sub-Prefect. But there was nothing they could glean from just looking at them; they had seemed their usual selves. They had stayed up till midnight, straining their ears, but to no avail; there was not a sound from their neighbours. They must have gone to bed straight away and fallen into a deep sleep. The trip to Paris had obviously not gone well. Why else would Séverine have got up so early? Lebleu asked how Séverine appeared, and his wife tried to describe her; she seemed stiff and pale, her big blue eyes looked very bright under her dark hair, and she was standing completely still, like someone who was still asleep. No doubt they would find out all about it later on in the day.

When he got down to the station, Roubaud went to find his colleague Moulin, who had been on night duty. Moulin walked along the platform with him, passing the time of day and bringing him up to date with what had been happening while he had been away. A gang of prowlers had been caught trying to break into the left-luggage office, three shunters had been disciplined for misconduct, and a coupling had just broken while they were making up the train for Montivilliers.