The Beast Within - Emile Zola [71]
‘Yes,’ Severine whispered, ‘that’s about it.’
This seemingly unremarkable tale of events made a deep impression on the crowd of bystanders. Everyone listened spell-bound, expecting to pick up some clue to the murder. The safety officer replaced his pencil in his pocket. He was as puzzled as everyone else.
‘Are you quite sure there was no one else in the coupé with Monsieur Grandmorin?’ he asked.
‘Quite sure,’ Roubaud replied.
A shudder ran through the crowd. Something inexplicable had happened and it was very frightening; everyone sensed a shiver run down their spine. If the passenger had been alone in the compartment at Rouen, who could have killed him and thrown him out of the carriage ten miles further on, before the train had stopped at another station?
In the general hush, Philom&ne could be heard making her usual scathing comments.
‘Very peculiar, if you ask me!’ she was saying.
Sensing that her remarks were directed at him, Roubaud looked at her and nodded, as if to say that he found it peculiar too. He noticed Pecqueux and Madame Lebleu standing next to her, both of them nodding their agreement. The eyes of everyone were turned towards him; they were all waiting for something more, some detail that he might have forgotten, which would shed light on the mystery. They were not accusing him, but they all eyed him with such intense curiosity that he detected the first faint glimmerings of disbelief, the sort of vague suspicion that needs only one tiny detail to make it a certainty.
‘Extraordinary!’ murmured Monsieur Cauche.
‘Quite extraordinary!’ added Monsieur Dabadie.
Roubaud decided he must say something.
‘One thing I’m certain of,’ he said, ‘is that the train was travelling at its normal speed. It runs non-stop from Rouen to Barentin, and I didn’t notice anything unusual ... I only know because we were on our own in the compartment and I had opened the window to smoke a cigarette. I could see outside and I could hear the sound of the train. I even spotted Monsieur Bessière on the platform at Barentin; he took over from me as stationmaster there. I called him over, and we had a few words together; he stood on the step and shook hands with me. Is that not so, my dear? Anyway, you can ask him; Monsieur Bessière will tell you himself.’
Séverine did not move. She stood there, looking pale and grief-stricken. Once again she confirmed what her husband had just said: ‘Yes, Monsieur Bessière will tell you himself.’
For a moment all doubts were dispelled; the Roubauds had got back into their own compartment at Rouen and a friend had stood on the carriage-step and said hello to them at Barentin. The suspicious looks that Roubaud thought he had seen in the crowd had vanished. But everyone was becoming more and more confused; the mystery had deepened.
‘Are you absolutely sure that no one could have got into the coupé after you had left Monsieur Grandmorin?’ the safety officer asked.
Roubaud had clearly not foreseen this question, and for the first time he appeared flummoxed; presumably he had no ready-made answer. He looked at his wife and hesitated.
‘It is most unlikely,’ he said. ‘The doors were being closed and the guard was blowing his whistle. We only just had time to get back into our carriage. Besides, the coupé was reserved; I assume no one was allowed into it ...’
He noticed his wife looking at him hard, her big blue eyes open wide. He decided it would be better to sound less positive.
‘But don’t really know,’ he continued. ‘Yes, perhaps someone could have got in ... There was such a crush on the platform ...’
As he spoke his voice became more assured; a new and better version of the story was taking shape in his mind.
‘Yes, there was such a crowd on the platform,’ he continued. ‘All going to Le Havre for the celebrations, I suppose. There were second-class passengers and even third-class passengers trying to get into our compartment ... And of course the station is not very well lit; you can