The Beast Within - Emile Zola [72]
He paused a moment.
‘Yes, that’s what must have happened, mustn’t it, my dear?’
Séverine looked exhausted; she held her handkerchief to her face to hide the bruising round her eyes.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s what happened, I’m sure it did.’
The mystery seemed to be solved. The safety officer and the stationmaster looked at each other in agreement without saying a word. The crowd had begun to grow restless; everyone sensed that the questioning was now over, and they were all itching to go off and talk about it. Theories abounded, and everyone had their own version of events. For a while the usual business of the station had been suspended as everyone had left their work and come over to find out about the murder. It came as quite a surprise when the 9.38 train pulled in alongside the platform. Everyone scurried back to their jobs; the carriage doors opened, and streams of passengers poured from the train. The more curious dallied behind, standing in a group round the safety officer, who, determined to do his job thoroughly, had gone to take a final look at the bloodstained coupé. Pecqueux, standing between Madame Lebleu and Philomène, caught sight of his driver, Jacques Lantier, who had just got off the train and stood looking at the little group of people at the far end of the platform. He waved to him frantically, but Jacques remained where he was. Eventually he decided to come over to them, walking very slowly.
‘What’s happened?’ he asked Pecqueux.
He knew perfectly well what had happened and listened with only half an ear to the news of the murder and the different explanations of how it had been done. He felt surprised and strangely disturbed to find himself suddenly plunged into a murder inquiry and standing in front of the same coupé he had seen only the night before, rushing at full speed through the night. He craned his neck and looked at the patch of dried blood on the cushion. Straight away he was back at the scene of the murder; he saw the body lying beside the track with its throat slit open. As he turned his eyes away he caught sight of Roubaud and Séverine; Pecqueux was still explaining what had happened and how the Roubauds had come to be involved, catching the same train from Paris as the victim, and being the last people to speak to him on the platform at Rouen. Jacques had met Roubaud; they sometimes stopped to have a chat when he was in charge of the express. He had occasionally seen his wife too, at a distance, but had deliberately kept clear of her, as he did of other women, knowing the fearful effect they had on him. But as he looked at Séverine, tearful and so dreadfully pale, with such a frightened look in her big, gentle, blue eyes, and her hair falling thick and dark around her face, he found her very appealing. He could not take his eyes off her. He became lost in thought; how was it, he wondered, that he and the Roubauds came to be standing there together beside this carriage, the scene of a crime, they having returned from Paris the night before, and he just that minute arriving from Barentin?
‘Yes, yes, I know!’ he suddenly exclaimed, interrupting Pecqueux. ‘I was there myself, last night, just outside the tunnel, as the train went past, and I thought I saw something.’
Everyone gasped in astonishment and they all crowded round him. No one was more astonished than Jacques himself; he was shaking, utterly taken aback and confused by what he had just said. Why had he spoken when he had solemnly sworn to himself that he would say nothing? He had so many reasons to remain silent! Yet the words had come unbidden from his lips as he was looking at Séverine. Séverine suddenly took her handkerchief from her face and stared at Jacques, her big, tearful eyes opening wider and wider.
The safety officer walked