The Beast Within - Emile Zola [73]
‘What?’ he said. ‘What did you see?’
Jacques told him what he had seen - the brightly lit coupé hurtling through the night, the shapes of two men, one on his back, the other holding a knife. Séverine could not take her eyes from him as he spoke. Roubaud stood beside his wife, gazing intently at Jacques and listening to every word.
‘Would you recognize the murderer?’ inquired the safety officer.
‘No, I don’t think I would,’ said Jacques.
‘Was he wearing a coat or working clothes?’
‘I couldn’t tell. The train must have been doing eighty kilometres an hour!’
Séverine glanced involuntarily at Roubaud; he needed to say something.
‘Quite!’ he intervened. ‘You’d need good eyesight to see anything at that speed.’
‘Even so,’ Monsieur Cauche concluded, ‘it’s a vital piece of evidence. The examining magistrate will help you to clarify your statements. Monsieur Lantier and Monsieur Roubaud, may I take your full names, please, so that you can be called as witnesses?’
And that was that. The little group of bystanders drifted away, and the station returned to its normal business. Roubaud had to dash off to see to the 9.50 stopping train, which was already half full of passengers. He shook hands with Jacques, more firmly than usual. Madame Lebleu, Pecqueux and Philomène walked away whispering to each other, leaving Jacques alone with Séverine. He felt obliged to accompany her back along the platform to the staff stairway; he could think of nothing to say but felt drawn towards her, as if a common bond had just been established between them.
It was going to be a fine day. The sun had risen in the clear blue sky and driven away the morning mists. A breeze blew in from the sea over the incoming tide, bringing with it a whiff of fresh, salt sea air. As Jacques said goodbye to Séverine, he once again found himself captivated by her big blue eyes, looking at him, as before, so gently, so frightened, so appealing.
Someone blew a whistle. It was Roubaud, giving the right-away. The engine driver sounded a long whistle in reply. The 9.50 moved out of the station, gathered speed and vanished into the distance in a golden cloud of sunshine.
IV
It was the second week in March. Monsieur Denizet, the examining magistrate,1 had recalled a number of key witnesses in the Grandmorin case to his office in the Rouen law courts.
For three weeks now, the murder had been on everyone’s lips. In Rouen, people found it unbelievable. In Paris there was talk of nothing else. The opposition newspapers2 were quick to seize on it as ammunition in their hard-fought campaign against the government. Political discussion was dominated by the approaching general elections, and the atmosphere was very tense. There had recently been a number of stormy debates in Parliament, one in which there had been violent objections to ratifying the powers of two deputies who held official positions in the Emperor’s personal entourage,3 and another involving a fierce attack on the financial administration of the Prefect of the Seine4 and a call for the election of a municipal council. The Grandmorin affair had come at just the right moment to fuel this unrest. The most amazing stories were circulating. Every morning the newspapers were full of speculation that was very damaging to the government. They claimed that the victim of the murder, a regular visitor at the Tuileries Palace,5 a former magistrate, a Grand Commander of the Legion of Honour, a man worth millions, had been addicted to the worst kinds of debauchery. On top of this, because the investigation had so far got nowhere, they also accused the police and the judiciary of complacency and joked about the mythical murderer who was still at large. The fact that there was more than a grain of truth in these allegations made them all the more difficult to refute.
Monsieur Denizet was well aware of the great responsibility he carried on his shoulders, but he was also very excited by the affair. He was a man of ambition and had eagerly awaited an opportunity like this that would allow him