The Beast Within - Emile Zola [86]
The persistence of the magistrate’s questions was beginning to disturb Roubaud. He couldn’t make up his mind which line to take; should he abandon the story of this other man or should he stick to it? If they had evidence against him, the theory of the unknown killer was scarcely plausible and could even make matters worse for him. He decided he must play for time and answered the magistrate with long, rambling explanations that shed no light on the matter at all.
‘It is most unfortunate,’ continued Monsieur Denizet, ‘that your memory should be so vague, because your evidence could help us to clear the names of certain people who remain under suspicion.’
This last comment appeared to be addressed so directly to Roubaud himself that he felt it imperative to establish his innocence. He was about to be accused; he could hesitate no longer.
‘It makes me feel guilty,’ he said. ‘I find it difficult to speak about it. Perhaps that is normal. I hope you will understand ... Yes, I think I did see him, but...’
The magistrate clasped his hands together in a gesture of triumph, convinced that Roubaud’s sudden willingness to talk was due entirely to his own inquisitorial skills. He assured him that he knew from long experience the peculiar difficulty some witnesses had in admitting what they knew. He prided himself on being able to coax information from even the most reluctant.
‘Tell me then,’ he continued, ‘what did he look like? Was he short? Tall? About your own height perhaps?’
‘Oh, no! Much taller ... At least that was my impression ... just an impression, you understand. I’m fairly sure someone pushed past me, as I was running back to our carriage.’
‘Just a moment,’ said Monsieur Denizet.
He turned towards Jacques.
‘The man you saw holding a knife,’ he asked him, ‘was he taller than Monsieur Roubaud?’
Jacques was beginning to grow restive, thinking he might miss the five o’clock train. He raised his eyes and looked at Roubaud. It was as if he were looking at him for the first time. He was surprised at how short and how well built he was. But he had a quite distinctive face. It was a face he had seen somewhere else, or possibly dreamed of.
‘No,’ he murmured, ‘he wasn’t taller. He was about the same height.’
Roubaud protested vehemently.
‘No,’ he insisted, ‘he was much taller than me; by a head at least.’
Jacques stared at him wide-eyed. A look of growing realization spread across his face. Roubaud began to fidget uneasily on his seat, as if trying to escape from his own likeness. His wife sat motionless, scrutinizing Jacques’s face as he attempted to recall what he had seen. Initially, he had clearly been struck by certain similarities between Roubaud and the murderer. He had now become suddenly convinced that Roubaud was indeed the murderer, as some people had said. He sat there as if stunned, completely taken aback by the force of this new realization. What would he do next? He did not know himself. If he spoke, the two of them were done for. Roubaud’s eyes met those of Jacques, and the two exchanged a look which went to the very depths of their souls. There was a silence.
‘So you fail to agree,’ resumed Monsieur Denizet. ‘If you, Monsieur Lantier, thought he was shorter, it was probably because he was leaning forwards, struggling with his victim.’
Monsieur Denizet was studying the two men carefully. It had not been his intention to use the confrontation in this way, but some professional instinct told him that at that moment the truth was very close at hand. Even his conviction that the murderer was Cabuche was for a moment shaken. Could the Lachesnayes have been right? However unlikely it seemed, could the murderers have been this decent, hard-working stationmaster and his lovely young wife?
‘Did the man have a full beard, like you?’ he asked Roubaud.
Roubaud somehow managed to answer with a perfectly steady voice: ‘A full beard? No. I don’t think he had a beard at all.’
Jacques realized that he was going to be asked the same question. What should he say? He could have sworn that the man did have