“All right,” Laurent says, “calm down. Did you hear what the doctor said on the telephone?”
“No…I mean: not exactly, but…Just from the look on his face, it was easy to see what he was going to do.”
Obviously this man is every bit as mad as Roy-Dauzet. But what is the source of this collective hysteria? As for Dupont, it is understandable that he has found it convenient to accuse the mysterious anarchists: he would have been wiser to have sent his papers off before killing himself. Still other points are not extremely clear. Unfortunately, there is not much hope of having them explained by questioning this man.
To get rid of him, the commissioner suggests a good way of escaping his murderers: since the latter can strike only at seven-thirty sharp, he need only go for the files at some other time.
The businessman has already thought of this, but it is not so easy to escape an organization this powerfuclass="underline" the murderers will keep him prisoner and kill him at the appointed hour; they’re outside, waiting for him; for the doctor-being ignorant of it-didn’t specify exactly when Marchat would go to the professor’s house.
“You heard what the doctor said on the telephone?”
“I didn’t actually hear what he said, except for a word from time to time But from what I did hear, I could reconstruct the whole conversation.”
Laurent is beginning to get tired of this and makes his visitor increasingly aware of his fatigue. The latter, for his part, grows more and more nervous; at times, he almost abandons his whispering and his discretion:
“ ‘Calm down, calm down!’ It’s easy for you to say that, Commissioner! If you had been in my shoes since this morning, counting the hours you had left to live…”
“Ah,” Laurent says, “why only since this morning?”
It was ‘since last night’ that the businessman meant. He quickly corrects himself: he hasn’t slept a wink all night.
In that case, the commissioner informs him, he was making a mistake. He could have slept as soundly as usuaclass="underline" there are no murderers, and there is no conspiracy. Daniel Dupont committed suicide!
Marchat remains somewhat flabbergasted. But he immediately continues:
“No, that’s impossible! I can assure you there was no question of suicide.”
“You can? How do you know?”
“He told me himself…”
“He said whatever he wanted to say…”
“If he had meant to kill himself, he would have made another attempt.”
“There was no need for that, since he died anyway.”
“Yes…of course…No, it’s really impossible! I saw Doctor Juard go to the telephone…”
“Did you hear what the doctor said on the telephone?”
“Yes, I did, I heard everything. You can imagine I didn’t miss a word. The red files, the study cabinet, the designated victim would walk into the trap of his own accord…”
“Well then, go there now: it isn’t the ‘hour of the crime’! I”
“I told you they’re waiting for me already!”
“Did you hear what the doctor…”
…
2
The businessman leaves. Now his mind is made up. It is Dupont who was right: the chief commissioner is in the murderers’ pay. His behavior cannot be explained in any other way.
He wanted to allay Marchat’s suspicions by persuading him that there was no conspiracy at all and that Dupont has committed suicide. Suicide! Luckily Marchat stopped in time before he spilled everything he knew No, there was nothing to fear there: the commissioner knows perfectly well that Dupont isn’t dead, since Doctor Juard is keeping them informed. They are pretending to believe he is dead to achieve their purposes in a few days. What they want now is to get Marchat into the little house to kill him in place of the professor.
Well, it’s simple: he will not go to pick up the files-not at seven-thirty, or at any other time (for he isn’t stupid enough to fall into the commissioner’s trap: the killers, no doubt about it, will remain on the alert all afternoon). Even Dupont, when he finds out just what the situation is, will no longer insist. Roy-Dauzet will just have to send another commissioner.
Marchat is not going to be satisfied with these purely negative measures; the murderers would have no difficulty finding an opportunity to take revenge for their failure. He must protect himself against any new attempt. The best way to do it is to leave the city as soon as possible, and to go into hiding somewhere in the country. It might even be wiser to take the first boat and get across the ocean altogether.
But Marchat cannot make up his mind. Since early in the day he has wavered between one plan and the next, convinced, each time, that the last idea that has occurred to him is the best:
Take the police into his confidence-or deceive them; escape without delay-or wait here in the city; inform the professor of this decision-or say nothing; go get the files right away from the house in the Rue des Arpenteurs-or not go there at all He has, in fact, not given up all thought of doing this favor for his friend. And he keeps seeing himself in front of the house surrounded by spindle trees He pushes open the heavy oak door, to which Dupont has given him the keys. He climbs the stairs-slowly…
But from step to step he walks more and more slowly. He never reaches the top.
This time, he is certain of what is waiting for him if he goes all the way to the study. He won’t go. He will inform the professor and give him back his keys.
On the way, however, he ponders the difficulties of the undertaking: Dupont-he knows him-will not be willing to admit his reasons. And if Doctor Juard, who will certainly listen at the door, manages to overhear their discussion and consequently learns that Marchat is not going for the files, the latter will also lose his last chance of escaping the murderers; for instead of waiting for him until seven-thirty in the trap where he is supposed to appear, they will shadow him from now on, so that he will not even have the subsequent freedom to hide or run away.
It would be better to get out of the country immediately, while the others may not have begun watching him.
He climbs the stairs. As usual, the big house is silent…
3
Before coming to a complete halt, the drawbridge platform quivers slightly. Paying no attention to this almost imperceptible movement, the bicyclist has already passed through the gate to continue on his way:
“Good morning, Monsieur.”
Jumping on his vehicle, he has shouted, “Good morning” instead of “Good-bye.” They had exchanged two or three remarks about the weather, waiting until passage was re-established.
The drawbridge has a single platform; the system’s axis of rotation is on the other side of the canal. Heads raised, they watch the girders and cables under the platform gradually vanish from sight.
Then the free end of the bridge, showing a cross section of the roadway, passes in front of their eyes; and then, all at once, they see the entire surface of smooth asphalt stretching toward the other bank between the two sidewalks with their railings on the outer sides.
Their glances have continued to move slowly downward, following the movement of the bridge, until the two corner plates of iron-polished by the car wheels-have come exactly opposite the other pair on the bank. Suddenly the noise of the motor has stopped, and in the silence, the electric bell has rung, announcing to the pedestrians that they may cross the bridge again.
“I wouldn’t be surprised!” the bicyclist has repeated.
“Maybe you’re right I Good luck!”
“Good morning, Monsieur.”
But on the other side of the barrier, it was apparent that everything was not yet over; because of a certain elasticity in the materials, the platform’s descent had not stopped when the machinery did; it had continued for several seconds, moving a fraction of an inch perhaps, creating a tiny gap in the continuity of the roadway which brought the metal rim slightly above its position of equilibrium; and the oscillations-growing fainter and fainter, less and less noticeable, but whose cessation it was difficult to be certain of-consequently approximated-by a series of successive prolongations and regressions on either side of a quite illusory fixity-a phenomenon completed, nevertheless, some time before.