are in sight. At the canal’s edge, at the end of the bridge, a man is leaning on the railing, with his back to the street. What is he waiting for? A whale to pass? All that can be seen of him is a long shabby coat; like the one the man was wearing this morning. Maybe he’s waiting there for the other man to come back!
What does this story about the burglary mean? Was there a more serious wound the old woman did not know about? Or didn’t she want to say so? A burglar! It doesn’t make sense. Besides, what difference can it make to him anyway?
The manager picks up his paper again:
“…The victim, critically wounded and taken at once to a nearby clinic, died there without regaining consciousness. The police are investigating the identity of the murderer whose traces, up to now, have not been found.
“Daniel Dupont, croix de guerre, chevalier du Merite, was fifty-two years old. Formerly a professor at the School of Law, he was also the author of many works on political economy known for their original views, notably concerning the problem of the organization of production.”
Died without regaining consciousness. He hadn’t even lost consciousness. Another shrug. Flesh wound in the arm. Come off it! You don’t die so fast.
4
After a pause, Dupont turns toward Doctor Juard and asks:
“And what do you think about it, Doctor?”
But the latter shrugs evasively; it is obvious he does not think anything.
Dupont continues:
“Speaking as a doctor, you don’t see any disadvantage in this trip? This (he indicates his left arm, wrapped in a bandage), this doesn’t bother me when I move around, and I won’t be driving the car. Besides, you won’t have any trouble with the police: they’ll receive this morning-or they may have received it already-the order not to bother about me any more, simply to file the death certificate you sent them and to let my “body” be taken to the capital and disposed of there. You’ll just hand over to them the bullet you’ve removed. It’s supposed to have hit me in the chest: you’ll make up some position that makes it all more or less plausible. They don’t need anything else for now, since there’s not supposed to be a real inquest. Do you have any objections?”
The little doctor makes a vague gesture of denial, and it is the third person in the room who speaks in his place. Sitting at the head of the wounded man’s bed, on an iron chair, he has kept his overcoat on; he does not seem very comfortable.
“Isn’t it…a little…you know…romantic? Wouldn’t it be better to make…to say…I mean, to make less of a mystery about it?”
“On the contrary, you see, it’s out of discretion that we’re obliged to behave this way.”
“For outsiders, for the public, I understand. The release to the press and the secret kept even here in the clinic-fine. But I wonder if the secret is being kept…actually This room may be isolated…”
“Yes it is,” Dupont interrupts. “I tell you I haven’t seen anyone except the doctor and his wife; and no one else ever comes to this part of the building.”
The doctor makes a small sign of acquiescence.
“Of course…Of course,” the black overcoat continues, not quite convinced. “But still, with the police, is it really worth…worth keeping… observing the same…”
The wounded man raises himself a little in his bed:
“Yes, I’ve already told you! Roy-Dauzet has insisted on it. Outside the group he can’t count on anything right now, not even on his police. Moreover it’s only a temporary thing: the leaders-at least certain ones-will be told, here and elsewhere; but at present you can’t really know who’s to be trusted in this city. Until we hear differently, it’s better that I should be dead, for everyone.”
“Yes, all right…And old Anna?”
“They told her this morning that I had died during the night, that it was one of those strange wounds which seem harmless at first but end up being fatal. I hesitated giving her such a shock, but it was better. She would have got her lies all mixed up if someone had questioned her.”
“But you told the papers: ‘Died without regaining consciousness.’ ”
This time the doctor intervenes:
“No, I didn’t tell them anything of the kind. It’s an embellishment that must have been added by some police official. Some papers didn’t even print it.”
“In any case it’s…yes it seems troublesome to me. There are one, even two, two people who know you didn’t lose consciousness: old Anna and the man who fired at you.”
“Anna doesn’t read the papers; and besides she’s leaving the city today to go to her daughter’s, she’ll be out of the way of indiscreet questions. As for my murderer, he only saw me lock myself into my room; he couldn’t know where he hit me. He’ll be all too happy to learn of my death.”
“Of course, of course…But you say yourself that they’re so perfectly organized, that their information service…”
“Their main advantage is that they believe in their strength, in their success. We’ll help them believe it this time. And since the police have been quite powerless up to now, we’ll do without them, at least temporarily.”
“All right, all right, if you think…”
“Listen, Marchat, I talked to Roy-Dauzet tonight on the phone, for almost an hour. We’ve weighed our decision and all its consequences. It’s our best chance.”
“Yes…Maybe…And suppose your conversation had been tapped?”
“We’ve taken the necessary precautions.”
“Yes…precautions…of course.”
“Let’s get back to those papers: I absolutely have to take them with me tonight and I obviously can’t go back there myself. I’ve sent for you to ask you to do this favor for me.”
“Yes, yes…of course…But here again, you see, it’s really a policeman’s job…”
“Not really, not at all! Besides, it’s impossible now. What have you to be afraid of, anyway? I’m giving you the keys and you’ll go there quietly this afternoon, after Anna leaves. All you have to do is fill a couple of briefcases. You’ll bring them straight back here. I’ll leave from here around seven, in the car Roy-Dauzet is sending; I’ll be at his place before midnight.”
The little doctor stands up and straightens his white smock.
“You don’t need me now, do you? I’m going to see one of my expectant mothers. I’ll stop by again later.”
The timorous overcoat stands up too and shakes his hand: “Good-bye, Doctor.”
“My pleasure, Monsieur.”
“Do you trust that man?”
The wounded man glances at his arm:
“He seems to have done his work well.”
“No, I’m not talking about the operation.”
Dupont makes a broad gesture with his good arm:
“What do you want me to tell you? He’s an old friend; besides, you’ve noticed he’s not very talkative!”
“No, not…certainly not very talkative.”
“What do you think? That he’s going to turn me in? Why? For money? I don’t think he’s stupid enough to get mixed up in this business more than he has to. All he asks is to see me leave as soon as possible.”
“He looks…He doesn’t seem…how can I put it?…He looks wrong.”
“Don’t exaggerate. He looks like a slightly overworked doc^ tor, that’s all.”
“They say…”
“Of course, they say! Besides, they say it about every gynecologist in the country, or just about. And besides, what does that have to do with it?”
“Yes…of course.”
