The Murderer (1935) by Georges Simenon

Author:Georges Simenon [Simenon, Georges]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780151632701
Amazon: 0151632707
Publisher: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich
Published: 1986-10-13T22:00:00+00:00

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SIX

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Still only half awake, Neel had not had time to light the kitchen fire and was warming up the coffee on a gas ring. Kuperus had shaved with cold water. He reached the kitchen at the same time at Beetje, who had obviously just been wrenched from her sleep, too.

“I’ll have it here,” he said.

He sat down at a corner of the table. Neel gave him his coffee, then stood dreamily watching him. It was six o’clock in the morning. It was March now, but it was still cold.

“Will you wear your fur coat?” she asked.

“I think I’d better.”

The streets were deserted. Carrying a small suitcase, Kuperus walked briskly toward the station, accompanied only by the sound of his own steps. Not till he got near the station was he joined by others, obviously making for the same place.

Suddenly it occurred to him that this was the first time he’d taken the train since the event had happened. The month before, he hadn’t even thought of the Biological Association, and apart from the monthly meetings he hardly ever went on a train.

The station was only just beginning to come to life. At the ticket office he had to knock on the shutter for it to be opened.

“Amsterdam. First class.”

It was only as Kuperus was going, ticket in hand, toward the barrier that he realized that the collector might know something. Why hadn’t he thought about it before? He held out his ticket and stared hard at the fair young man with bad teeth who punched it.

Would he have remembered that, on the night in question, Kuperus had not handed in his ticket, and had not even gotten off at Sneek?

Under the doctor’s stare, a look of surprise came into the other’s pale blue eyes and a line formed on his forehead, perhaps with the effort to remember. But there was nothing unusual in his voice as he said:

“Good morning, Doctor!”

It was a matter of a few seconds, not long enough to draw any conclusions. Yet the fact remained that the man had looked surprised and frowned slightly.

Kuperus took his usual seat in his usual carriage, where he was sure of being undisturbed.

As the train started off, a ray of sunshine lit up the sky just behind the sails of a windmill. It was exactly like a picture postcard or a holiday poster.

The doctor leaned forward to look at the man who had punched his ticket. The latter was standing on the platform looking back at him.

The important thing was to know what he would do, or whether he’d do anything. Would he remember not having seen Kuperus that night? If he was in doubt, he might even hunt through the used tickets. Surely they would be kept somewhere or other.

And then, would he go to the police? Kuperus had been seen getting into the train at Staveren, and the stationmasters would doubtless be able to say that he hadn’t got off at Hindeloopen, Workum, or IJlst.

So everything depended on the chance ideas that might enter a certain railwayman’s head.

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