"Roubaud," said he, "just come up here, you will be able to help me."
And when the assistant station-master had stepped over the blood on the carpet, so as not to tread in it, the commissary added:
"Look under the other cushion, to see if anything has slipped down there."
Roubaud raised the cushion, feeling with prudent hands, and looks that simply denoted curiosity.
"There is nothing," said he.
But a spot on the padded cloth at the back of the seat, attracted his attention; and he pointed it out to the commissary. Was it not the mark of a finger covered with blood? No; they both came to the conclusion that it was some blood which had spurted there. The crowd had drawn nearer, to watch this inspection of the coupé, sniffing the crime, pressing behind the station-master, who, with the repugnance of a refined man, remained on the step.
Suddenly the latter remarked:
"But, I say, Roubaud, you were in the train, were you not? You returned last night by the express. You can, perhaps, give us some information?"
"Yes, indeed," exclaimed the commissary, "that is true. Did you notice anything?"