Free She Who Was No More by Pierre Boileau Page B

of him, almost at his feet. He could distinctly see the pebbles on the bottom, a rusty hoop of a barrel, a little straggling vegetation, and the edge of the dam over which the water trickled, catching the light as it fell. Bending down, Goutre was sticking the blade of a pocketknife into the wood. When he stood up again, he threw a glance round, and he too looked right down into the pool, at which Ravinel was staring as though hypnotized. Itcost him an effort to tear his eyes away. Then he gazed all round him, at the field opposite covered with scanty grass, at the boiler, in front of which some cinders had fallen onto the bare cement floor, the floor on which they had only a couple of hours earlier unrolled the canvas.
    ‘Your cigarette.’
    Goutre picked it up and handed it to him. He looked thoughtful and kept tapping his thigh with his foot-rule.
    ‘What I ought to tell you,’ he went on, looking up, ‘is that you need a new roof altogether. But, as a matter of fact, in your place I’d simply patch the thing up.’
    Ravinel was once more staring at the pool. Even admitting that the stream was strong enough to carry the body along—and he wouldn’t admit that it was—it couldn’t possibly have taken it over the dam. It was no more than a trickle.
    ‘Twenty thousand francs might well see you through. But you were quite right to call me in. It’s high time something was done about it. If that was to come down on your good lady’s head!… But what’s the matter, Monsieur Ravinel? You’re looking that queer…’
    ‘Nothing. Just fatigue. I’ve been driving all night.’ Goutre took measurements and made notes on an old envelope with a carpenter’s pencil.
    ‘Let’s see… Tomorrow’s Sunday… Monday I’ve a job to do at Vérondis’… Tuesday… Will it be all right if I send a man round on Tuesday? I suppose Madame Ravinel will be here.’
    ‘Yes… At least I don’t know… Perhaps not… It all depends. I’ll drop in on my way and let you know.’
    ‘Right.’
    Ravinel would have liked to throw himself down on his bed,close his eyes and think things out. There must be something to be done. If only he could understand what had happened! It was inconceivable. Absolutely inconceivable. And here was this man at his elbow who calmly filled his pipe, commented on the lettuce, and inspected the pear trees, nodding approvingly.
    ‘What do you treat them with? Smoke? No? You may be making a mistake there. Does them a lot of good. Only yesterday Chaudron was saying to me… No, it wasn’t yesterday. It was Thursday…’
    Ravinel almost bit through his lips. He would have liked to go down on his knees and beseech Goutre to go away.
    ‘I’ll be back in a second.’
    He must have one more look at the lavoir, though the place was as bare as a barn. After all there were hallucinations which made you see things that weren’t there. Why shouldn’t there be others which had the opposite effect, which made you blind to things which were staring you in the face? A bleak ray of sunshine was now shining right into the lavoir, lighting up the bottom of the water still more clearly. Yes, he could see every stone, and they looked as though they had never been disturbed. Perhaps they had been to the wrong house and left the body in another lavoir, in all respects identical with this one, in some nightmare country which he would never find again…
    Goutre would be getting impatient. Bathed in sweat, Ravinel hurried up the path. He found the builder sitting in the kitchen, going on with his calculations.
    ‘No hurry, Monsieur Ravinel. I’ll get this worked out, now I’m at it. I was thinking of using a concrete beam, but on second thought…’
    Ravinel suddenly remembered the Muscadet he had promised the old man. Of course! That’s why he was in no hurry to go!
    ‘Wait a moment. I’m just going down to the cellar.’
    All right. He’d have his Muscadet. And if he didn’t clear out after that, he’d…