The man crashed back into the display of cakes, sprawling across the zinc-topped surface. In the pure white of his cummerbund was a little spreading star of red, where he had been stabbed. The man dabbed at the wound with his fingers and lifted their reddened tips to his face. He started to say something, the words jamming in his throat. Around him, some of the other diners dropped their cutlery and started talking in alarmed voices. A man shouted something and a woman screamed. A glass went crashing to the floor.
The boy had gone.
Within a few seconds, complete pandemonium had erupted around the stabbed waiter. Auger could see only the backs of do-gooders crowding around him. Another waiter yelled into the restaurant telephone, while a third jogged across the concourse to fetch help. The scene had already begun to attract the attention of onlookers outside, waiting for trains. Some kind of railway official—a remarkably similar-looking individual to the man Floyd had bribed that afternoon—began to stroll towards the door and, seeing the size of the commotion, broke into a wheezing, heavy-bellied lope. Someone blew three sharp blasts on a whistle.
Auger stood up, gathering her things. Were the children still out there, waiting for her? There was no way of telling. What she did know was that she did not want to be here when—as seemed certain—the police arrived and began taking the names and addresses of witnesses. She could not afford to miss that Berlin train, and she certainly could not afford to fall into the machinery of the law. What if the station official at Cardinal Lemoine had decided to talk to his superiors after all?
She wiped crumbs from her lips and judged her moment, excusing herself past the concerned onlookers crowding around the wounded man. She might as well have been made of smoke for all the attention anyone paid her. Pausing at the door, she looked left and right along the concourse, but there was no sign of the two children. All she could hope was that they had decided to leave the station before too many witnesses described a vicious little boy with a knife. As quickly as she could without attracting unwanted attention, Auger made her way to the departures board and double-checked the platform for the overnight train to Berlin. It was waiting now: a long chain of dark-green carriages, with a black steam engine simmering at the far end. Along the length of the train, the station staff were still preparing it: there were trolleys loaded with linen, food and drink, and men in uniforms were coming and going through the open doors, barking to each other in heavily accented French. A station official shook his head at Auger as she tried to step on to the platform, tapping his watch with a finger.
“Please, monsieur,” Auger said. In the distance she heard the scraping whine of police sirens, nearing the railway station. “I need to be on that train.”
It might have been the worst thing she could have said, if the man got it into his head that she was running from the authorities. “Mademoiselle,” he said apologetically, “Five more minutes, then you can board.”
Auger dropped her bags and dug into what was left of her money. “Take this,” she said, offering him ten francs. “It’s a bribe.”
The man pursed his lips, looking her over. The sirens sounded very near now. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw people still cramming around the entrance to the restaurant.
“Twenty,” he said. “Then you can find your couchette.”
“For twenty you can help me find it,” Auger replied archly.
The man seemed to find this an acceptable compromise, pocketing the additional ten-franc note and leading her down the length of two carriages until he found one that corresponded to the number on her ticket. Inside, everything was clean, bright and narrow. The man found her compartment and pushed open the door. There was a key on the inside of the door, which he removed and gave to Auger.
“Thank you,” she said.
The man inclined his head, then left her alone. There were two bunks in the sleeping compartment, but she had paid to have the entire cabin to herself. There was a neat aluminised basin and tap in one corner, plus a tiny cupboard and a small fold-down writing desk and stool. The walls were varnished wood with recessed electric lights. There was a communication cord and pull-down fabric blind, and a faded monochrome photograph of some cathedral she didn’t recognise.
Auger slid the window down, letting in the noises of the station. Amidst the clatter of slamming doors, arriving and departing trains and announcements over the Tannoy, it was difficult to be sure, but she did not think she could hear the sirens now. Did that mean the police had passed the station by entirely, on some other errand? She looked at her watch again, willing the hands to slide around to departure time.
From somewhere nearby, outside the train, she heard a heated exchange of voices. Slowly, Auger inched her head out of the window so that she could look back along the length of the train. There was the man she had bribed, gesticulating and arguing with a pair of uniformed policemen. Angrily, they pushed past the man and began strolling along the line of carriages. They were walking very slowly, stopping at each compartment window. One of the men had a ribbed-metal flashlight, which he was shining into each compartment, tapping on the glass at the same time. The station official trailed behind them, muttering under his breath.
Auger forced herself to breathe again. Slowly, slowly, she moved her head back inside and slid the window up to its closed position. There was time to get out of the compartment, but what if another policeman was moving along the inside of the train, covering that line of escape?
The voices of the two officers came closer. She heard them tapping on the glass two or three compartments down from hers. It was much louder now. There was barely time to move her things out of sight, and certainly no time to think of hiding herself. All she could do was act as naturally as possible. Auger dragged the blind down halfway and sat, waiting.
There was a knock on the interior door. She held her breath, silently willing whoever it was to go away.
The person knocked again. A low, urgent voice whispered, “Auger?”
It was Floyd. It was Floyd and she really did not need this.
Keeping her own voice low, she pressed her lips to the door. “Go away. I said I didn’t want to see you again.”
“And I think we have unfinished business.”
“In your imagination, perhaps.”
“Let me in. There’s something I have to tell you. Something I think might make you change your mind.”
“Nothing you could say or do, Wendell…” But she silenced herself. The officers outside were now very close to her compartment.
“I kept something back,” Floyd said.
“What do you mean?” she hissed.
“From that box of papers. Figured it might be useful to have some bargaining strength.”
“I got everything I needed from those papers already, Floyd.”
“Is that why you’re on your way to Germany? Because you already have all the answers?”
“Don’t overestimate yourself,” Auger said.
“What happened back at the restaurant?”
She saw no harm in telling him. “One of those child-things. It stabbed a waiter.”
“The kid was looking for you?”
What was the point of lying now? “Give yourself a pat on the back. Now quit while you’re ahead and leave me alone.”
“The policemen outside think you might have had something to do with it. You fled the scene, after all. Innocent witnesses don’t do that. Ask Custine. He’ll tell you all about it.”