The Secret of the Night

by Gaston Leroux

  VIII. THE LITTLE CHAPEL OF THE GUARDS

  Rouletabille took a long walk which led him to the Troitsky Bridge,then, re-descending the Naberjnaia, he reached the Winter Palace.He seemed to have chased away all preoccupation, and took a child'spleasure in the different aspects of the life that characterizes thecity of the Great Peter. He stopped before the Winter Palace, walkedslowly across the square where the prodigious monolith of the AlexanderColumn rises from its bronze socket, strolled between the palace and thecolonnades, passed under an immense arch: everything seemed Cyclopean tohim, and he never had felt so tiny, so insignificant. None the less hewas happy in his insignificance, he was satisfied with himself in thepresence of these colossal things; everything pleased him this morning.The speed of the isvos, the bickering humor of the osvotchicks, theelegance of the women, the fine presences of the officers and their easynaturalness under their uniforms, so opposed to the wooden posturing ofthe Berlin military men whom he had noticed at the "Tilleuls" and inthe Friederichstrasse between two trains. Everything enchanted him--thecostume even of the moujiks, vivid blouses, the red shirts overthe trousers, the full legs and the boots up to the knees, even theunfortunates who, in spite of the soft atmosphere, were muffled up insheepskin coats, all impressed him favorably, everything appeared to himoriginal and congenial.

  Order reigned in the city. The guards were polite, decorative andsuperb in bearing. The passers-by in that quarter talked gayly amongthemselves, often in French, and had manners as civilized as anywherein the world. Where, then, was the Bear of the North? He never had seenbears so well licked. Was it this very city that only yesterday was inrevolution? This was certainly the Alexander Park where troops a fewweeks before had fired on children who had sought refuge in the trees,like sparrows. Was this the very pavement where the Cossacks had leftso many bodies? Finally he saw before him the Nevsky Prospect, wherethe bullets rained like hail not long since upon a people dressed forfestivities and very joyous. Nichevo! Nichevo! All that was sosoon forgotten. They forgot yesterday as they forget to-morrow. TheNihilists? Poets, who imagined that a bomb could accomplish anythingin that Babylon of the North more important than the noise of itsexplosion! Look at these people who pass. They have no more thoughtfor the old attack than for those now preparing in the shadow of the"tracktirs." Happy men, full of serenity in this bright quarter, whomove about their affairs and their pleasures in the purest air, thelightest, the most transparent on earth. No, no; no one knows the joy ofmere breathing if he has not breathed the air there, the finest inthe north of the world, which gives food and drink of beautiful whiteeau-de-vie and yellow pivo, and strikes the blood and makes one a beastvigorous and joyful and fatalistic, and mocks at the Nihilists and,as well, at the ten thousand eyes of the police staring from under theporches of houses, from under the skulls of dvornicks--all police, thedvornicks; all police, also the joyous concierges with extended hands.Ah, ah, one mocks at it all in such air, provided one has roublesin one's pockets, plenty of roubles, and that one is not besotted byreading those extraordinary books that preach the happiness of allhumanity to students and to poor girl-students too. Ah, ah, seed of theNihilists, all that! These poor little fellows and poor little girls whohave their heads turned by lectures that they cannot digest! That isall the trouble, the digestion. The digestion is needed. Messieurs thecommercial travelers for champagne, who talk together importantly inthe lobbies of the Grand Morskaia Hotel and who have studied the Russianpeople even in the most distant cities where champagne is sold, willtell you that over any table of hors-d'oeuvres, and will regulate thewhole question of the Revolution between two little glasses of vodka,swallowed properly, quickly, elbow up, at a single draught, in theRussian manner. Simply an affair of digestion, they tell you. Who is thefool that would dare compare a young gentleman who has well digesteda bottle of champagne or two, and another young man who has poorlydigested the lucubrations of, who shall we say?--the lucubrations of theeconomists? The economists? The economists! Fools who compete whichcan make the most violent statements! Those who read them and don'tunderstand them go off like a bomb! Your health! Nichevo! The world goesround still, doesn't it?

  Discussion political, economic, revolutionary, and other in the roomwhere they munch hors-d'oeuvres! You will hear it all as you passthrough the hotel to your chamber, young Rouletabille. Get quicklynow to the home of Koupriane, if you don't wish to arrive there atluncheon-time; then you would have to put off these serious affairsuntil evening.

  The Department of Police. Massive entrance, heavily guarded, a greatlobby, halls with swinging doors, many obsequious schwitzars on thelookout for tips, many poor creatures sitting against the walls on dirtybenches, desks and clerks, brilliant boots and epaulets of gay youngofficers who are telling tales of the Aquarium with great relish.

  "Monsieur Rouletabille! Ah, yes. Please be seated. Delighted, M.Koupriane will be very happy to receive you, but just at this moment heis at inspection. Yes, the inspection of the police dormitories inthe barracks. We will take you there. His own idea! He doesn't neglectanything, does he? A great Chief. Have you seen the police-guards'dormitory? Admirable! The first dormitories of the world. We say thatwithout wishing to offend France. We love France. A great nation! I willtake you immediately to M. Koupriane. I shall be delighted."

  "I also," said Rouletabille, who put a rouble into the honorablefunctionary's hand.

  "Permit me to precede you."

  Bows and salutes. For two roubles he would have walked obsequiouslybefore him to the end of the world.

  "These functionaries are admirable," thought Rouletabille as he was ledto the barracks. He felt he had not paid too much for the services of apersonage whose uniform was completely covered with lace. They tramped,they climbed, they descended. Stairways, corridors. Ah, the barracks atlast. He seemed to have entered a convent. Beds very white, very narrow,and images of the Virgin and saints everywhere, monastic neatness andthe most absolute silence. Suddenly an order sounded in the corridoroutside, and the police-guard, who sprang from no one could tell where,stood to attention at the head of their beds. Koupriane and his aideappeared. Koupriane looked at everything closely, spoke to each man inturn, called them by their names, inquired about their needs, andthe men stammered replies, not knowing what to answer, reddening likechildren. Koupriane observed Rouletabille. He dismissed his aide witha gesture. The inspection was over. He drew the young man into a littleroom just off the dormitory. Rouletabille, frightened, looked about him.He found himself in a chapel. This little chapel completed the effect ofthe guards' dormitory. It was all gilded, decorated in marvelous colors,thronged with little ikons that bring happiness, and, naturally, withthe portrait of the Tsar, the dear Little Father.

  "You see," said Koupriane, smiling at Rouletabille's amazement, "we denythem nothing. We give them their saints right here in their quarters."Closing the door, he drew a chair toward Rouletabille and motioned himto sit down. They sat before the little altar loaded with flowers, withcolored paper and winged saints.

  "We can talk here without being disturbed," he said. "Yonder there issuch a crowd of people waiting for me. I'm ready to listen."

  "Monsieur," said Rouletabille, "I have come to give you the report of mymission here, and to terminate my connection with it. All that is leftfor clearing this obscure affair is to arrest the guilty person, withwhich I have nothing to do. That concerns you. I simply inform you thatsomeone tried to poison the general last night by pouring arsenate ofsoda into his sleeping-potion, which I bring you in this phial, arsenatewhich was secured most probably by washing it from grapes brought toGeneral Trebassof by the marshal of the court, and which disappearedwithout anyone being able to say how."

  "Ah, ah, a family affair, a plot within the family. I told you so,"murmured Koupriane.

  "The affair at least has happened within the family, as you think,although the assassin came from outside. Contrary to what you may beable to believe, he does not live in the house."

  "Then how d
oes he get there?" demanded Koupriane.

  "By the window of the room overlooking the Neva. He has often come thatway. And that is the way he returns also, I am sure. It is there you cantake him if you act with prudence."

  "How do you know he often comes that way?"

  "You know the height of the window above the little roadway. To reach ithe uses a water-trough, whose iron rings are bent, and also the marks ofa grappling-iron that he carries with him and uses to hoist himself tothe window are distinctly visible on the ironwork of the little balconyoutside. The marks are quite obviously of different dates."

  "But that window is closed."

  "Someone opens it for him."

  "Who, if you please?"

  "I have no desire to know."

  "Eh, yes. It necessarily is Natacha. I was sure that the Villa des Ileshad its viper. I tell you she doesn't dare leave her nest because sheknows she is watched. Not one of her movements outside escapes us! Sheknows it. She has been warned. The last time she ventured outside alonewas to go into the old quarters of Derewnia. What has she to do in sucha rotten quarter? I ask you that. And she turned in her tracks withoutseeing anyone, without knocking at a single door, because she saw thatshe was followed. She isn't able to get to see them outside, thereforeshe has to see them inside."

  "They are only one, and always the same one."

  "Are you sure?"

  "An examination of the marks on the wall and on the pipe doesn't leaveany doubt of it, and it is always the same grappling-iron that is usedfor the window."

  "The viper!"

  "Monsieur Koupriane, Mademoiselle Natacha seems to preoccupy youexceedingly. I did not come here to talk about Mademoiselle Natacha. Icame to point out to you the route used by the man who comes to do themurder."

  "Eh, yes, it is she who opens the way."

  "I can't deny that."

  "The little demon! Why does she take him into her room at night? Do youthink perhaps there is some love-affair...?"

  "I am sure of quite the opposite."

  "I too. Natacha is not a wanton. Natacha has no heart. She has only abrain. And it doesn't take long for a brain touched by Nihilism to getso it won't hesitate at anything."

  Koupriane reflected a minute, while Rouletabille watched him in silence.

  "Have we solely to do with Nihilism?" resumed Koupriane. "Everything youtell me inclines me more and more to my idea: a family affair, purely inthe family. You know, don't you, that upon the general's death Natachawill be immensely rich?"

  "Yes, I know it," replied Rouletabille, in a voice that sounded singularto the ear of the Chief of Police and which made him raise his head.

  "What do you know?"

  "I? Nothing," replied the reporter, this time in a firmer tone. "Iought, however, to say this to you: I am sure that we are dealing withNihilism..."

  "What makes you believe it?"

  "This."

  And Rouletabille handed Koupriane the message he had received that samemorning.

  "Oh, oh," cried Koupriane. "You are under watch! Look out."

  "I have nothing to fear; I'm not bothering myself about anythingfurther. Yes, we have an affair of the revolutionaries, but not of theusual kind. The way they are going about it isn't like one of theiryoung men that the Central Committee arms with a bomb and who issacrificed in advance."

  "Where are the tracks that you have traced?"

  "Right up to the little Krestowsky Villa."

  Koupriane bounded from his chair.

  "Occupied by Boris. Parbleu! Now we have them. I see it all now. Boris,another cracked brain! And he is engaged. If he plays the part of theRevolutionaries, the affair would work out big for him."

  "That villa," said Rouletabille quietly, "is also occupied by MichaelKorosakoff."

  "He is the most loyal, the most reliable soldier of the Tsar."

  "No one is ever sure of anything, my dear Monsieur Koupriane."

  "Oh, I am sure of a man like that."

  "No man is ever sure of any man, my dear Monsieur Koupriane."

  "I am, in every case, for those I employ."

  "You are wrong."

  "What do you say?"

  "Something that can serve you in the enterprise you are going toundertake, because I trust you can catch the murderer right in his nest.To do that, I'll not conceal from you that I think your agents will haveto be enormously clever. They will have to watch the datcha des Iles atnight, without anyone possibly suspecting it. No more maroon coats withfalse astrakhan trimmings, eh? But Apaches, Apaches on the wartrail, whoblend themselves with the ground, with the trees, with the stones in theroadway. But among those Apaches don't send that agent of your SecretService who watched the window while the assassin climbed to it."

  "What?"

  "Why, these climbs that you can read the proofs of on the wall and onthe iron forgings of the balcony went on while your agents, night andday, were watching the villa. Have you noticed, monsieur, that it wasalways the same agent who took the post at night, behind the villa,under the window? General Trebassof's book in which he kept a statementof the exact disposal of each of your men during the period of siege wasmost instructive on that point. The other posts changed in turn, but thesame agent, when he was among the guard, demanded always that same post,which was not disputed by anybody, since it is no fun to pass the hoursof the night behind a wall, in an empty field. The others much preferredto roll away the time watching in the villa or in front of the lodge,where vodka and Crimean wine, kwass and pivo, kirsch and tchi, never ranshort. That agent's name is Touman."

  "Touman! Impossible! He is one of the best agents from Kiew. He wasrecommended by Gounsovski."

  Rouletabille chuckled.

  "Yes, yes, yes," grumbled the Chief of Police. "Someone always laughswhen his name is mentioned."

  Koupriane had turned red. He rose, opened the door, gave a longdirection in Russian, and returned to his chair.

  "Now," said he, "go ahead and tell me all the details of the poison andthe grapes the marshal of the court brought. I'm listening."

  Rouletabille told him very briefly and without drawing any deductionsall that we already know. He ended his account as a man dressed in amaroon coat with false astrakhan was introduced. It was the same manRouletabille had met in General Trebassof's drawing-room and whospoke French. Two gendarmes were behind him. The door had been closed.Koupriane turned toward the man in the coat.

  "Touman," he said, "I want to talk to you. You are a traitor, and I haveproof. You can confess to me, and I will give you a thousand roubles andyou can take yourself off to be hanged somewhere else."

  The man's eyes shrank, but he recovered himself quickly. He replied inRussian.

  "Speak French. I order it," commanded Koupriane.

  "I answer, Your Excellency," said Touman firmly, "that I don't know whatYour Excellency means."

  "I mean that you have helped a man get into the Trebassof villa by nightwhen you were on guard under the window of the little sitting-room.You see that there is no use deceiving us any longer. I play with youfrankly, good play, good money. The name of that man, and you have athousand roubles."

  "I am ready to swear on the ikon of..."

  "Don't perjure yourself."

  "I have always loyally served..."

  "The name of that man."

  "I still don't know yet what Your Excellency means."

  "Oh, you understand me," replied Koupriane, who visibly held in an angerthat threatened to break forth any moment. "A man got into the housewhile you were watching..."

  "I never saw anything. After all, it is possible. There were some verydark nights. I went back and forth."

  "You are not a fool. The name of that man."

  "I assure you, Excellency..."

  "Strip him."

  "What are you going to do?" cried Rouletabille.

  But already the two guards had thrown themselves on Touman and had drawnoff his coat and shirt. The man was bare to the waist.

  "Wha
t are you going to do? What are you going to do?"

  "Leave them alone," said Koupriane, roughly pushing Rouletabille back.

  Seizing a whip which hung at the waist of the guards he struck Touman ablow across the shoulders that drew blood. Touman, mad with the outrageand the pain, shouted, "Yes, it is true! I brag of it!"

  Koupriane did not restrain his rage. He showered the unhappy man withblows, having thrown Rouletabille to the end of the room when he triedto interfere. And while he proceeded with the punishment the Chief ofPolice hurled at the agent who had betrayed him an accompaniment offearful threats, promising him that before he was hanged he should rotin the bottom-most dungeon of Peter and Paul, in the slimy pits lyingunder the Neva. Touman, between the two guards who held him, and whosometimes received blows on the rebound that were not intended for them,never uttered a complaint. Outside the invectives of Koupriane therewas heard only the swish of the cords and the cries of Rouletabille,who continued to protest that it was abominable, and called the Chiefof Police a savage. Finally the savage stopped. Gouts of blood hadspattered all about.

  "Monsieur," said Rouletabille, who supported himself against the wall."I shall complain to the Tsar."

  "You are right," Koupriane replied, "but I feel relieved now. You can'timagine the harm this man can have done to us in the weeks he has beenhere."

  Touman, across whose shoulders they had thrown his coat and who lay nowacross a chair, found strength to look up and say:

  "It is true. You can't do me as much harm as I have done you, whetheryou think so or not. All the harm that can be done me by you and yoursis already accomplished. My name is not Touman, but Matiev. Listen. Ihad a son that was the light of my eyes. Neither my son nor I had everbeen concerned with politics. I was employed in Moscow. My son was astudent. During the Red Week we went out, my son and I, to see a littleof what was happening over in the Presnia quarter. They said everybodyhad been killed over there! We passed before the Presnia gate. Soldierscalled to us to stop because they wished to search us. We opened ourcoats. The soldiers saw my son's student waistcoat and set up a cry.They unbuttoned the vest, drew a note-book out of his pocket and theyfound a workman's song in it that had been published in the Signal.The soldiers didn't know how to read. They believed the paper was aproclamation, and they arrested my son. I demanded to be arrested withhim. They pushed me away. I ran to the governor's house. Trebassofhad me thrust away from his door with blows from the butt-ends of hisCossacks' guns. And, as I persisted, they kept me locked up all thatnight and the morning of the next day. At noon I was set free. Idemanded my son and they replied they didn't know what I was talkingabout. But a soldier that I recognized as having arrested my son theevening before pointed out a van that was passing, covered with atarpaulin and surrounded by Cossacks. 'Your son is there,' he said;'they are taking him to the graves.' Mad with despair, I ran after thevan. It went to the outskirts of Golountrine cemetery. There I sawin the white snow a huge grave, wide, deep. I shall see it to my lastminute. Two vans had already stopped near the hole. Each van heldthirteen corpses. The vans were dumped into the trench and the soldierscommenced to sort the bodies into rows of six. I watched for my son.At last I recognized him in a body that half hung over the edge of thetrench. Horrors of suffering were stamped in the expression of his face.I threw myself beside him. I said that I was his father. They let meembrace him a last time and count his wounds. He had fourteen. Someonehad stolen the gold chain that had hung about his neck and held thepicture of his mother, who died the year before. I whispered into hisear, I swore to avenge him. Forty-eight hours later I had placed myselfat the disposition of the Revolutionary Committee. A week had not passedbefore Touman, whom, it seems, I resemble and who was one of the SecretService agents in Kiew, was assassinated in the train that was takinghim to St. Petersburg. The assassination was kept a secret. I receivedall his papers and I took his place with you. I was doomed beforehandand I asked nothing better, so long as I might last until after theexecution of Trebassof. Ah, how I longed to kill him with my own hands!But another had already been assigned the duty and my role was to helphim. And do you suppose I am going to tell you the name of that other?Never! And if you discover that other, as you have discovered me,another will come, and another, and another, until Trebassof has paidfor his crimes. That is all I have to say to you, Koupriane. As for you,my little fellow," added he, turning to Rouletabille, "I wouldn'tgive much for your bones. Neither of you will last long. That is myconsolation."

  Koupriane had not interrupted the man. He looked at him in silence,sadly.

  "You know, my poor man, you will be hanged now?" he said.

  "No," growled Rouletabille. "Monsieur Koupriane, I'll bet you my pursethat he will not be hanged."

  "And why not?" demanded the Chief of rolice, while, upon a sign fromhim, they took away the false Touman.

  "Because it is I who denounced him."

  "What a reason! And what would you like me to do?"

  "Guard him for me; for me alone, do you understand?"

  "In exchange for what?"

  "In exchange for the life of General Trebassof, if I must put it thatway."

  "Eh? The life of General Trebassof! You speak as if it belonged to you,as if you could dispose of it."

  Rouletabille laid his hand on Koupriane's arm.

  "Perhaps that's so," said he.

  "Would you like me to tell you one thing, Monsieur Rouletabille? It isthat General Trebassof's life, after what has just escaped the lips ofthis Touman, who is not Touman, isn't worth any more than--than yours ifyou remain here. Since you are disposed not to do anything more in thisaffair, take the train, monsieur, take the train, and go."

  Rouletabille walked back and forth, very much worked up; then suddenlyhe stopped short.

  "Impossible," he said. "It is impossible. I cannot; I am not able to goyet."

  "Why?"

  "Good God, Monsieur Koupriane, because I have to interview the Presidentof the Duma yet, and complete my little inquiry into the politics of thecadets."

  "Oh, indeed!"

  Koupriane looked at him with a sour grin.

  "What are you going to do with that man?" demanded Rouletabille.

  "Have him fixed up first."

  "And then?"

  "Then take him before the judges."

  "That is to say, to the gallows?"

  "Certainly."

  "Monsieur Koupriane, I offer it to you again. Life for life. Give me thelife of that poor devil and I promise you General Trebassof's."

  "Explain yourself."

  "Not at all. Do you promise me that you will maintain silence about thecase of that man and that you will not touch a hair of his head?"

  Koupriane looked at Rouletabille as he had looked at him during thealtercation they had on the edge of the Gulf. He decided the same waythis time.

  "Very well," said he. "You have my word. The poor devil!"

  "You are a brave man, Monsieur Koupriane, but a little quick with thewhip..."

  "What would you expect? One's work teaches that."

  "Good morning. No, don't trouble to show me out. I am compromised enoughalready," said Rouletabille, laughing.

  "Au revoir, and good luck! Get to work interviewing the President of theDuma," added Koupriane knowingly, with a great laugh.

  But Rouletabille was already gone.

  "That lad," said the Chief of Police aloud to himself, "hasn't told me abit of what he knows."