The Secret of the Night

by Gaston Leroux

  X. A DRAMA IN THE NIGHT

  At the door of the Krestowsky Rouletabille, who was in a hurry fora conveyance, jumped into an open carriage where la belle Onoto wasalready seated. The dancer caught him on her knees.

  "To Eliaguine, fast as you can," cried the reporter for all explanation.

  "Scan! Scan! (Quickly, quickly)" repeated Onoto.

  She was accompanied by a vague sort of person to whom neither of thempaid the least attention.

  "What a supper! You waked up at last, did you?" quizzed the actress. ButRouletabille, standing up behind the enormous coachman, urged the horsesand directed the route of the carriage. They bolted along through thenight at a dizzy pace. At the corner of a bridge he ordered the horsesstopped, thanked his companions and disappeared.

  "What a country! What a country! Caramba!" said the Spanish artist.

  The carriage waited a few minutes, then turned back toward the city.

  Rouletabille got down the embankment and slowly, taking infiniteprecautions not to reveal his presence by making the least noise, madehis way to where the river is widest. Seen through the blackness of thenight the blacker mass of the Trebassof villa loomed like an enormousblot, he stopped. Then he glided like a snake through the reeds, thegrass, the ferns. He was at the back of the villa, near the river, notfar from the little path where he had discovered the passage of theassassin, thanks to the broken cobwebs. At that moment the moon rose andthe birch-trees, which just before had been like great black staffs, nowbecame white tapers which seemed to brighten that sinister solitude.

  The reporter wished to profit at once by the sudden luminance to learnif his movements had been noticed and if the approaches to the villa onthat side were guarded. He picked up a small pebble and threw it somedistance from him along the path. At the unexpected noise three or fourshadowy heads were outlined suddenly in the white light of the moon, butdisappeared at once, lost again in the dark tufts of grass.

  He had gained his information.

  The reporter's acute ear caught a gliding in his direction, a slightswish of twigs; then all at once a shadow grew by his side and he feltthe cold of a revolver barrel on his temple. He said "Koupriane," and atonce a hand seized his and pressed it.

  The night had become black again. He murmured: "How is it you are herein person?"

  The Prefect of Police whispered in his ear:

  "I have been informed that something will happen to-night. Natacha wentto Krestowsky and exchanged some words with Annouchka there. PrinceGalitch is involved, and it is an affair of State."

  "Natacha has returned?" inquired Rouletabille.

  "Yes, a long time ago. She ought to be in bed. In any case she ispretending to be abed. The light from her chamber, in the window overthe garden, has been put out."

  "Have you warned Matrena Petrovna?"

  "Yes, I have let her know that she must keep on the sharp look-outto-night."

  "That's a mistake. I shouldn't have told her anything. She will takesuch extra precautions that the others will be instantly warned."

  "I have told her she should not go to the ground-floor at all thisnight, and that she must not leave the general's chamber."

  "That is perfect, if she will obey you."

  "You see I have profited by all your information. I have followed yourinstructions. The road from the Krestowsky is under surveillance."

  "Perhaps too much. How are you planning?"

  "We will let them enter. I don't know whom I have to deal with. I wantto strike a sure blow. I shall take him in the act. No more doubt afterthis, you trust me."

  "Adieu."

  "Where are you going?"

  "To bed. I have paid my debt to my host. I have the right to some reposenow. Good luck!"

  But Koupriane had seized his hand.

  "Listen."

  With a little attention they detected a light stroke on the water. Ifa boat was moving at this time for this bank of the Neva and wished toremain hidden, the right moment had certainly been chosen. A great blackcloud covered the moon; the wind was light. The boat would have time toget from one bank to the other without being discovered. Rouletabillewaited no longer. On all-fours he ran like a beast, rapidly andsilently, and rose behind the wall of the villa, where he made a turn,reached the gate, aroused the dvornicks and demanded Ermolai, who openedthe gate for him.

  "The Barinia?" he said.

  Ermolai pointed his finger to the bedroom floor.

  "Caracho!"

  Rouletabille was already across the garden and had hoisted himself byhis fingers to the window of Natacha's chamber, where he listened. Heplainly heard Natacha walking about in the dark chamber. He fell backlightly onto his feet, mounted the veranda steps and opened the door,then closed it so lightly that Ermolai, who watched him from outside nottwo feet away, did not hear the slightest grinding of the hinges. Insidethe villa Rouletabille advanced on tiptoe. He found the door of thedrawing-room open. The door of the sitting-room had not been closed, orelse had been reopened. He turned in his tracks, felt in the dark for achair and sat down, with his hand on his revolver in his pocket, waitingfor the events that would not delay long now. Above he heard distinctlyfrom time to time the movements of Matrena Petrovna. And this wouldevidently give a sense of security to those who needed to have theground-floor free this night. Rouletabille imagined that the doors ofthe rooms on the ground-floor had been left open so that it would beeasier for those who would be below to hear what was happening upstairs.And perhaps he was not wrong.

  Suddenly there was a vertical bar of pale light from the sitting-roomthat overlooked the Neva. He deduced two things: first, that the windowwas already slightly open, then that the moon was out from the cloudsagain. The bar of light died almost instantly, but Rouletabille's eyes,now used to the obscurity, still distinguished the open line of thewindow. There the shade was less deep. Suddenly he felt the blood poundat his temples, for the line of the open window grew larger, increased,and the shadow of a man gradually rose on the balcony. Rouletabille drewhis revolver.

  The man stood up immediately behind one of the shutters and struck alight blow on the glass. Placed as he was now he could be seen no more.His shadow mixed with the shadow of the shutter. At the noise onthe glass Natacha's door had opened cautiously, and she entered thesitting-room. On tiptoe she went quickly to the window and opened it.The man entered. The little light that by now was commencing to dawnwas enough to show Rouletabille that Natacha still wore the toilette inwhich he had seen her that same evening at Krestowsky. As for the man,he tried in vain to identify him; he was only a dark mass wrapped ina mantle. He leaned over and kissed Natacha's hand. She said only oneword: "Scan!" (Quickly).

  But she had no more than said it before, under a vigorous attack, theshutters and the two halves of the window were thrown wide, and silentshadows jumped rapidly onto the balcony and sprang into the villa.Natacha uttered a shrill cry in which Rouletabille believed still heheard more of despair than terror, and the shadows threw themselves onthe man; but he, at the first alarm, had thrown himself upon the carpetand had slipped from them between their legs. He regained the balconyand jumped from it as the others turned toward him. At least, it wasso that Rouletabille believed he saw the mysterious struggle go in thehalf-light, amid most impressive silence, after that frightened cry ofNatacha's. The whole affair had lasted only a few seconds, and the manwas still hanging over the balcony, when from the bottom of the hall anew person sprang. It was Matrena Petrovna.

  Warned by Koupriane that something would happen that night, andforeseeing that it would happen on the ground-floor where she wasforbidden to be, she had found nothing better to do than to make herfaithful maid go secretly to the bedroom floor, with orders to walkabout there all night, to make all think she herself was near thegeneral, while she remained below, hidden in the dining-room.

  Matrena Petrovna now threw herself out onto the balcony, crying inRussian, "Shoot! Shoot!" In just that moment the man was hesitatingwhether to risk the jump a
nd perhaps break his neck, or descend lessrapidly by the gutter-pipe. A policeman fired and missed him, and theman, after firing back and wounding the policeman, disappeared. It wasstill too far from dawn for them to see clearly what happened below,where the barking of Brownings alone was heard. And there could benothing more sinister than the revolver-shots unaccompanied by cries inthe mists of the morning. The man, before he disappeared, had had onlytime by a quick kick to throw down one of the two ladders which had beenused by the police in climbing; down the other one all the police in abunch, even to the wounded one, went sliding, falling, rising, runningafter the shadow which fled still, discharging the Browning steadily;other shadows rose from the river-bank, hovering in the mist. SuddenlyKoupniane's voice was heard shouting orders, calling upon his agents totake the quarry alive or dead. From the balcony Matrena Petrovna criedout also, like a savage, and Rouletabille tried in vain to keep herquiet. She was delirious at the thought "The Other" might escape yet.She fired a revolver, she also, into the group, not knowing whom shemight wound. Rouletabille grabbed her arm and as she turned on himangrily she observed Natacha, who, leaning until she almost fell overthe balcony, her lips trembling with delirious utterance, followed aswell as she could the progress of the struggle, trying to understandwhat happened below, under the trees, near the Neva, where the tumultby now extended. Matrena Petrovna pulled her back by the arms. Then shetook her by the neck and threw her into the drawing-room in a heap. Whenshe had almost strangled her step-daughter, Matrena Petrovna saw thatthe general was there. He appeared in the pale glimmerings of dawn likea specter. By what miracle had Feodor Feodorovitch been able to descendthe stairs and reach there? How had it been brought about? She saw himtremble with anger or with wretchedness under the folds of the soldier'scape that floated about him. He demanded in a hoarse voice, "What isit?"

  Matrena Petrovna threw herself at his feet, made the orthodox sign ofthe Cross, as if she wished to summon God to witness, and then, pointingto Natacha, she denounced his daughter to her husband as she would havepointed her out to a judge.

  "The one, Feodor Feodorovitch, who has wished more than once toassassinate you, and who this night has opened the datcha to yourassassin is your daughter."

  The general held himself up by his two hands against the wall, and,looking at Matrena and Natacha, who now were both upon the floor beforehim like suppliants, he said to Matrena:

  "It is you who assassinate me."

  "Me! By the living God!" babbled Matrena Petrovna desperately. "If I hadbeen able to keep this from you, Jesus would have been good! But I sayno more to crucify you. Feodor Feodorovitch, question your daughter,and if what I have said is not true, kill me, kill me as a lying, evilbeast. I will say thank you, thank you, and I will die happier than ifwhat I have said was true. Ah, I long to be dead! Kill me!"

  Feodor Feodorovitch pushed her back with his stick as one would pusha worm in his path. Without saying anything further, she rose fromher knees and looked with her haggard eyes, with her crazed face, atRouletabille, who grasped her arm. If she had had her hands still freeshe would not have hesitated a second in wreaking justice upon herselfunder this bitter fate of alienating Feodor. And it seemed frightful toRouletabille that he should be present at one of those horrible familydramas the issue of which in the wild times of Peter the Great wouldhave sent the general to the hangman either as a father or as a husband.

  The general did not deign even to consider for any length of timeMatrena's delirium. He said to his daughter, who shook with sobs on thefloor, "Rise, Natacha Feodorovna." And Feodor's daughter understood thather father never would believe in her guilt. She drew herself up towardshim and kissed his hands like a happy slave.

  At this moment repeated blows shook the veranda door. Matrena, thewatch-dog, anxious to die after Feodor's reproach, but still ather post, ran toward what she believed to be a new danger. But sherecognized Koupriane's voice, which called on her to open. She let himin herself.

  "What is it?" she implored.

  "Well, he is dead."

  A cry answered him. Natacha had heard.

  "But who--who--who?" questioned Matrena breathlessly.

  Koupriane went over to Feodor and grasped his hands.

  "General," he said, "there was a man who had sworn your ruin and who wasmade an instrument by your enemies. We have just killed that man."

  "Do I know him?" demanded Feodor.

  "He is one of your friends, you have treated him like a son."

  "His name?"

  "Ask your daughter, General."

  Feodor turned toward Natacha, who burned Koupriane with her gaze, tryingto learn what this news was he brought--the truth or a ruse.

  "You know the man who wished to kill me, Natacha?"

  "No," she replied to her father, in accents of perfect fury. "No, Idon't know any such man."

  "Mademoiselle," said Koupriane, in a firm, terribly hostile voice, "youhave yourself, with your own hands, opened that window to-night; and youhave opened it to him many other times besides. While everyone else heredoes his duty and watches that no person shall be able to enter at nightthe house where sleeps General Trebassof, governor of Moscow, condemnedto death by the Central Revolutionary Committee now reunited at Presnia,this is what you do; it is you who introduce the enemy into this place."

  "Answer, Natacha; tell me, yes or no, whether you have let anybody intothis house by night."

  "Father, it is true."

  Feodor roared like a lion:

  "His name!"

  "Monsieur will tell you himself," said Natacha, in a voice thick withterror, and she pointed to Koupriane. "Why does he not tell you himselfthe name of that person? He must know it, if the man is dead."

  "And if the man is not dead," replied Feodor, who visibly held ontohimself, "if that man, whom you helped to enter my house this night, hassucceeded in escaping, as you seem to hope, will you tell us his name?"

  "I could not tell it, Father."

  "And if I prayed you to do so?"

  Natacha desperately shook her head.

  "And if I order you?"

  "You can kill me, Father, but I will not pronounce that name."

  "Wretch!"

  He raised his stick toward her. Thus Ivan the Terrible had killed hisson with a blow of his boar-spear.

  But Natacha, instead of bowing her head beneath the blow that menacedher, turned toward Koupriane and threw at him in accents of triumph:

  "He is not dead. If you had succeeded in taking him, dead or alive, youwould already have his name."

  Koupriane took two steps toward her, put his hand on her shoulder andsaid:

  "Michael Nikolajevitch."

  "Michael Korsakoff!" cried the general.

  Matrena Petrovna, as if revolted by that suggestion, stood upright torepeat:

  "Michael Korsakoff!"

  The general could not believe his ears, and was about to protest when henoticed that his daughter had turned away and was trying to flee to herroom. He stopped her with a terrible gesture.

  "Natacha, you are going to tell us what Michael Korsakoff came here todo to-night."

  "Feodor Feodorovitch, he came to poison you."

  It was Matrena who spoke now and whom nothing could have kept silent,for she saw in Natacha's attempt at flight the most sinister confession.Like a vengeful fury she told over with cries and terrible gestures whatshe had experienced, as if once more stretched before her the handarmed with the poison, the mysterious hand above the pillow of her poorinvalid, her dear, rigorous tyrant; she told them about the precedingnight and all her terrors, and from her lips, by her voluble staccatoutterance that ominous recital had grotesque emphasis. Finally she toldall that she had done, she and the little Frenchman, in order not tobetray their suspicions to The Other, in order to take finally in theirown trap all those who for so many days and nights schemed for the deathof Feodor Feodorovitch. As she ended she pointed out Rouletabille toFeodor and cried, "There is the one who has saved you."

&n
bsp; Natacha, as she listened to this tragic recital, restrained herselfseveral times in order not to interrupt, and Rouletabille, who waswatching her closely, saw that she had to use almost superhuman effortsin order to achieve that. All the horror of what seemed to be to her aswell as to Feodor a revelation of Michael's crime did not subdue her,but seemed, on the contrary, to restore to her in full force all thelife that a few seconds earlier had fled from her. Matrena had hardlyfinished her cry, "There is the one who has saved you," before Natachacried in her turn, facing the reporter with a look full of the mostfrightful hate, "There is the one who has been the death of an innocentman!" She turned to her father. "Ah, papa, let me, let me say thatMichael Nikolaievitch, who came here this evening, I admit, and whom, itis true, I let into the house, that Michael Nikolaievitch did notcome here yesterday, and that the man who has tried to poison you iscertainly someone else."

  At these words Rouletabille turned pale, but he did not let himself loseself-control. He replied simply:

  "No, mademoiselle, it was the same man."

  And Koupriane felt compelled to add:

  "Anyway, we have found the proof of Michael Nikolaievitch's relationswith the revolutionaries."

  "Where have you found that?" questioned the young girl, turning towardthe Chief of Police a face ravished with anguish.

  "At Krestowsky, mademoiselle."

  She looked a long time at him as though she would penetrate to thebottom of his thoughts.

  "What proofs?" she implored.

  "A correspondence which we have placed under seal."

  "Was it addressed to him? What kind of correspondence?"

  "If it interests you, we will open it before you."

  "My God! My God!" she gasped. "Where have you found this correspondence?Where? Tell me where!"

  "I will tell you. `At the villa, in his chamber. We forced the lock ofhis bureau."

  She seemed to breathe again, but her father took her brutally by thearm.

  "Come, Natacha, you are going to tell us what that man was doing hereto-night."

  "In her chamber!" cried Matrena Petrovna.

  Natacha turned toward Matrena:

  "What do you believe, then? Tell me now."

  "And I, what ought I to believe?" muttered Feodor. "You have not toldme yet. You did not know that man had relations with my enemies. You areinnocent of that, perhaps. I wish to think so. I wish it, in the nameof Heaven I wish it. But why did you receive him? Why? Why did you bringhim in here, as a robber or as a..."

  "Oh, papa, you know that I love Boris, that I love him with all myheart, and that I would never belong to anyone but him."

  "Then, then, then.--speak!"

  The young girl had reached the crisis.

  "Ah, Father, Father, do not question me! You, you above all, do notquestion me now. I can say nothing! There is nothing I can tellyou. Excepting that I am sure--sure, you understand--that MichaelNikolaievitch did not come here last night."

  "He did come," insisted Rouletabille in a slightly troubled voice.

  "He came here with poison. He came here to poison your father, Natacha,"moaned Matrena Petrovna, who twined her hands in gestures of sincere andnaive tragedy.

  "And I," replied the daughter of Feodor ardently, with an accentof conviction which made everyone there vibrate, and particularlyRouletabille, "and I, I tell you it was not he, that it was not he, thatit could not possibly be he. I swear to you it was another, another."

  "But then, this other, did you let him in as well?" said Koupriane.

  "Ah, yes, yes. It was I. It was I. It was I who left the window andblinds open. Yes, it is I who did that. But I did not wait for theother, the other who came to assassinate. As to Michael Nikolaievitch,I swear to you, my father, by all that is most sacred in heaven andon earth, that he could not have committed the crime that you say. Andnow--kill me, for there is nothing more I can say."

  "The poison," replied Koupriane coldly, "the poison that he poured intothe general's potion was that arsenate of soda which was on the grapesthe Marshal of the Court brought here. Those grapes were left by theMarshal, who warned Michael Nikolaievitch and Boris Alexandrovitch towash them. The grapes disappeared. If Michael is innocent, do you accuseBoris?"

  Natacha, who seemed to have suddenly lost all power for defendingherself, moaned, begged, railed, seemed dying.

  "No, no. Don't accuse Boris. He has nothing to do with it. Don't accuseMichael. Don't accuse anyone so long as you don't know. But these twoare innocent. Believe me. Believe me. Ah, how shall I say it, how shallI persuade you! I am not able to say anything to you. And you havekilled Michael. Ah, what have you done, what have you done!"

  "We have suppressed a man," said the icy voice of Koupriane, "who wasmerely the agent for the base deeds of Nihilism."

  She succeeded in recovering a new energy that in her depths of despairthey would have supposed impossible. She shook her fists at Koupriane:

  "It is not true, it is not true. These are slanders, infamies! Theinventions of the police! Papers devised to incriminate him. Thereis nothing at all of what you said you found at his house. It is notpossible. It is not true."

  "Where are those papers?" demanded the curt voice of Feodor. "Bring themhere at once, Koupriane; I wish to see them."

  Koupriane was slightly troubled, and this did not escape Natacha, whocried:

  "Yes, yes, let him give us them, let him bring them if he has them. Buthe hasn't," she clamored with a savage joy. "He has nothing. You cansee, papa, that he has nothing. He would already have brought them out.He has nothing. I tell you he has nothing. Ah, he has nothing! He hasnothing!"

  And she threw herself on the floor, weeping, sobbing, "He has nothing,he has nothing!" She seemed to weep for joy.

  "Is that true?" demanded Feodor Feodorovitch, with his most sombermanner. "Is it true, Koupriane, that you have nothing?"

  "It is true, General, that we have found nothing. Everything had alreadybeen carried away."

  But Natacha uttered a veritable torrent of glee:

  "He has found nothing! Yet he accuses him of being allied withthe revolutionaries. Why? Why? Because I let him in? But I, am I arevolutionary? Tell me. Have I sworn to kill papa? I? I? Ah, he doesn'tknow what to say. You see for yourself, papa, he is silent. He has lied.He has lied."

  "Why have you made this false statement, Koupriane?"

  "Oh, we have suspected Michael for some time, and truly, after what hasjust happened, we cannot have any doubt."

  "Yes, but you declared you had papers, and you have not. That isabominable procedure, Koupriane," replied Feodor sternly. "I have heardyou condemn such expedients many times."

  "General! We are sure, you hear, we are absolutely sure that the man whotried to poison you yesterday and the man to-day who is dead are one andthe same."

  "And what reason have you for being so sure? It is necessary to tellit," insisted the general, who trembled with distress and impatience.

  "Yes, let him tell now."

  "Ask monsieur," said Koupriane.

  They all turned to Rouletabille.

  The reporter replied, affecting a coolness that perhaps he did notentirely feel:

  "I am able to state to you, as I already have before Monsieur thePrefect of Police, that one, and only one, person has left the traces ofhis various climbings on the wall and on the balcony."

  "Idiot!" interrupted Natacha, with a passionate disdain for the youngman. "And that satisfies you?"

  The general roughly seized the reporter's wrist:

  "Listen to me, monsieur. A man came here this night. That concerns onlyme. No one has any right to be astonished excepting myself. I make it myown affair, an affair between my daughter and me. But you, you have justtold us that you are sure that man is an assassin. Then, you see, thatcalls for something else. Proofs are necessary, and I want the proofsat once. You speak of traces; very well, we will go and examine thosetraces together. And I wish for your sake, monsieur, that I shall be asconvinced by them as yo
u are."

  Rouletabille quietly disengaged his wrist and replied with perfect calm:

  "Now, monsieur, I am no longer able to prove anything to you."

  "Why?"

  "Because the ladders of the police agents have wiped out all my proofs,monsieur.

  "So now there remains for us only your word, only your belief inyourself. And if you are mistaken?"

  "He would never admit it, papa," cried Natacha. "Ah, it is he whodeserves the fate Michael Nikolaievitch has met just now. Isn't it so?Don't you know it? And that will be your eternal remorse! Isn't theresomething that always keeps you from admitting that you are mistaken?You have had an innocent man killed. Now, you know well enough, you knowwell that I would not have admitted Michael Nikolaievitch here if I hadbelieved he was capable of wishing to poison my father."

  "Mademoiselle," replied Rouletabille, not lowering his eyes underNatacha's thunderous regard, "I am sure of that."

  He said it in such a tone that Natacha continued to look at him withincomprehensible anguish in her eyes. Ah, the baffling of those tworegards, the mute scene between those two young people, one of whomwished to make himself understood and the other afraid beyond all otherthings of being thoroughly understood. Natacha murmured:

  "How he looks at me! See, he is the demon; yes, yes, the little domovoi,the little domovoi. But look out, poor wretch; you don't know what youhave done."

  She turned brusquely toward Koupriane:

  "Where is the body of Michael Nikolaievitch?" said she. "I wish to seeit. I must see it."

  Feodor Feodorovitch had fallen, as though asleep, upon a chair. MatrenaPetrovna dared not approach him. The giant appeared hurt to the death,disheartened forever. What neither bombs, nor bullets, nor poison hadbeen able to do, the single idea of his daughter's co-operation in thework of horror plotted about him--or rather the impossibility he facedof understanding Natacha's attitude, her mysterious conduct, thechaos of her explanations, her insensate cries, her protestationsof innocence, her accusations, her menaces, her prayers and allher disorder, the avowed fact of her share in that tragic nocturnaladventure where Michael Nikolaievitch found his death, had knocked overFeodor Feodorovitch like a straw. One instant he sought refuge in somevague hope that Koupriane was less assured than he pretended of theorderly's guilt. But that, after all, was only a detail of no importancein his eyes. What alone mattered was the significance of Natacha's act,and the unhappy girl seemed not to be concerned over what he wouldthink of it. She was there to fight against Koupriane, Rouletabille andMatrena Petrovna, defending her Michael Nikolajevitch, while he, thefather, after having failed to overawe her just now, was there in acorner suffering agonizedly.

  Koupriane walked over to him and said:

  "Listen to me carefully, Feodor Feodorovitch. He who speaks to you isHead of the Police by the will of the Tsar, and your friend by the graceof God. If you do not demand before us, who are acquainted with all thathas happened and who know how to keep any necessary secret, if you donot demand of your daughter the reason for her conduct with MichaelNikolaievitch, and if she does not tell you in all sincerity, there isnothing more for me to do here. My men have already been ordered awayfrom this house as unworthy to guard the most loyal subject of HisMajesty; I have not protested, but now I in my turn ask you to prove tome that the most dangerous enemy you have had in your house is not yourdaughter."

  These words, which summed up the horrible situation, came as a relieffor Feodor. Yes, they must know. Koupriane was right. She must speak. Heordered his daughter to tell everything, everything.

  Natacha fixed Koupriane again with her look of hatred to the death,turned from him and repeated in a firm voice:

  "I have nothing to say."

  "There is the accomplice of your assassins," growled Koupriane then, hisarm extended.

  Natacha uttered a cry like a wounded beast and fell at her father'sfeet. She gathered them within her supplicating arms. She pressed themto her breasts. She sobbed from the bottom of her heart. And he, notcomprehending, let her lie there, distant, hostile, somber. Then shemoaned, distractedly, and wept bitterly, and the dramatic atmosphere inwhich she thus suddenly enveloped Feodor made it all sound like thosecries of an earlier time when the all-powerful, punishing fatherappeared in the women's apartments to punish the culpable ones.

  "My father! Dear Father! Look at me! Look at me! Have pity on me, and donot require me to speak when I must be silent forever. And believe me!Do not believe these men! Do not believe Matrena Petrovna. And am I notyour daughter? Your very own daughter! Your Natacha Feodorovna! I cannotmake things dear to you. No, no, by the Holy Virgin Mother of JesusI cannot explain. By the holy ikons, it is because I must not. By mymother, whom I have not known and whose place you have taken, oh, myfather, ask me nothing more! Ask me nothing more! But take me in yourarms as you did when I was little; embrace me, dear father; love me.I never have had such need to be loved. Love me! I am miserable.Unfortunate me, who cannot even kill myself before your eyes to provemy innocence and my love. Papa, Papa! What will your arms be for in thedays left you to live, if you no longer wish to press me to your heart?Papa! Papa!"

  She laid her head on Feodor's knees. Her hair had come down and hungabout her in a magnificent disorderly mass of black.

  "Look in my eyes! Look in my eyes! See how they love you, Batouchka!Batouchka! My dear Batouchka!"

  Then Feodor wept. His great tears fell upon Natacha's tears. He raisedher head and demanded simply in a broken voice:

  "You can tell me nothing now? But when will you tell me?"

  Natacha lifted her eyes to his, then her look went past him towardheaven, and from her lips came just one word, in a sob:

  "Never."

  Matrena Petrovna, Koupriane and the reporter shuddered before the highand terrible thing that happened then. Feodor had taken his daughter'sface between his hands. He looked long at those eyes raised towardheaven, the mouth which had just uttered the word "Never," then, slowly,his rude lips went to the tortured, quivering lips of the girl. He heldher close. She raised her head wildly, triumphantly, and cried, with armextended toward Matrena Petrovna:

  "He believes me! He believes me! And you would have believed me also ifyou had been my real mother."

  Her head fell back and she dropped unconscious to the floor. Feodor fellto his knees, tending her, deploring her, motioning the others out ofthe room.

  "Go away! All of you, go! All! You, too, Matrena Petrovna. Go away!"

  They disappeared, terrified by his savage gesture.

  In the little datcha across the river at Krestowsky there was a body.Secret Service agents guarded it while they waited for their chief.Michael Nikolaievitch had come there to die, and the police hadreached him just at his last breath. They were behind him as, with thedeath-rattle in his throat, he pulled himself into his chamber and fellin a heap. Katharina the Bohemian was there. She bent her quick-witted,puzzled head over his death agony. The police swarmed everywhere,ransacking, forcing locks, pulling drawers from the bureau and tables,emptying the cupboards. Their search took in everything, even to rippingthe mattresses, and not respecting the rooms of Boris Mourazoff, whowas away this night. They searched thoroughly, but they found absolutelynothing they were looking for in Michael's rooms. But they accumulated amultitude of publications that belonged to Boris: Western books, essayson political economy, a history of the French Revolution, and versesthat a man ought to hang for. They put them all under seal. During thesearch Michael died in Katharina's arms. She had held him close, afteropening his clothes over the chest, doubtless to make his last breathseasier. The unfortunate officer had received a bullet at the back ofthe head just after he had plunged into the Neva from the rear of theTrebassof datcha and started to swim across. It was a miracle that hehad managed to keep going. Doubtless he hoped to die in peace if onlyhe could reach his own house. He apparently had believed he could managethat once he had broken through his human bloodhounds. He did not knowhe was recognized and his plac
e of retreat therefore known.

  Now the police had gone from cellar to garret. Koupriane came from theTrebassof villa and joined them, Rouletabille followed him. The reportercould not stand the sight of that body, that still had a lingeringwarmth, of the great open eyes that seemed to stare at him, reproachinghim for this violent death. He turned away in distaste, and perhaps alittle in fright. Koupriane caught the movement.

  "Regrets?" he queried.

  "Yes," said Rouletabille. "A death always must be regretted. None theless, he was a criminal. But I'm sincerely sorry he died before he hadbeen driven to confess, even though we are sure of it."

  "Being in the pay of the Nihilists, you mean? That is still youropinion?" asked Koupriane.

  "Yes."

  "You know that nothing has been found here in his rooms. The onlycompromising papers that have been found belong to Boris Mourazoff."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Oh--nothing."

  Koupriane questioned his men further. They replied categorically. No,nothing had been found that directly incriminated anybody; and suddenlyRouletabille noted that the conversation of the police and their chiefhad grown more animated. Koupriane had become angry and was violentlyreproaching them. They excused themselves with vivid gesture and rapidspeech.

  Koupriane started away. Rouletabille followed him. What had happened?

  As he came up behind Koupriane, he asked the question. In a few curtwords, still hurrying on, Koupriane told the reporter he had justlearned that the police had left the little Bohemian Katharina alone fora moment with the expiring officer. Katharina acted as housekeeper forMichael and Boris. She knew the secrets of them both. The first thingany novice should have known was to keep a constant eye upon her, andnow no one knew where she was. She must be searched for and found atonce, for she had opened Michael's shirt, and therein probably lay thereason that no papers were found on the corpse when the police searchedit. The absence of papers, of a portfolio, was not natural.

  The chase commenced in the rosy dawn of the isles. Already blood-liketints were on the horizon. Some of the police cried that they had thetrail. They ran under the trees, because it was almost certain she hadtaken the narrow path leading to the bridge that joins Krestowsky toKameny-Ostrow. Some indications discovered by the police who swarmed toright and left of the path confirmed this hypothesis. And no carriage insight! They all ran on, Koupriane among the first. Rouletabille kept athis heels, but he did not pass him. Suddenly there were cries and callsamong the police. One pointed out something below gliding upon thesloping descent. It was little Kathanna. She flew like the wind, butin a distracted course. She had reached Kameny-Ostrow on the west bank."Oh, for a carriage, a horse!" clamored Koupriane, who had left histurn-out at Eliaguine. "The proof is there. It is the final proof ofeverything that is escaping us!"

  Dawn was enough advanced now to show the ground clearly. Katharina waseasily discernible as she reached the Eliaguine bridge. There she wasin Eliaguine-Ostrow. What was she doing there? Was she going to theTrebassof villa? What would she have to say to them? No, she swervedto the right. The police raced behind her. She was still far ahead, andseemed untiring. Then she disappeared among the trees, in the thicket,keeping still to the right. Koupriane gave a cry of joy. Going that wayshe must be taken. He gave some breathless orders for the island to bebarred. She could not escape now! She could not escape! But where wasshe going? Koupriane knew that island better than anybody. He took ashort cut to reach the other side, toward which Katharina seemed to beheading, and all at once he nearly fell over the girl, who gave a squawkof surprise and rushed away, seeming all arms and legs.

  "Stop, or I fire!" cried Koupriane, and he drew his revolver. But a handgrabbed it from him.

  "Not that!" said Rouletabille, as he threw the revolver far from them.Koupriane swore at him and resumed the chase. His fury multiplied hisstrength, his agility; he almost reached Katharina, who was almost outof breath, but Rouletabille threw himself into the Chief's arms andthey rolled together upon the grass. When Koupriane rose, it was to seeKatharina mounting in mad haste the stairs that led to the Barque, thefloating restaurant of the Strielka. Cursing Rouletabille, but believinghis prey easily captured now, the Chief in his turn hurried to theBarque, into which Katharina had disappeared. He reached the bottom ofthe stairs. On the top step, about to descend from the festive place,the form of Prince Galltch appeared. Koupriane received the sight like ablow stopping him short in his ascent. Galitch had an exultant air whichKoupriane did not mistake. Evidently he had arrived too late. He feltthe certainty of it in profound discouragement. And this appearance ofthe prince on the Barque explained convincingly enough the reason forKatharina's flight here.

  If the Bohemian had filched the papers or the portfolio from the dead,it was the prince now who had them in his pocket.

  Koupriane, as he saw the prince about to pass him, trembled. The princesaluted him and ironically amused himself by inquiring:

  "Well, well, how do you do, my dear Monsieur Koupriane. Your Excellencyhas risen in good time this morning, it seems to me. Or else it is I whostart for bed too late."

  "Prince," said Koupriane, "my men are in pursuit of a little Bohemiannamed Katharina, well known in the restaurants where she sings. We haveseen her go into the Barque. Have you met her by any chance?"

  "Good Lord, Monsieur Koupriane, I am not the concierge of the Barque,and I have not noticed anything at all, and nobody. Besides, I amnaturally a little sleepy. Pardon me."

  "Prince, it is not possible that you have not seen Katharina."

  "Oh, Monsieur the Prefect of Police, if I had seen her I would not tellyou about it, since you are pursuing her. Do you take me for one of yourbloodhounds? They say you have them in all classes, but I insist that Ihaven't enlisted yet. You have made a mistake, Monsieur Koupriane."

  The prince saluted again. But Koupriane still stood in his way.

  "Prince, consider that this matter is very serious. MichaelNikolaievitch, General Trebassof's orderly, is dead, and this littlegirl has stolen his papers from his body. All persons who have spokenwith Katharina will be under suspicion. This is an affair of State,monsieur, which may reach very far. Can you swear to me that you havenot seen, that you have not spoken to Katharina?"

  The prince looked at Koupriane so insolently that the Prefect turnedpale with rage. Ah, if he were able--if he only dared!--but such men asthis were beyond him. Galitch walked past him without a word of answer,and ordered the schwitzar to call him a carriage.

  "Very well," said Koupriane, "I will make my report to the Tsar."

  Galitch turned. He was as pale as Koupriane.

  "In that case, monsieur," said he, "don't forget to add that I am HisMajesty's most humble servant."

  The carriage drew up. The prince stepped in. Koupriane watched him rollaway, raging at heart and with his fists doubled. Just then his men cameup.

  "Go. Search," he said roughly, pointing into the Barque.

  They scattered through the establishment, entering all the rooms. Criesof irritation and of protest arose. Those lingering after the latest oflate suppers were not pleased at this invasion of the police. Everybodyhad to rise while the police looked under the tables, the benches, thelong table-cloths. They went into the pantries and down into the bold.No sign of Katharina. Suddenly Koupriane, who leaned against a nettingand looked vaguely out upon the horizon, waiting for the outcome of thesearch, got a start. Yonder, far away on the other side of the river,between a little wood and the Staria Derevnia, a light boat drew to theshore, and a little black spot jumped from it like a flea. Kouprianerecognized the little black spot as Kathanna. She was safe. Now he couldnot reach her. It would be useless to search the maze of the Bohemianquarter, where her country-people lived in full control, with customsand privileges that had never been infringed. The entire Bohemianpopulation of the capital would have risen against him. It was PrinceGalitch who had made him fail. One of his men came to him:

  "No luck," said h
e. "We have not found Katharina, but she has been herenevertheless. She met Prince Galitch for just a minute, and gave himsomething, then went over the other side into a canoe."

  "Very well," and the Prefect shrugged his shoulders. "I was sure of it."

  He felt more and more, exasperated. He went down along the river edgeand the first person he saw was Rouletabille, who waited for him withoutany impatience, seated philosophically on a bench.

  "I was looking for you," cried the Prefect. "We have failed. By yourfault! If you had not thrown yourself into my arms--"

  "I did it on purpose," declared the reporter.

  "What! What is that you say? You did it on purpose?"

  Koupriane choked with rage.

  "Your Excellency," said Rouletabille, taking him by the arm, "calmyourself. They are watching us. Come along and have a cup of tea atCubat's place. Easy now, as though we were out for a walk."

  "Will you explain to me?"

  "No, no, Your Excellency. Remember that I have promised you GeneralTrebassof's life in exchange for your prisoner's. Very well; by throwingmyself in your arms and keeping you from reaching Katharina, I saved thegeneral's life. It is very simple."

  "Are you laughing at me? Do you think you can mock me?"

  But the prefect saw quickly that Rouletabille was not fooling and had nomockery in his manner.

  "Monsieur," he insisted, "since you speak seriously, I certainly wish tounderstand--"

  "It is useless," said Rouletabille. "It is very necessary that youshould not understand."

  "But at least..."

  "No, no, I can't tell you anything."

  "When, then, will you tell me something to explain your unbelievableconduct?"

  Rouletabille stopped in his tracks and declared solemnly:

  "Monsieur Koupriane, recall what Natacha Feodorovna as she raised herlovely eyes to heaven, replied to her father, when he, also, wished tounderstand: 'Never.'"