The Secret of the Night

by Gaston Leroux

  XI. THE POISON CONTINUES

  At ten o'clock that morning Rouletabille went to the Trebassof villa,which had its guard of secret agents again, a double guard, becauseKoupriane was sure the Nihilists would not delay in avenging Michael'sdeath. Rouletabille was met by Ermolai, who would not allow him toenter. The faithful servant uttered some explanation in Russian, whichthe young man did not understand, or, rather, Rouletabille understoodperfectly from his manner that henceforth the door of the villa wasclosed to him. In vain he insisted on seeing the general, MatrenaPetrovna and Mademoiselle Natacha. Ermolai made no reply but "Niet,niet, niet." The reporter turned away without having seen anyone, andwalked away deeply depressed. He went afoot clear into the city, a longpromenade, during which his brain surged with the darkest forebodings.As he passed by the Department of Police he resolved to see Kouprianeagain. He went in, gave his name, and was ushered at once to the Chiefof Police, whom he found bent over a long report that he was readingthrough with noticeable agitation.

  "Gounsovski has sent me this," he said in a rough voice, pointing to thereport. "Gounsovski, 'to do me a service,' desires me to know that he isfully aware of all that happened at the Trebassof datcha last night. Hewarns me that the revolutionaries have decided to get through with thegeneral at once, and that two of them have been given the mission toenter the datcha in any way possible. They will have bombs upon theirbodies and will blow the bombs and themselves up together as soon asthey are beside the general. Who are the two victims designated for thishorrible vengeance, and who have light-heartedly accepted such a deathfor themselves as well as for the general? That is what we don't know.That is what we would have known, perhaps, if you had not preventedme from seizing the papers that Prince Galitch has now," Kouprianefinished, turning hostilely toward Rouletabille.

  Rouletabille had turned pale.

  "Don't regret what happened to the papers," he said. "It is I who tellyou not to. But what you say doesn't surprise me. They must believe thatNatacha has betrayed them."

  "Ah, then you admit at last that she really is their accomplice?"

  "I haven't said that and I don't admit it. But I know what I mean, andyou, you can't. Only, know this one thing, that at the present momentI am the only person able to save you in this horrible situation. To dothat I must see Natacha at once. Make her understand this, while I waitat my hotel for word. I'll not leave it."

  Rouletabille saluted Koupriane and went out.

  Two days passed, during which Rouletabille did not receive any word fromeither Natacha or Koupriane, and tried in vain to see them. He made atrip for a few hours to Finland, going as far as Pergalovo, an isolatedtown said to be frequented by the revolutionaries, then returned, muchdisturbed, to his hotel, after having written a last letter to Natachaimploring an interview. The minutes passed very slowly for him in thehotel's vestibule, where he had seemed to have taken up a definiteresidence.

  Installed on a bench, he seemed to have become part of the hotel staff,and more than one traveler took him for an interpreter. Others thoughthe was an agent of the Secret Police appointed to study the faces ofthose arriving and departing. What was he waiting for, then? Was itfor Annouchka to return for a luncheon or dinner in that place thatshe sometimes frequented? And did he at the same time keep watch uponAnnouchka's apartments just across the way? If that was so, he couldonly bewail his luck, for Annouchka did not appear either at herapartments or the hotel, or at the Krestowsky establishment, whichhad been obliged to suppress her performance. Rouletabille naturallythought, in the latter connection, that some vengeance by Gounsovski layback of this, since the head of the Secret Service could hardly forgetthe way he had been treated. The reporter could see already the poorsinger, in spite of all her safeguards and the favor of the Imperialfamily, on the road to the Siberian steppes or the dungeons ofSchlusselbourg.

  "My, what a country!" he murmured.

  But his thoughts soon quit Annouchka and returned to the object of hismain preoccupation. He waited for only one thing, and for that as soonas possible--to have a private interview with Natacha. He had writtenher ten letters in two days, but they all remained unanswered. It was ananswer that he waited for so patiently in the vestibule of the hotel--sopatiently, but so nervously, so feverishly.

  When the postman entered, poor Rouletabille's heart beat rapidly. Onthat answer he waited for depended the formidable part he meant to playbefore quitting Russia. He had accomplished nothing up to now, unless hecould play his part in this later development.

  But the letter did not come. The postman left, and the schwitzar, afterexamining all the mail, made him a negative sign. Ah, the servants whoentered, and the errand-boys, how he looked at them! But they never camefor him. Finally, at six o'clock in the evening of the second day, a manin a frock-coat, with a false astrakhan collar, came in and handed theconcierge a letter for Joseph Rouletabille. The reporter jumped up.Before the man was out the door he had torn open the letter and read it.The letter was not from Natacha. It was from Gounsovski. This is what itsaid:

  "My dear Monsieur Joseph Rouletabille, if it will not inconvenienceyou, I wish you would come and dine with me to-day. I will look foryou within two hours. Madame Gounsovski will be pleased to make youracquaintance. Believe me your devoted Gounsovski."

  Rouletabille considered, and decided:

  "I will go. He ought to have wind of what is being plotted, and as forme, I don't know where Annouchka has gone. I have more to learn fromhim than he has from me. Besides, as Athanase Georgevitch said, one mayregret not accepting the Head of the Okrana's pleasant invitation."

  From six o'clock to seven he still waited vainly for Natacha's response.At seven o'clock, he decided to dress for the dinner. Just as he rose,a messenger arrived. There was still another letter for JosephRouletabille. This time it was from Natacha, who wrote him:

  "General Trebassof and my step-mother will be very happy to have youcome to dinner to-day. As for myself, monsieur, you will pardon me theorder which has closed to you for a number of days a dwelling where youhave rendered services which I shall not forget all my life."

  The letter ended with a vague polite formula. With the letter in hishand the reporter sat in thought. He seemed to be asking himself, "Is itfish or flesh?" Was it a letter of thanks or of menace? That was what hecould not decide. Well, he would soon know, for he had decided toaccept that invitation. Anything that brought him and Natacha intocommunication at the moment was a thing of capital importance to him.Half-an-hour later he gave the address of the villa to an isvotchick,and soon he stepped out before the gate where Ermolai seemed to bewaiting for him.

  Rouletabille was so occupied by thought of the conversation he was goingto have with Natacha that he had completely forgotten the excellentMonsieur Gounsovski and his invitation.

  The reporter found Koupriane's agents making a close-linked chain aroundthe grounds and each watching the other. Matrena had not wished anyagent to be in house. He showed Koupriane's pass and entered.

  Ermolai ushered Rouletabille in with shining face. He seemed gladto have him there again. He bowed low before him and uttered manycompliments, of which the reporter did not understand a word.Rouletablle passed on, entered the garden and saw Matrena Petrovna therewalking with her step-daughter. They seemed on the best of terms witheach other. The grounds wore an air of tranquillity and the residentsseemed to have totally forgotten the somber tragedy of the other night.Matrena and Natacha came smilingly up to the young man, who inquiredafter the general. They both turned and pointed out Feodor Feodorovitch,who waved to him from the height of the kiosk, where it seemed the tablehad been spread. They were going to dine out of doors this fine night.

  "Everything goes very well, very well indeed, dear little domovoi," saidMatrena. "How glad it is to see you and thank you. If you only knew howI suffered in your absence, I who know how unjust my daughter was toyou. But dear Natacha knows now what she owes you. She doesn't doubtyour word now, nor your clear intelligence, little angel. Micha
elNikolaievitch was a monster and he was punished as he deserved. You knowthe police have proof now that he was one of the Central RevolutionaryCommittee's most dangerous agents. And he an officer! Whom can we trustnow!"

  "And Monsieur Boris Mourazoff, have you seen him since?" inquiredRouletabille.

  "Boris called to see us to-day, to say good-by, but we did not receivehim, under the orders of the police. Natacha has written to tell him ofKoupriane's orders. We have received letters from him; he is quittingSt. Petersburg.

  "What for?"

  "Well, after the frightful bloody scene in his little house, when helearned how Michael Nikolaievitch had found his death, and after hehimself had undergone a severe grilling from the police, and when helearned the police had sacked his library and gone through his papers,he resigned, and has resolved to live from now on out in the country,without seeing anyone, like the philosopher and poet he is. So far as Iam concerned, I think he is doing absolutely right. When a young man isa poet, it is useless to live like a soldier. Someone has said that,I don't know the name now, and when one has ideas that may upset otherpeople, surely they ought to live in solitude."

  Rouletabille looked at Natacha, who was as pale as her white gown, andwho added no word to her mother's outburst. They had drawn near thekiosk. Rouletabille saluted the general, who called to him to come upand, when the young man extended his hand, he drew him abruptly nearerand embraced him. To show Rouletabille how active he was getting again,Feodor Feodorovitch marched up and down the kiosk with only the aid of astick. He went and came with a sort of wild, furious gayety.

  "They haven't got me yet, the dogs. They haven't got me! And one (he wasthinking of Michael) who saw me every day was here just for that. Verywell. I ask you where he is now. And yet here I am! An attack! I'malways here! But with a good eye; and I begin to have a good leg. Weshall see. Why, I recollect how, when I was at Tiflis, there was aninsurrection in the Caucasus. We fought. Several times I could feel theswish of bullets past my hair. My comrades fell around me like flies.But nothing happened to me, not a thing. And here now! They will not getme, they will not get me. You know how they plan now to come to me, asliving bombs. Yes, they have decided on that. I can't press a friend'shand any more without the fear of seeing him explode. What do you thinkof that? But they won't get me. Come, drink my health. A small glassof vodka for an appetizer. You see, young man, we are going to havezakouskis here. What a marvelous panorama! You can see everything fromhere. If the enemy comes," he added with a singular loud laugh, "wecan't fail to detect him."

  Certainly the kiosk did rise high above the garden and was completelydetached, no wall being near. They had a clear view. No branches oftrees hung over the roof and no tree hid the view. The rustic table ofrough wood was covered with a short cloth and was spread with zakouskis.It was a meal under the open sky, a seat and a glass in the clear azure.The evening could not have been softer and clearer. And, as the generalfelt so gay, the repast would have promised to be most agreeable, ifRouletabille had not noticed that Matrena Petrovna and Natacha wereuneasy and downcast. The reporter soon saw, too, that all the general'sjoviality was a little excessive. Anyone would have said that FeodorFeodorovitch spoke to distract himself, to keep himself from thinking.There was sufficient excuse for him after the outrageous drama of theother night. Rouletabille noticed further that the general never lookedat his daughter, even when he spoke to her. There was too formidablea mystery lying between them for restraint not to increase day by day.Rouletabille involuntarily shook his head, saddened by all he saw. Hismovement was surprised by Matrena Petrovna, who pressed his hand insilence.

  "Well, now," said the general, "well, now my children, where is thevodka?"

  Among all the bottles which graced the table the general looked in vainfor his flask of vodka. How in the world could he dine if he did notprepare for that important act by the rapid absorption of two orthree little glasses of white wine, between two or three sandwiches ofcaviare!

  "Ermolai must have left it in the wine-chest," said Matrena.

  The wine-closet was in the dining-room. She rose to go there, butNatacha hurried before her down the little flight of steps, crying,"Stay there, mamma. I will go."

  "Don't you bother, either. I know where it is," cried Rouletabille, andhurried after Natacha.

  She did not stop. The two young people arrived in the dining-room atthe same time. They were there alone, as Rouletabille had foreseen. Hestopped Natacha and planted himself in front of her.

  "Why, mademoiselle, did you not answer me earlier?"

  "Because I don't wish to have any conversation with you."

  "If that was so, you would not have come here, where you were sure Iwould follow."

  She hesitated, with an emotion that would have been incomprehensible toall others perhaps, but was not to Rouletabille.

  "Well, yes, I wished to say this to you: Don't write to me any more.Don't speak to me. Don't see me. Go away from here, monsieur; go away.They will have your life. And if you have found out anything, forget it.Ah, on the head of your mother, forget it, or you are lost. That is whatI wished to tell you. And now, you go."

  She grasped his hand in a quick sympathetic movement that she seemedinstantly to regret.

  "You go away," she repeated.

  Rouletabille still held his place before her. She turned from him; shedid not wish to hear anything further.

  "Mademoiselle," said he, "you are watched closer than ever. Who willtake Michael Nikolaievitch's place?"

  "Madman, be silent! Hush!"

  "I am here."

  He said this with such simple bravery that tears sprang to her eyes.

  "Dear man! Poor man! Dear brave man!" She did not know what to say. Heremotion checked all utterance. But it was necessary for her to enablehim to understand that there was nothing he could do to help her in hersad straits.

  "No. If they knew what you have just said, what you have proposed now,you would be dead to-morrow. Don't let them suspect. And above all,don't try to see me anywhere. Go back to papa at once. We have been heretoo long. What if they learn of it?--and they learn everything! They areeverywhere, and have ears everywhere."

  "Mademoiselle, just one word more, a single word. Do you doubt now thatMichael tried to poison your father?"

  "Ah, I wish to believe it. I wish to. I wish to believe it for yoursake, my poor boy."

  Rouletabille desired something besides "I wish to believe it for yoursake, my poor boy." He was far from being satisfied. She saw him turnpale. She tried to reassure him while her trembling hands raised the lidof the wine-chest.

  "What makes me think you are right is that I have decided myself thatonly one and the same person, as you said, climbed to the window of thelittle balcony. Yes, no one can doubt that, and you have reasoned well."

  But he persisted still.

  "And yet, in spite of that, you are not entirely sure, since you say, 'Iwish to believe it, my poor boy.'"

  "Monsieur Rouletabille, someone might have tried to poison my father,and not have come by way of the window."

  "No, that is impossible."

  "Nothing is impossible to them."

  And she turned her head away again.

  "Why, why," she said, with her voice entirely changed and quiteindifferent, as if she wished to be merely 'the daughter of the house'in conversation with the young man, "the vodka is not in the wine chest,after all. What has Ermolai done with it, then?"

  She ran over to the buffet and found the flask.

  "Oh, here it is. Papa shan't be without it, after all."

  Rouletabille was already into the garden again.

  "If that is the only doubt she has," he said to himself, "I can reassureher. No one could come, excepting by the window. And only one came thatway."

  The young girl had rejoined him, bringing the flask. They crossed thegarden together to the general, who was whiling away the time as hewaited for his vodka explaining to Matrena Petrovna the nature of "theconstitution." He h
ad spilt a box of matches on the table and arrangedthem carefully.

  "Here," he cried to Natacha and Rouletabille. "Come here and I willexplain to you as well what this Constitution amounts to."

  The young people leaned over his demonstration curiously and all eyes inthe kiosk were intent on the matches.

  "You see that match," said Feodor Feodorovitch. "It is the Emperor. Andthis other match is the Empress; this one is the Tsarevitch; and thatone is the Grand-duke Alexander; and these are the other granddukes.Now, here are the ministers and there the principal governors, and thenthe generals; these here are the bishops."

  The whole box of matches was used up, and each match was in its place,as is the way in an empire where proper etiquette prevails in governmentand the social order.

  "Well," continued the general, "do you want to know, Matrena Petrovna,what a constitution is? There! That is the Constitution."

  The general, with a swoop of his hand, mixed all the matches.Rouletabille laughed, but the good Matrena said:

  "I don't understand, Feodor."

  "Find the Emperor now."

  Then Matrena understood. She laughed heartily, she laughed violently,and Natacha laughed also. Delighted with his success, FeodorFeodorovitch took up one of the little glasses that Natacha had filledwith the vodka she brought.

  "Listen, my children," said he. "We are going to commence the zakouskis.Koupriane ought to have been here before this."

  Saying this, holding still the little glass in his hand, he felt in hispocket with the other for his watch, and drew out a magnificent largewatch whose ticking was easily heard.

  "Ah, the watch has come back from the repairer," Rouletabille remarkedsmilingly to Matrena Petrovna. "It looks like a splendid one."

  "It has very fine works," said the general. "It was bequeathed to me bymy grandfather. It marks the seconds, and the phases of the moon, andsounds the hours and half-hours."

  Rouletabille bent over the watch, admiring it.

  "You expect M. Koupriane for dinner?" inquired the young man, stillexamining the watch.

  "Yes, but since he is so late, we'll not delay any longer. Your healths,my children," said the general as Rouletabille handed him back the watchand he put it in his pocket.

  "Your health, Feodor Feodorovitch," replied Matrena Petrovna, with herusual tenderness.

  Rouletabille and Natacha only touched their lips to the vodka, butFeodor Feodorovitch and Matrena drank theirs in the Russian fashion,head back and all at a draught, draining it to the bottom and flingingthe contents to the back of the throat. They had no more than performedthis gesture when the general uttered an oath and tried to expel what hehad drained so heartily. Matrena Petrovna spat violently also, lookingwith horror at her husband.

  "What is it? What has someone put in the vodka?" cried Feodor.

  "What has someone put in the vodka?" repeated Matrena Petrovna in athick voice, her eyes almost starting from her head.

  The two young people threw themselves upon the unfortunates. Feodor'sface had an expression of atrocious suffering.

  "We are poisoned," cried the general, in the midst of his chokings. "Iam burning inside."

  Almost mad, Natacha took her father's head in her hands. She cried tohim:

  "Vomit, papa; vomit!"

  "We must find an emetic," cried Rauletabille, holding on to the general,who had almost slipped from his arms.

  Matrena Petrovna, whose gagging noises were violent, hurried down thesteps of the kiosk, crossed the garden as though wild-fire werebehind her, and bounded into the veranda. During this time the generalsucceeded in easing himself, thanks to Rouletabille, who had thrust aspoon to the root of his tongue. Natacha could do nothing but cry, "MyGod, my God, my God!" Feodor held onto his stomach, still crying, "I'mburning, I'm burning!" The scene was frightfully tragic and funny at thesame time. To add to the burlesque, the general's watch in his pocketstruck eight o'clock. Feodor Feodorovitch stood up in a final supremeeffort. "Oh, it is horrible!" Matrena Petrovna showed a red, almostviolet face as she came back; she distorted it, she choked, her mouthtwitched, but she brought something, a little packet that she waved, andfrom which, trembling frightenedly, she shook a powder into the firsttwo empty glasses, which were on her side of the table and were thoseshe and the general had drained. She still had strength to fill themwith water, while Rouletabille was almost overcome by the general, whomhe still had in his arms, and Natacha concerned herself with nothingbut her father, leaning over him as though to follow the progress ofthe terrible poison, to read in his eyes if it was to be life or death."Ipecac," cried Matrena Petrovna, and she made the general drink it.She did not drink until after him. The heroic woman must have exertedsuperhuman force to go herself to find the saving antidote in hermedicine-chest, even while the agony pervaded her vitals.

  Some minutes later both could be considered saved. The servants, Ermolaiat their head, were clustered about. Most of them had been at the lodgeand they had not, it appeared, heard the beginning of the affair, thecries of Natacha and Rouletabille. Koupriane arrived just then. It washe who worked with Natacha in getting the two to bed. Then he directedone of his agents to go for the nearest doctors they could find.

  This done, the Prefect of Police went toward the kiosk where he had leftRouletabille. But Rouletabille was not to be found, and the flask ofvodka and the glasses from which they had drunk were gone also. Ermolaiwas near-by, and he inquired of the servant for the young Frenchman.Ermolai replied that he had just gone away, carrying the flask and theglasses. Koupriane swore. He shook Ermolai and even started to give hima blow with the fist for permitting such a thing to happen before hiseyes without making a protest.

  Ermolai, who had his own haughtiness, dodged Koupriane's fist andreplied that he had wished to prevent the young Frenchman, but thereporter had shown him a police-paper on which Koupriane himself haddeclared in advance that the young Frenchman was to do anything hepleased.