The Secret Of The Night(Fiscle Part 3), Gaston Leroux [best pdf ebook reader TXT] 📗

An

Insignificant Doctor From The Common Quarter Of The Vasili-Ostrow,

Brought By The Police,  Reassured Everybody.  The Police Had Not

Found The General's Household Physician At Home,  But Promised The

Immediate Arrival Of Two Specialists,  Whom They Had Found Instead.

In The Meantime They Had Picked Up On The Way This Little Doctor,

Who Was Gay And Talkative As A Magpie.  He Had Enough To Do Looking

After Matrena Petrovna,  Who Had Been So Sick That Her Husband,

Feodor Feodorovitch,  Still Trembled,  "For The First Time In His

Life," As The Excellent Ivan Petrovitch Said.

 

The Reporter Was Astonished At Not Finding Natacha Either In

Matrena's Apartment Or Feodor's.  He Asked Matrena Where Her

Step-Daughter Was.  Matrena Turned A Frightened Face Toward Him.

When They Were Alone,  She Said:

 

"We Do Not Know Where She Is.  Almost As Soon As You Left She

Disappeared,  And No One Has Seen Her Since.  The General Has Asked

For Her Several Times.  I Have Had To Tell Him Koupriane Took Her

With Him To Learn The Details From Her Of What Happened."

 

"She Is Not With Koupriane," Said Rouletabille.

 

"Where Is She?  This Disappearance Is More Than Strange At The

Moment We Were Dying,  When Her Father - O God!  Leave Me,  My Child;

I Am Stifling; I Am Stifling."

 

Rouletabille Called The Temporary Doctor And Withdrew From The

Chamber.  He Had Come With The Idea Of Inspecting The House Room By

Room,  Corner By Corner,  To Make Sure Whether Or Not Any Possibility

Of Entrance Existed That He Had Not Noticed Before,  An Entrance

Would-Be Poisoners Were Continuing To Use.  But Now A New Fact

Confronted Him And Overshadowed Everything: The Disappearance Of

Part 1 Chapter 13 (The Living Bombs) Pg 163

Natacha.  How He Lamented His Ignorance Of The Russian Language

- And Not One Of Koupriane's Men Knew French.  He Might Draw

Something Out Of Ermolai.

 

Ermolai Said He Had Seen Natacha Just Outside The Gate For A Moment,

Looking Up And Down The Road.  Then He Had Been Called To The

General,  And So Knew Nothing Further.

 

That Was All The Reporter Could Gather From The Gestures Rather Than

The Words Of The Old Servant.

 

An Additional Difficulty Now Was That Twilight Drew On,  And It Was

Impossible For The Reporter To Discern Natacha's Foot-Prints.  Was

It True That The Young Girl Had Fled At Such A Moment,  Immediately

After The Poisoning,  Before She Knew Whether Her Father And Mother

Were Entirely Out Of Danger?  If Natacha Were Innocent,  As

Rouletabille Still Wished To Believe,  Such An Attitude Was Simply

Incomprehensible.  And The Girl Could Not But Be Aware She Would

Increase Koupriane's Suspicions.  The Reporter Had A Vital Reason

For Seeing Her Immediately,  A Vital Reason For All Concerned,  Above

All In This Moment When The Nihilists Were Culminating Their Plans,

A Vital Reason For Her And For Him,  Equally Menaced With Death,  To

Talk With Her And To Renew The Propositions He Had Made A Few

Minutes Before The Poisoning And Which She Had Not Wished To Hear

Him Talk About,  In Fearful Pity For Him Or In Defiance Of Him.

Where Was Natacha?  He Thought Maybe She Was Trying To Rejoin

Annouchka,  And There Were Reasons For That,  Both If She Were Innocent

And If She Were Guilty.  But Where Was Annouchka?  Who Could Say!

Gounsovski Perhaps.  Rouletabille Jumped Into An Isvo,  Returning

From The Point Empty,  And Gave Gounsovski's Address.  He Deigned

Then To Recall That He Had Been Invited That Same Day To Dine With

The Gounsovskis.  They Would No Longer Be Expecting Him.  He Blamed

Himself.

 

They Received Him,  But They Had Long Since Finished Dinner.

 

Monsieur And Madame Gounsovski Were Playing A Game Of Draughts

Under The Lamp.  Rouletabille As He Entered The Drawing-Room

Recognized The Shining,  Fattish Bald Head Of The Terrible Man.

Gounsovski Came To Him,  Bowing,  Obsequious,  His Fat Hands Held Out.

He Was Presented To Madame Gounsovski,  Who Was Besprinkled With

Jewels Over Her Black Silk Gown.  She Had A Muddy Skin And

Magnificent Eyes.  She Also Was Tentatively Effusive.  "We Waited

For You,  Monsieur," She Said,  Smirking Timidly,  With The Careful

Charm Of A Woman A Little Along In Years Who Relies Still On

Infantine Graces.  As The Recreant Young Man Offered His Apologies,

"Oh,  We Know You Are Much Occupied,  Monsieur Rouletabille.  My

Husband Said That To Me Only A Moment Ago.  But He Knew You Would

Come Finally.  In The End One Always Accepts My Husband's

Invitation." She Said This With A Fat Smile Of Importance.

 

Rouletabille Turned Cold At This Last Phrase.  He Felt Actual Fear

In The Presence Of These Two Figures,  So Actrociously Commonplace,

In Their Horrible,  Decent Little Drawing-Room.

Part 1 Chapter 13 (The Living Bombs) Pg 164

 

Madame Continued:

 

"But You Have Had Rather A Bad Dinner Already,  Through That Dreadful

Affair At General Trebassof's.  Come Into The Dining-Room."

"Ah,  So Someone Has Told You?" Said Rouletabille.  "No,  No,  Thanks;

I Don't Need Anything More.  You Know What Has Happened?"

 

"If You Had Come To Dinner,  Perhaps Nothing Would Have Happened At

All,  You Know," Said Gounsovski Tranquilly,  Seating Himself Again

On The Cushions And Considering His Game Of Draughts Through His

Glasses.  "Anyway,  Congratulations To Koupriane For Being Away From

There Through His Fear."

 

For Gounsovski There Was Only Koupriane!  The Life Or Death Of

Trebassof Did Not Occupy His Mind.  Only The Acts And Movements Of

The Prefect Of Police Had Power To Move Him.  He Ordered A

Waiting-Maid Who Glided Into The Apartment Without Making More Noise

Than A Shadow To Bring A Small Stand Loaded With Zakouskis And

Bottles Of Champagne Close To The Game-Table,  And He Moved One Of

His Pawns,  Saying,  "You Will Permit Me?  This Move Is Mine.  I Don't

Wish To Lose It."

 

Rouletabille Ventured To Lay His Hand On The Oily,  Hairy Fist Which

Extended From A Dubious Cuff.

 

"What Is This You Tell Me?  How Could You Have Foreseen It?"

 

"It Was Easy To Foresee Everything," Replied Gounsovski,  Offering

Cigars,  "To Foresee Everything From The Moment Matiew's Place Was

Filled By Priemkof."

 

"Well?" Questioned Rouletabille,  Recalling With Some Inquietude The

Sight Of The Whipping In The Guards' Chapel.

 

"Well,  This Priemkof,  Between Ourselves," (And He Bent Close To The

Reporter's Ear) "Is No Better,  As A Police-Guard For Koupriane Than

Matiew Himself.  Very Dangerous.  So When I Learned That He Took

Matiew's Place At The Datcha Des Iles,  I Thought There Was Sure To

Be Some Unfortunate Happening.  But It Was No Affair Of Mine,  Was

It?  Koupriane Would Have Been Able To Say To Me,  'Mind Your Own

Business.'  I Had Gone Far Enough In Warning Him Of The 'Living

Bombs.'  They Had Been Denounced To Us By The Same Agency That

Enabled Us To Seize The Two Living Bombs (Women,  If You Please!)

Who Were Going To The Military Tribunal At Cronstadt After The

Rebellion In The Fleet.  Let Him Recall That.  That Ought To Make

Him Reflect.  I Am A Brave Man.  I Know He Speaks Ill Of Me; But I

Don't Wish Him Any Harm.  The Interests Of The Empire Before All

Else Between Us!  I Wouldn't Talk To You As I Do If I Didn't Know

The Tsar Honors You With His Favor.  Then I Invited You To Dinner.

As One Dines One Talks.  But You Did Not Come.  And,  While You Were

Dining Down There And While Priemkof Was On Guard At The Datcha,

That Annoying Affair Madame Gounsovski Has Spoken About Happened."

 

Part 1 Chapter 13 (The Living Bombs) Pg 165

Rouletabille Had Not Sat Down,  In Spite Of Madame Gounsovski's

Insistences.  He Took The Box Of Cigars Brusquely Out Of The Hand

Of The Chief Of The Secret Service,  Who Had Continued Tendering

Them,  For This Detail Of Hospitality Only Annoyed His Mood,  Which

Had Been Dark Enough For Hours And Was Now Deepened By What The

Other Had Just Said.  He Comprehended Only One Thing,  That A Man

Named Priemkof,  Whom He Had Never Heard Spoken Of,  As Determined As

Matiew To Destroy The General,  Had Been Entrusted By Koupriane

With The Guard Of The Datcha Des Iles.  It Was Necessary To Warn

Koupriane Instantly.

 

"How Is It That You Have Not Done So Already,  Yourself,  Monsieur

Gounsovski?  Why Wait To Speak About It To Me?  It Is Unimaginable."

 

"Pardon,  Pardon," Said Gounsovski,  Smiling Softly Behind His

Goggles; "It Is Not The Same Thing."

 

"No,  No,  It Is Not The Same Thing," Seconded The Lady With The

Black Silk,  Brilliant Jewels And Flabby Chin.  "We Speak Here To A

Friend In The Course Of Dinner-Talk,  To A Friend Who Is Not Of The

Police.  We Never Denounce Anybody."

 

"We Must Tell You.  But Sit Down Now," Gounsovski Still Insisted,

Lighting His Cigar.  "Be Reasonable.  They Have Just Tried To

Poison Him,  So They Will Take Time To Breathe Before They Try

Something Else.  Then,  Too,  This Poison Makes Me Think They May

Have Given Up The Idea Of Living Bombs.  Then,  After All,  What Is

To Be Will Be."

 

"Yes,  Yes," Approved The Ample Dame.  "The Police Never Have Been

Able To Prevent What Was Bound To Happen.  But,  Speaking Of This

Priemkof,  It Remains Between Us,  Eh?  Between Just Us?"

 

"Yes,  We Must Tell You Now," Gounsovski Slipped In Softly,  "That It

Will Be Much Better Not To Let Koupriane Know That You Got The

Information From Me.  Because Then,  You Understand,  He Would Not

Believe You; Or,  Rather,  He Would Not Believe Me.  That Is Why We

Take These Precautions Of Dining And Smoking A Cigar.  We Speak Of

One Thing And Another And You Do As You Please With What We Say.

But,  To Make Them Useful,  It Is Absolutely Necessary,  I Repeat,  To

Be Silent About Their Source."  (As He Said That,  Gounsovski Gave

Rouletabille A Piercing Glance Through His Goggles,  The First Time

Rouletabille Had Seen Such A Look In His Eyes.  He Never Would Have

Suspected Him Capable Of Such Fire.) "Priemkof," Continued Gounsovski

In A Low Voice,  Using His Handkerchief Vigorously,  "Was Employed

Here In My Home And We Separated On Bad Terms,  Through His Fault,

It Is Necessary To Say.  Then He Got Into Koupriane's Confidence

By Saying The Worst He Could Of Us,  My Dear Little Monsieur."

 

"But What Could He Say?  - Servants' Stories!  My Dear Little

Monsieur," Repeated The Fat Dame,  And Rolled Her Great Magnificent

Black Eyes Furiously.  "Stories That Have Been Treated As They

Deserved At Court,  Certainly.  Madame Daquin,  The Wife Of His

Majesty's Head-Cook,  Whom You Certainly Know,  And The Nephew Of The