The Secret of the Night
right and left of the path confirmed this hypothesis. And no carriage in
sight! They all ran on, Koupriane among the first. Rouletabille kept at
his heels, but he did not pass him. Suddenly there were cries and calls
among the police. One pointed out something below gliding upon the
sloping descent. It was little Katharina. She flew like the wind, but
in a distracted course. She had reached Kameny-Ostrow on the west bank.
“Oh, for a carriage, a horse!” clamored Koupriane, who had left his
turn-out at Eliaguine. “The proof is there. It is the final proof of
everything that is escaping us!”
Dawn was enough advanced now to show the ground clearly. Katharina was
easily discernible as she reached the Eliaguine bridge. There she was
in Eliaguine-Ostrow. What was she doing there? Was she going to the
Trebassof villa? What would she have to say to them? No, she swerved
to the right. The police raced behind her. She was still far ahead, and
seemed untiring. Then she disappeared among the trees, in the thicket,
keeping still to the right. Koupriane gave a cry of joy. Going that way
she must be taken. He gave some breathless orders for the island to be
barred. She could not escape now! She could not escape! But where was
she going? Koupriane knew that island better than anybody. He took a
short cut to reach the other side, toward which Katharina seemed to be
heading, and all at once he nearly fell over the girl, who gave a squawk
of surprise and rushed away, seeming all arms and legs.
“Stop, or I fire!” cried Koupriane, and he drew his revolver. But a hand
grabbed 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 his
strength, his agility; he almost reached Katharina, who was almost out
of breath, but Rouletabille threw himself into the Chief’s arms and
they rolled together upon the grass. When Koupriane rose, it was to see
Katharina mounting in mad haste the stairs that led to the Barque, the
floating restaurant of the Strielka. Cursing Rouletabille, but believing
his prey easily captured now, the Chief in his turn hurried to the
Barque, into which Katharina had disappeared. He reached the bottom of
the stairs. On the top step, about to descend from the festive place,
the form of Prince Galitch appeared. Koupriane received the sight like a
blow stopping him short in his ascent. Galitch had an exultant air which
Koupriane did not mistake. Evidently he had arrived too late. He felt
the certainty of it in profound discouragement. And this appearance of
the prince on the Barque explained convincingly enough the reason for
Katharina’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 prince
saluted him and ironically amused himself by inquiring:
“Well, well, how do you do, my dear Monsieur Koupriane. Your Excellency
has risen in good time this morning, it seems to me. Or else it is I who
start for bed too late.”
“Prince,” said Koupriane, “my men are in pursuit of a little Bohemian
named Katharina, well known in the restaurants where she sings. We have
seen 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 am
naturally 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 tell
you about it, since you are pursuing her. Do you take me for one of your
bloodhounds? They say you have them in all classes, but I insist that I
haven’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. Michael
Nikolaievitch, General Trebassof’s orderly, is dead, and this little
girl has stolen his papers from his body. All persons who have spoken
with Katharina will be under suspicion. This is an affair of State,
monsieur, which may reach very far. Can you swear to me that you have
not seen, that you have not spoken to Katharina?”
The prince looked at Koupriane so insolently that the Prefect turned
pale with rage. Ah, if he were able--if he only dared!--but such men as
this 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 His
Majesty’s most humble servant.”
The carriage drew up. The prince stepped in. Koupriane watched him roll
away, raging at heart and with his fists doubled. Just then his men came
up.
“Go. Search,” he said roughly, pointing into the Barque.
They scattered through the establishment, entering all the rooms. Cries
of irritation and of protest arose. Those lingering after the latest of
late suppers were not pleased at this invasion of the police. Everybody
had to rise while the police looked under the tables, the benches, the
long table-cloths. They went into the pantries and down into the hold.
No sign of Katharina. Suddenly Koupriane, who leaned against a netting
and looked vaguely out upon the horizon, waiting for the outcome of the
search, 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 the
shore, and a little black spot jumped from it like a flea. Koupriane
recognized the little black spot as Katharina. She was safe. Now he could
not reach her. It would be useless to search the maze of the Bohemian
quarter, where her country-people lived in full control, with customs
and privileges that had never been infringed. The entire Bohemian
population of the capital would have risen against him. It was Prince
Galitch who had made him fail. One of his men came to him:
“No luck,” said he. “We have not found Katharina, but she has been here
nevertheless. She met Prince Galitch for just a minute, and gave him
something, 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 edge
and the first person he saw was Rouletabille, who waited for him without
any impatience, seated philosophically on a bench.
“I was looking for you,” cried the Prefect. “We have failed. By your
fault! 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, “calm
yourself. They are watching us. Come along and have a cup of tea at
Cubat’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 General
Trebassof’s life in exchange for your prisoner’s. Very well; by throwing
myself in your arms and keeping you from reaching Katharina, I saved the
general’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 no
mockery in his manner.
“Monsieur,” he insisted, “since you speak seriously, I certainly wish to
understand--”
“It is useless,” said Rouletabille. “It is very necessary that you
should not understand.”
“But at least...”
“No, no, I can’t tell you anything.”
“When, then, will you tell me something to explain your unbelievable
conduct?”
Rouletabille stopped in his tracks and declared solemnly:
“Monsieur Koupriane, recall what Natacha Feodorovna as she raised her
lovely eyes to heaven, replied to her father, when he, also, wished to
understand: ‘Never.’”
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, because
Koupriane was sure the Nihilists would not delay in avenging Michael’s
death. Rouletabille was met by Ermolai, who would not allow him to
enter. The faithful servant uttered some explanation in Russian, which
the young man did not understand, or, rather, Rouletabille understood
perfectly from his manner that henceforth the door of the villa was
closed to him. In vain he insisted on seeing the general, Matrena
Petrovna and Mademoiselle Natacha. Ermolai made no reply but “Niet,
niet, niet.” The reporter turned away without having seen anyone, and
walked away deeply depressed. He went afoot clear into the city, a long
promenade, during which his brain surged with the darkest forebodings.
As he passed by the Department of Police he resolved to see Koupriane
again. He went in, gave his name, and was ushered at once to the Chief
of Police, whom he found bent over a long report that he was reading
through with noticeable agitation.
“Gounsovski has sent me this,” he said in a rough voice, pointing to the
report. “Gounsovski, ‘to do me a service,’ desires me to know that he is
fully aware of all that happened at the Trebassof datcha last night. He
warns me that the revolutionaries have decided to get through with the
general at once, and that two of them have been given the mission to
enter the datcha in any way possible. They will have bombs upon their
bodies and will blow the bombs and themselves up together as soon as
they are beside the general. Who are the two victims designated for this
horrible vengeance, and who have light-heartedly accepted such a death
for 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 prevented
me from seizing the papers that Prince Galitch has now,” Koupriane
finished, turning hostilely toward Rouletabille.
Rouletabille had turned pale.
“Don’t regret what happened to the papers,” he said. “It is I who tell
you not to. But what you say doesn’t surprise me. They must believe that
Natacha 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, and
you, you can’t. Only, know this one thing, that at the present moment
I am the only person able to save you in this horrible situation. To do
that I must see Natacha at once. Make her understand this, while I wait
at 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 from
either Natacha or Koupriane, and tried in vain to see them. He made a
trip for a few hours to Finland, going as far as Pergalovo, an isolated
town said to be frequented by the revolutionaries, then returned, much
disturbed, to his hotel, after having written a last letter to Natacha
imploring an interview. The minutes passed very slowly for him in the
hotel’s vestibule, where he had seemed to have taken up a definite
residence.
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 thought
he was an agent of the Secret Police appointed to study the faces of
those arriving and departing. What was he waiting for, then? Was it
for Annouchka to return for a luncheon or dinner in that place that
she sometimes frequented? And did he at the same time keep watch upon
Annouchka’s apartments just across the way? If that was so, he could
only bewail his luck, for Annouchka did not appear either at her
apartments or the hotel, or at the Krestowsky establishment, which