The Secret Of The Night(Fiscle Part 3) by Gaston Leroux (readera ebook reader txt) 📕

About The Case 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 The

Altercation They Had On The Edge Of The Gulf.  He Decided The Same

Way This Time.

"Very Well," Said He.  "You Have My Word.  The Poor Devil!"

"You Are A Brave Man,  Monsieur Koupriane,  But A Little Quick With

The Whip..."

"What Would You Expect?  One's Work Teaches That."

"Good Morning.  No,  Don't Trouble To Show Me Out.  I Am Compromised

Enough Already," Said Rouletabille,  Laughing.

"Au Revoir,  And Good Luck!  Get To Work Interviewing The President

Of The Duma," 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 A Bit Of What He Knows."

"And Now It's Between Us Two,  Natacha," Murmured Rouletabille As

Soon As He Was Outside.  He Hailed The First Carriage That Passed

And Gave The Address Of The Datcha Des Iles.  When He Got In He

Held His Head Between His Hands; His Face Burned,  His Jaws Were Set.

But By A Prodigious Effort Of His Will He Resumed Almost Instantly

His Calm,  His Self-Control.  As He Went Back Across The Neva,  Across

The Bridge Where He Had Felt So Elated A Little While Before,  And

Saw The Isles Again He Sighed Heavily.  "I Thought I Had Got It All

Over With,  So Far As I Was Concerned,  And Now I Don't Know Where It

Will Stop."  His Eyes Grew Dark For A Moment With Somber Thoughts

And The Vision Of The Lady In Black Rose Before Him; Then He Shook

His Head,  Filled His Pipe,  Lighted It,  Dried A Tear That Had Been

Caused Doubtless By A Little Smoke In His Eye,  And Stopped

Sentimentalizing.  A Quarter Of An Hour Later He Gave A True Russian

Nobleman's Fist-Blow In The Back To The Coachman As An Intimation

That They Had Reached The Trebassof Villa.  A Charming Picture Was

Before Him.  They Were All Lunching Gayly In The Garden,  Around The

Table In The Summer-House.  He Was Astonished,  However,  At Not

Seeing Natacha With Them.  Boris Mourazoff And Michael Korsakoff

Were There.  Rouletabille Did Not Wish To Be Seen.  He Made A Sign

To Ermolai,  Who Was Passing Through The Garden And Who Hurried To

Meet Him At The Gate.

"The Barinia," Said The Reporter,  In A Low Voice And With His Finger

To His Lips To Warn The Faithful Attendant To Caution.

In Two Minutes Matrena Petrovna Joined Rouletabille In The Lodge.

"Well,  Where Is Natacha?" He Demanded Hurriedly As She Kissed His

Hands Quite As Though She Had Made An Idol Of Him.

"She Has Gone Away.  Yes,  Out.  Oh,  I Did Not Keep Her.  I Did Not

Try To Hold Her Back.  Her Expression Frightened Me,  You Can

Understand,  My Little Angel.  My,  You Are Impatient!  What Is It

About?  How Do We Stand?  What Have You Decided?  I Am Your Slave.

Command Me.  Command Me.  The Keys Of The Villa?"

"Yes,  Give Me A Key To The Veranda; You Must Have Several.  I Must

Be Able To Get Into The House To-Night If It Becomes Necessary."

She Drew A Key From Her Gown,  Gave It To The Young Man And Said A

Few Words In Russian To Ermolai,  To Enforce Upon Him That He Must

Obey The Little Domovoi-Doukh In Anything,  Day Or Night.

"Now Tell Me Where Natacha Has Gone."

"Boris's Parents Came To See Us A Little While Ago,  To Inquire After

The General.  They Have Taken Natacha Away With Them,  As They Often

Have Done.  Natacha Went With Them Readily Enough.  Little Domovoi,

Listen To Me,  Listen To Matrena Petrovna -  Anyone Would Have Said

She Was Expecting It!"

"Then She Has Gone To Lunch At Their House?"

"Doubtless,  Unless They Have Gone To A Cafe.  I Don't Know.  Boris's

Father Likes To Have The Family Lunch At The Barque When It Is Fine.

Calm Yourself,  Little Domovoi.  What Ails You?  Bad News,  Eh?  Any

Bad News?"

"No,  No; Everything Is All Right.  Quick,  The Address Of Boris's

Family."

"The House At The Corner Of La Place St. Isaac And La Rue De La

Poste."

"Good.  Thank You.  Adieu."

He Started For The Place St. Isaac,  And Picked Up An Interpreter At

The Grand Morskaia Hotel On The Way.  It Might Be Useful To Have Him.

At The Place St. Isaac He Learned The Morazoffs And Natacha Trebassof

Had Gone By Train For Luncheon At Bergalowe,  One Of The Nearby

Stations In Finland.

"That Is All," Said He,  And Added Apart To Himself,  "And Perhaps That

Is Not True."

He Paid The Coachman And The Interpreter,  And Lunched At The

Brasserie De Vienne Nearby.  He Left There A Half-Hour Later,  Much

Calmer.  He Took His Way To The Grand Morskaia Hotel,  Went Inside

And Asked The Schwitzar:

"Can You Give Me The Address Of Mademoiselle Annouchka?"

"The Singer Of The Krestowsky?"

"That Is Who I Mean."

"She Had Luncheon Here.  She Has Just Gone Away With The Prince."

Without Any Curiosity As To Which Prince,  Rouletabille Cursed His

Luck And Again Asked For Her Address.

"Why,  She Lives In An Apartment Just Across The Way."

Rouletabille,  Feeling Better,  Crossed The Street,  Followed By The

Interpreter That He Had Engaged.  Across The Way He Learned On The

Landing Of The First Floor That Mademoiselle Annouchka Was Away For

The Day.  He Descended,  Still Followed By His Interpreter,  And

Recalling How Someone Had Told Him That In Russia It Was Always

Profitable To Be Generous,  He Gave Five Roubles To The Interpreter

And Asked Him For Some Information About Mademoiselle Annouchka's

Life In St.  Petersburg.  The Interpreter Whispered:

"She Arrived A Week Ago,  But Has Not Spent A Single Night In Her

Apartment Over There."

He Pointed To The House They Had Just Left,  And Added:

"Merely Her Address For The Police."

"Yes,  Yes," Said Rouletabille,  "I Understand.  She Sings This

Evening,  Doesn't She?"

"Monsieur,  It Will Be A Wonderful Debut."

"Yes,  Yes,  I Know.  Thanks."

All These Frustrations In The Things He Had Undertaken That Day

Instead Of Disheartening Him Plunged Him Deep Into Hard Thinking.

He Returned,  His Hands In His Pockets,  Whistling Softly,  To The

Place St. Isaac,  Walked Around The Church,  Keeping An Eye On The

House At The Corner,  Investigated The Monument,  Went Inside,

Examined All Its Details,  Came Out Marveling,  And Finally Went Once

Again To The Residence Of The Mourazoffs,  Was Told That They Had

Not Yet Returned From The Finland Town,  Then Went And Shut Himself

In His Room At The Hotel,  Where He Smoked A Dozen Pipes Of Tobacco.

He Emerged From His Cloud Of Smoke At Dinner-Time.

At Ten That Evening He Stepped Out Of His Carriage Before The

Krestowsky.  The Establishment Of Krestowsky,  Which Looms Among The

Isles Much As The Aquarium Does,  Is Neither A Theater,  Nor A

Music-Hall,  Nor A Cafe-Concert,  Nor A Restaurant,  Nor A Public

Garden; It Is All Of These And Some Other Things Besides.  Summer

Theater,  Winter Theater,  Open-Air Theater,  Hall For Spectacles,

Scenic Mountain,  Exercise-Ground,  Diversions Of All Sorts,  Garden

Promenades,  Cafes,  Restaurants,  Private Dining-Rooms,  Everything Is

Combined Here That Can Amuse,  Charm,  Lead To The Wildest Orgies,  Or

Provide Those Who Never Think Of Sleep Till Toward Three Or Four

O'clock Of A Morning The Means To Await The Dawn With Patience.  The

Most Celebrated Companies Of The Old And The New World Play There

Amid An Enthusiasm That Is Steadily Maintained By The Foresight Of

The Managers: Russian And Foreign Dancers,  And Above All The French

Chanteuses,  The Little Dolls Of The Cafes-Concerts,  So Long As They

Are Young,  Bright,  And Elegantly Dressed,  May Meet Their Fortune

There.  If There Is No Such Luck,  They Are Sure At Least To Find

Every Evening Some Old Beau,  And Often Some Officer,  Who Willingly

Pays Twenty-Five Roubles For The Sole Pleasure Of Having A Demoiselle

Born On The Banks Of The Seine For His Companion At The Supper-Table.

After Their Turn At The Singing,  These Women Display Their Graces And

Their Eager Smiles In The Promenades Of The Garden Or Among The

Tables Where The Champagne-Drinkers Sit.  The Head-Liners,  Naturally,

Are Not Driven To This Wearying Perambulation,  But Can Go Away To

Their Rest If They Are So Inclined.  However,  The Management Is

Appreciative If They Accept The Invitation Of Some Dignitary Of The

Army,  Of Administration,  Or Of Finance,  Who Seeks The Honor Of

Hearing From The Chanteuse,  In A Private Room And With A Company Of

Friends Not Disposed To Melancholy,  The Bohemian Songs Of The Vieux

Derevnia.  They Sing,  They Loll,  They Talk Of Paris,  And Above All

They Drink.  If Sometimes The Little Fete Ends Rather Roughly,  It

Is The Friendly And