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

Not Possible.  It Is Not True."

"Where Are Those Papers?" Demanded The Curt Voice Of Feodor.  "Bring

Them Here At Once,  Koupriane; I Wish To See Them."

Koupriane Was Slightly Troubled,  And This Did Not Escape Natacha,

Who Cried:

"Yes,  Yes,  Let Him Give Us Them,  Let Him Bring Them If He Has Them.

But He Hasn't," She Clamored With A Savage Joy.  "He Has Nothing.

You Can See,  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 Has Nothing!"

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 Somber

Manner.  "Is It True,  Koupriane,  That You Have Nothing?"

"It Is True,  General,  That We Have Found Nothing.  Everything Had

Already Been Carried Away."

But Natacha Uttered A Veritable Torrent Of Glee:

"He Has Found Nothing!  Yet He Accuses Him Of Being Allied With The

Revolutionaries.  Why?  Why? Because I Let Him In?  But I,  Am I A

Revolutionary?  Tell Me.  Have I Sworn To Kill Papa?  I?  I?  Ah,  He

Doesn't Know 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

Has Just Happened,  We Cannot Have Any Doubt."

"Yes,  But You Declared You Had Papers,  And You Have Not.  That Is

Abominable Procedure,  Koupriane," Replied Feodor Sternly.  "I Have

Heard You Condemn Such Expedients Many Times."

"General!  We Are Sure,  You Hear,  We Are Absolutely Sure That The

Man Who Tried To Poison You Yesterday And The Man To-Day Who Is

Dead Are One And The Same."

"And What Reason Have You For Being So Sure?  It Is Necessary To

Tell It," 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 Not

Entirely Feel:

"I Am Able To State To You,  As I Already Have Before Monsieur The

Prefect Of Police,  That One,  And Only One,  Person Has Left The

Traces Of His Various Climbings On The Wall And On The Balcony."

"Idiot!" Interrupted Natacha,  With A Passionate Disdain For The

Young Man.  "And That Satisfies You?"

The General Roughly Seized The Reporter's Wrist:

"Listen To Me,  Monsieur.  A Man Came Here This Night.  That Concerns

Only Me.  No One Has Any Right To Be Astonished Excepting Myself.  I

Make It My Own Affair,  An Affair Between My Daughter And Me.  But

You,  You Have Just Told Us That You Are Sure That Man Is An Assassin.

Then,  You See,  That Calls For Something Else.  Proofs Are Necessary,

And I Want The Proofs At Once.  You Speak Of Traces; Very Well,  We

Will Go And Examine Those Traces Together.  And I Wish For Your Sake,

Monsieur,  That I Shall Be As Convinced By Them As You 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 In

Yourself.  And If You Are Mistaken?"

"He Would Never Admit It,  Papa," Cried Natacha.  "Ah,  It Is He Who

Deserves 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

There Something That Always Keeps You From Admitting That You Are

Mistaken?  You Have Had An Innocent Man Killed.  Now,  You Know Well

Enough,  You Know Well That I Would Not Have Admitted Michael

Nikolaievitch Here If I Had Believed He Was Capable Of Wishing To

Poison My Father."

"Mademoiselle," Replied Rouletabille,  Not Lowering His Eyes Under

Natacha's Thunderous Regard,  "I Am Sure Of That."

He Said It In Such A Tone That Natacha Continued To Look At Him

With Incomprehensible Anguish In Her Eyes.  Ah,  The Baffling Of

Those Two Regards,  The Mute Scene Between Those Two Young People,

One Of Whom Wished To Make Himself Understood And The Other Afraid

Beyond All Other Things 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 You Have Done."

She Turned Brusquely Toward Koupriane:

"Where Is The Body Of Michael Nikolaievitch?" Said She.  "I Wish To

See It.  I Must See It."

Feodor Feodorovitch Had Fallen,  As Though Asleep,  Upon A Chair.

Matrena Petrovna Dared Not Approach Him.  The Giant Appeared Hurt

To The Death,  Disheartened Forever.  What Neither Bombs,  Nor Bullets,

Nor Poison Had Been Able To Do,  The Single Idea Of His Daughter's

Co-Operation In The Work Of Horror Plotted About Him - Or Rather

The Impossibility He Faced Of Understanding Natacha's Attitude,  Her

Mysterious Conduct,  The Chaos Of Her Explanations,  Her Insensate

Cries,  Her Protestations Of Innocence,  Her Accusations,  Her Menaces,

Her Prayers And All Her Disorder,  The Avowed Fact Of Her Share In

That Tragic Nocturnal Adventure Where Michael Nikolaievitch Found

His Death,  Had Knocked Over Feodor Feodorovitch Like A Straw.  One

Instant He Sought Refuge In Some Vague Hope That Koupriane Was Less

Assured Than He Pretended Of The Orderly's Guilt.  But That,  After

All,  Was Only A Detail Of No Importance In His Eyes.  What Alone

Mattered Was The Significance Of Natacha's Act,  And The Unhappy

Girl Seemed Not To Be Concerned Over What He Would Think Of It.

She Was There To Fight Against Koupriane,  Rouletabille And Matrena

Petrovna,  Defending Her Michael Nikolajevitch,  While He,  The Father,

After Having Failed To Overawe Her Just Now,  Was There In A Corner

Suffering Agonizedly.

Koupriane Walked Over To Him And Said:

"Listen To Me Carefully,  Feodor Feodorovitch.  He Who Speaks To You

Is Head Of The Police By The Will Of The Tsar,  And Your Friend By

The Grace Of God.  If You Do Not Demand Before Us,  Who Are Acquainted

With All That Has Happened And Who Know How To Keep Any Necessary

Secret,  If You Do Not Demand Of Your Daughter The Reason For Her

Conduct With Michael Nikolaievitch,  And If She Does Not Tell You

In All Sincerity,  There Is Nothing More For Me To Do Here.  My Men

Have Already Been Ordered Away From This House As Unworthy To Guard

The Most Loyal Subject Of His Majesty; I Have Not Protested,  But

Now I In My Turn Ask You To Prove To Me That The Most Dangerous

Enemy You Have Had In Your House Is Not Your Daughter."

These Words,  Which Summed Up The Horrible Situation,  Came As A

Relief For Feodor.  Yes,  They Must Know.  Koupriane Was Right.  She

Must Speak.  He Ordered 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,

His Arm Extended.

Natacha Uttered A Cry Like A Wounded Beast And Fell At Her Father's

Feet.  She Gathered Them Within Her Supplicating Arms.  She Pressed

Them To Her Breasts.  She Sobbed From The Bottom Of Her Heart.  And

He,  Not Comprehending,  Let Her Lie There,  Distant,  Hostile,  Somber.

Then She Moaned,  Distractedly,  And Wept Bitterly,  And The Dramatic

Atmosphere In Which She Thus Suddenly Enveloped Feodor Made It All

Sound Like Those Cries Of An Earlier Time When The All-Powerful,

Punishing Father Appeared 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 Do Not 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 Not Your Daughter? Your Very Own Daughter!  Your

Natacha Feodorovna!  I Cannot Make Things Dear To You.  No,  No,  By

The Holy Virgin Mother Of Jesus I Cannot Explain.  By The Holy Ikons,

It Is Because I Must Not.  By My Mother,  Whom I Have Not Known And

Whose Place You Have Taken,  Oh,  My Father,  Ask Me Nothing More!

Ask Me Nothing More!  But Take Me In Your Arms 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 Prove My Innocence And

My Love.  Papa,  Papa!  What Will Your Arms Be For In The Days 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

Hung About 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

Raised Her 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 Toward

Heaven,  And From Her Lips Came Just One Word,  In A Sob:

"Never."

Matrena Petrovna,  Koupriane And The Reporter Shuddered Before The

High And Terrible Thing That Happened Then.  Feodor Had Taken His

Daughter's Face Between His Hands.  He Looked Long At Those Eyes