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

Herds?  They Made A Noise Like Thunder In The Marsh.  Here Were A

Thousand Unkempt Haunches Undulating In The Marsh Like The Ocean As

A Storm Approaches.  The Stark-Naked Men Jumped Along The Route,

Waving Their Clubs,  Crying Gutturally In A Way The Beasts Seemed

To Understand.  They Worked Their Way Out From The Marsh And Turned

Toward The City,  Leaving Behind,  To Swathe The View Of Them A While

And Then Fade Away,  A Pestilential Haze That Hung Like An Aura About

The Naked,  Long-Haired Men.  It Was Terrible And Magnificent.  In

Order Not To Be Shoved Into The Water,  Rouletabille Had Climbed A

Small Rock That Stood Beside The Route,  And Had Waited There As

Though Petrified Himself.  When The Barbarians Had Finally Passed

By He Climbed Down Again,  But The Route Had Become A Bog Of

Trampled Filth.

Happily,  He Heard The Noise Of A Primitive Conveyance Behind Him.

It Was A Telega.  Curiously Primitive,  The Telega Is Four-Wheeled,

With Two Planks Thrown Crudely Across The Axle-Trees.  Rouletabille

Gave The Man Who Was Seated In It Thee Roubles,  And Jumped Into

The Planks Beside Him,  And The Two Little Finnish Horses,  Whose

Manes Hung Clear To The Mud,  Went Like The Wind.  Such Crude

Conveyances Are Necessary On Such Crude Roads,  But It Requires A

Strong Constitution To Make A Journey On Them.  Still,  The Reporter

Felt None Of The Jolting,  He Was So Intent On The Sea And The Coast

Of Lachtka Bay.  The Vehicle Finally Reached A Wooden Bridge,  Across

A Murky Creek.  As The Day Commenced To Fade Colorlessly,

Rouletabille Jumped Off Onto The Shore And His Rustic Equipage

Crossed To The Sestroriesk Side.  It Was A Corner Of Land Black And

Somber As His Thoughts That He Surveyed Now.  "Watch The Bay Of

Lachtka!"  The Reporter Knew That This Desolate Plain,  This

Impenetrable Marsh,  This Sea Which Offered The Fugitive Refuge In

Innumerable Fords,  Had Always Been A Useful Retreat For Nihilistic

Adventurers.  A Hundred Legends Circulated In St. Petersburg About

The Mysteries Of Lachtka Marshes.  And That Gave Him His Last Hope.

Maybe He Would Be Able To Run Across Some Revolutionaries To Whom

He Could Explain About Natacha,  As Prudently As Possible; He Might

Even See Natacha Herself.  Gounsovski Could Not Have Spoken Vain

Words To Him.

Between The Lachtkrinsky Marsh And The Strand He Perceived On The

Edge Of The Forests Which Run As Far As Sestroriesk A Little Wooden

House Whose Walls Were Painted A Reddish-Brown,  And Its Roof Green.

It Was Not The Russian Isba,  But The Finnish Touba.  However,  A

Russian Sign Announced It To Be A Restaurant.  The Young Man Had To

Take Only A Few Steps To Enter It.  He Was The Only Customer There.

An Old Man,  With Glasses And A Long Gray Beard,  Evidently The

Proprietor Of The Establishment,  Stood Behind The Counter,  Presiding

Over The Zakouskis.  Rouletabille Chose Some Little Sandwiches Which

He Placed On A Plate.  He Took A Bottle Of Pivo And Made The Man

Understand That Later,  If It Were Possible,  He Would Like A Good Hot

Supper.  The Other Made A Sign That He Understood And Showed Him

Into An Adjoining Room Which Was Used For Diners.  Rouletabille Was

Quite Ready Enough To Die In The Face Of His Failures,  But He Did

Not Wish To Perish From Hunger.

A Table Was Placed Beside A Window Looking Out Over The Sea And

Over The Entrance To The Bay.  It Could Not Have Been Better And,

With His Eye Now On The Horizon,  Now On The Estuary Near-By,  He

Commenced To Eat With Gloomy Avidity.  He Was Inclined To Feel Sorry

For Himself,  To Indulge In Self-Pity.  "Just The Same,  Two And Two

Always Make Four," He Said To Himself; "But In My Calculations

Perhaps I Have Forgotten The Surd.  Ah,  There Was A Time When I

Would Not Have Overlooked Anything.  And Even Now I Haven't

Overlooked Anything,  If Natacha Is Innocent!"  Having Literally

Scoured The Plate,  He Struck The Table A Great Blow With His Fist

And Said:  "She Is!"

Just Then The Door Opened.  Rouletabille Supposed The Proprietor Of

The Place Was Entering.

It Was Koupriane.

He Rose,  Startled.  He Could Not Imagine By What Mystery The Prefect

Of Police Had Made His Way There,  But He Rejoiced From The Bottom

Of His Heart,  For If He Was Trying To Rescue Natacha From The Hands

Of The Revolutionaries Koupriane Would Be A Valuable Ally.  He

Clapped The Prefect On The Shoulder.

"Well,  Well!" He Said,  Almost Joyfully.  "I Certainly Did Not Expect

You Here.  How Is Your Wound?"

"Nitchevo!  Not Worth Speaking About; It's Nothing."

"And The General And -!  Ah,  That Frightful Night! And Those Two

Unfortunates Who -?"

"Nitchevo!  Nitchevo!"

"And Poor Ermolai!"

"Nitchevo!  Nitchevo!  It Is Nothing."

Rouletabille Looked Him Over.  The Prefect Of Police Had An Arm In

A Sling,  But He Was Bright And Shining As A New Ten-Rouble Piece,

While He,  Poor Rouletabille,  Was So Abominably Soiled And Depressed.

Where Did He Come From?  Koupriane Understood His Look And Smiled.

"Well,  I Have Just Come From The Finland Train; It Is The Best Way."

"But What Can You Have Come Here To Do,  Excellency?"

"The Same Thing As You."

"Bah!" Exclaimed Rouletabille,  "Do You Mean To Say That You Have

Come Here To Save Natacha?"

"How - To Save Her!  I Come To Capture Her."

"To Capture Her?"

"Monsieur Rouletabille,  I Have A Very Fine Little Dungeon In Saints

Peter And Paul Fortress That Is All Ready For Her."

"You Are Going To Throw Natacha Into A Dungeon!"

"The Emperor's Order,  Monsieur Rouletabille.  And If You See Me

Here In Person It Is Simply Because His Majesty Requires That The

Thing Be Done As Respectfully And Discreetly As Possible."

"Natacha In Prison!" Cried The Reporter,  Who Saw In Horror All

Obstacles Rising Before Him At One And The Same Time.  "For What

Reasons,  Pray?"

"The Reason Is Simple Enough.  Natacha Feodorovna Is The Last Word

In Wickedness And Doesn't Deserve Anybody's Pity.  She Is The

Accomplice Of The Revolutionaries And The Instigator Of All The

Crimes Against Her Father."

"I Am Sure That You Are Mistaken,  Excellency.  But How Have You

Been Guided To Her?"

"Simply By You."

"By Me?"

"Yes,  We Lost All Trace Of Natacha.  But,  As You Had Disappeared

Also,  I Made Up My Mind That You Could Only Be Occupied In Searching

For Her,  And That By Finding You I Might Have The Chance To Lay My

Hands On Her."

"But I Haven't Seen Any Of Your Men?"

"Why,  One Of Them Brought You Here."

"Me?"

"Yes,  You.  Didn't You Climb Onto A Telega?"

"Ah,  The Driver."

"Exactly.  I Had Arranged To Have Him Meet Me At The Sestroriesk

Station.  He Pointed Out The Place Where You Dropped Off,  And Here

I Am."

The Reporter Bent His Head,  Red With Chagrin.  Decidedly The

Sinister Idea That He Was Responsible For The Death Of An Innocent

Man And All The Ills Which Had Followed Out Of It Had Paralyzed His

Detective Talents.  He Recognized It Now.  What Was The Use Of

Struggling!  If Anyone Had Told Him That He Would Be Played With

That Way Sometime,  He,  Rouletabille!  He Would Have Laughed Heartily

Enough - Then.  But Now,  Well,  He Wasn't Capable Of Anything Further.

He Was His Own Most Cruel Enemy.  Not Only Was Natacha In The Hands

Of The Revolutionaries Through His Fault,  By His Abominable Error,

But Worse Yet,  In The Very Moment When He Wished To Save Her,  He

Foolishly,  Naively,  Had Conducted The Police To The Very Spot Where

They Should Have Been Kept Away.  It Was The Depth Of His

Humiliation; Koupriane Really Pitied The Reporter.

"Come,  Don't Blame Yourself Too Much," Said He.  "We Would Have

Found Natacha Without You; Gounsovski Notified Us That She Was Going

To Embark In The Bay Of Lachtka This Evening With Priemkof."

"Natacha With Priemkof!" Exclaimed Rouletabille.  "Natacha With The

Man Who Introduced The Two Living Bombs Into Her Father's House!  If

She Is With Him,  Excellency,  It Is Because She Is His Prisoner,  And

That Alone Will Be Sufficient To Prove Her Innocence.  I Thank The

Heaven That Has Sent You Here."

Koupriane Swallowed A Glass Of Vodka,  Poured Another After It,  And

Finally Deigned To Translate His Thought:

"Natacha Is The Friend Of These Precious Men And We Will See Them

Disembark Hand In Hand."

"Your Men,  Then,  Haven't Studied The Traces Of The Struggle That

'These Precious Men' Have Had On The Banks Of The Neva Before They

Carried Away Natacha?"

"Oh,  They Haven't Been Hoodwinked.  As A Matter Of Fact,  The Struggle

Was Quite Too Visible Not To Have Been Done For Appearances' Sake.

What A Child You Are!  Can't You See That Natacha's Presence In The

Datcha Had Become Quite Too Dangerous For That Charming Young Girl

After The Poisoning Of Her Father And Step-Mother Failed And At The

Moment When Her Comrades Were Preparing To Send General Trebassof A

Pleasant Little Gift Of Dynamite?  She Arranged To Get Away And Yet

To Appear Kidnapped.  It Is Too Simple."

Rouletabille Raised His Head.

"There Is Something Simpler Still To Imagine Than The Culpability

Of Natacha.  It Is That Priemkof Schemed To Pour The Poison Into

The Flask Of Vodka,  Saying To Himself That If The Poison Didn't

Succeed At Least It Would Make The Occasion For Introducing His

Dynamite Into The House In The Pockets Of The 'Doctors' That They

Would Go To Find."

Koupriane Seized Rouletabille's Wrist And Threw Some Terrible Words

At Him,  Looking Into The Depths Of His Eyes:

"It Was Not Priemkof Who Poured The Poison,  Because There Was No

Poison In The Flask."

Rouletabille,  As He Heard This Extraordinary Declaration,  Rose,

More Startled Than He Had Ever Been In The Course Of This Startling

Campaign.

If There Was No Poison In The Flask,  The Poison Must