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

Poured Directly Into The Glasses By A Person Who Was In The Kiosk!

Now,  There Were Only Four Persons In The Kiosk: The Two Who Were

Poisoned And Natacha And Himself,  Rouletabille.  And That Kiosk

Was So Perfectly Isolated That It Was Impossible For Any Other

Persons Than The Four Who Were There To Pour Poison Upon The Table.

"But It Is Not Possible!" He Cried.

"It Is So Possible That It Is So.  Pere Alexis Dedared That There

Is No Poison In The Flask,  And I Ought To Tell You That An Analysis

I Had Made After His Bears Him Out.  There Was No Poison,  Either,

In The Small Bottle You Took To Pere Alexis And Into Which You

Yourself Had Poured The Contents Of Natacha's Glass And Yours; No

Trace Of Poison Excepting In Two Of The Four Glasses,  Arsenate Of

Soda Was Found Only On The Soiled Napkins Of Trebassof And His Wife

And In The Two Glasses They Drank From."

"Oh,  That Is Horrible," Muttered The Stupefied Reporter; "That Is

Horrible,  For Then The Poisoner Must Be Either Natacha Or Me."

"I Have Every Confidence In You," Declared Koupriane With A Great

Laugh Of Satisfaction,  Striking Him On The Shoulder.  "And I Arrest

Natacha,  And You Who Love Logic Ought To Be Satisfied Now."

Rouletabille Hadn't A Word More To Say.  He Sat Down Again And Let

His Head Fall Into His Hands,  Like One Sleep Has Seized.

"Ah,  Our Young Girls; You Don't Know Them.  They Are Terrible,

Terrible!" Said Koupriane,  Lighting A Big Cigar.  "Much More

Terrible Than The Boys.  In Good Families The Boys Still Enjoy

Themselves; But The Girls - They Read!  It Goes To Their Heads.

They Are Ready For Anything; They Know Neither Father Nor Mother.

Ah,  You Are A Child,  You Cannot Comprehend.  Two Lovely Eyes,  A

Melancholy Air,  A Soft,  Low Voice,  And You Are Captured - You

Believe You Have Before You Simply An Inoffensive,  Good Little

Girl.  Well,  Rouletabille,  Here Is What I Will Tell You For Your

Instruction.  There Was The Time Of The Tchipoff Attack; The

Revolutionaries Who Were Assigned To Kill Tchipoff Were Disguised

As Coachmen And Footmen.  Everthing Had Been Carefully Prepared

And It Would Seem That No One Could Have Discovered The Bombs In

The Place They Had Been Stored.  Well,  Do You Know The Place Where

Those Bombs Were Found?  In The Rooms Of The Governor,  Of Wladmir's

Daughter!  Exactly,  My Little Friend,  Just There!  The Rooms Of

The Governor's Daughter,  Mademoiselle Alexeieiv. Ah,  These Young

Girls!  Besides,  It Was This Same Mademoiselle Alexeieiv Who,  So

Prettily,  Pierced The Brain Of An Honest Swiss Merchant Who Had The

Misfortune To Resemble One Of Our Ministers.  If We Had Hanged That

Charming Young Girl Earlier,  My Dear Monsieur Rouletabille,  That

Last Catastrophe Might Have Been Avoided.  A Good Rope Around The

Neck Of All These Little Females - It Is The Only Way,  The Only

Way!"

A Man Entered.  Rouletabille Recognized The Driver Of The Telega.

There Were Some Rapid Words Between The Chief And The Agent.  The

Man Closed The Shutters Of The Room,  But Through The Interstices

They Would Be Able To See What Went On Outside.  Then The Agent Left;

Koupriane,  As He Pushed Aside The Table That Was Near The Window,

Said To The Reporter:

"You Had Better Come To The Window; My Man Has Just Told Me The Boat

Is Drawing Near.  You Can Watch An Interesting Sight.  We Are Sure

That Natacha Is Still Aboard.  The Yacht,  After The Explosion At

The Datcha,  Took Up Two Men Who Put Off To It In A Canoe,  And Since

Then It Has Simply Sailed Back And Forth In The Gulf.  We Have Taken

Our Precautions In Finland The Same As Here And It Is Here They Are

Going To Try To Disembark.  Keep An Eye On Them."

Koupriane Was At His Post Of Observation.  Evening Slowly Fell.

The Sky Was Growing Grayish-Black,  A Tint That Blended With The

Slate-Colored Sea.  To Those On The Bank,  The Sound Of The Men

About To Die Came Softly Across The Water.  There Was A Sail Far

Out.  Between The Strand And The Touba Where Koupriane Watched,  Was

A Ridge,  A Window,  Which,  However,  Did Not Hide The Shore Or The Bay

From The Prefect Of Police,  Because At The Height Where He Was His

Glance Passed At An Angle Above It.  But From The Sea This Ridge

Entirely Hid Anyone Who Lay In Ambush Behind It.  The Reporter

Watched Fifty Moujiks Flat On Their Stomachs Crawling Up The Ridge,

Behind Two Of Their Number Whose Heads Alone Topped The Ridge.  In

The Line Of Gaze Taken By Those Two Heads Was The White Sail,

Looming Much Larger Now.  The Yacht Was Heeled In The Water And

Glided With Real Elegance,  Heading Straight On.  Suddenly,  Just

When They Supposed She Was Coming Straight To Shore,  The Sails Fell

And A Canoe Was Dropped Over The Side.  Four Men Got Into It; Then

A Woman Jumped Lightly Down A Little Gangway Into The Canoe.  It

Was Natacha.  Koupriane Had No Difficulty In Recognizing Her Through

The Gathering Darkness.

"Ah,  My Dear Monsieur Rouletabille," Said He,  "See Your Prisoner Of

The Nihilists.  Notice How She Is Bound.  Her Thongs Certainly Are

Causing Her Great Pain.  These Revolutionaries Surely Are Brutes!"

The Truth Was That Natacha Had Gone Quite Readily To The Rudder And

While The Others Rowed She Steered The Light Boat To The Place On

The Beach That Had Been Pointed Out To Her.  Soon The Prow Of The

Canoe Touched The Sands.  There Did Not Seem To Be A Soul About,

And That Was The Conclusion The Men In The Canoe Who Stood Up

Looking Around,  Seemed To Reach.  They Jumped Out,  And Then It Was

Natacha's Turn.  She Accepted The Hand Held Out To Her,  Talking

Pleasantly With The Men All The Time.  She Even Turned To Press The

Hand Of One Of Them.  The Group Came Up Across The Beach.  All This

Time The Watchers In The Little Eating-House Could See The False

Moujiks,  Who Had Wriggled On Their Stomachs To The Very Edge Of The

Ridge,  Holding Themselves Ready To Spring.

Behind His Shutter,  Koupriane Could Not Restrain An Exclamation Of

Triumph; He Gradually Identified Some Of The Figures In The Group,

And Muttered:

"Eh!  Eh!  There Is Priemkof Himself And The Others.  Gounsovski Is

Right And He Certainly Is Well-Informed; His System Is Decidedly A

Good One.  What A Net-Full!"

He Hardly Breathed As He Watched The Outcome.  He Could Discern

Elsewhere,  Beside The Bay,  Flat On The Ground,  Concealed By The

Slightest Elevation Of The Soil,  Other False Moujiks.  The Wood Of

Sestroriesk Was Watched In The Same Way.  The Group Of

Revolutionaries Who Strolled Behind Natacha Stopped To Confer.  In

Three - Maybe Two - Minutes,  They Would Be Surrounded - Cut Off,

Taken In The Trap.  Suddenly A Gunshot Sounded In The Night,  And

The Group,  With Startled Speed,  Turned In Their Tracks And Made

Silently For The Sea,  While From All Directions Poured The Concealed

Agents And Threw Themselves Into The Pursuit,  Jostling Each Other

And Crying After The Fugitives.  But The Cries Became Cries Of Rage,

For The Group Of Revolutionaries Gained The Beach.  They Saw Natacha,

Who Was Held Up By Priemkof Himself,  Reject The Aid Of The Nihilist,

Who Did Not Wish To Abandon Her,  In Order That He Might Save Himself.

She Made Him Go And Seeing That She Was Going To Be Taken,  Stopped

Short And Waited For The Enemy Stoically,  With Folded Arms.

Meanwhile,  Her Three Companions Succeeded In Throwing Themselves

Into The Canoe And Plied The Oars Hard While Koupriane's Men,  In

The Water Up To Their Chests,  Discharged Their Revolvers At The

Fugitives.  The Men In The Canoe,  Fearing To Wound Natacha,  Made

No Reply To The Firing.  The Yacht Had Sails Up By The Time They

Drew Alongside,  And Made Off Like A Bird Toward The Mysterious

Fords Of Finland,  Audaciously Hoisting The Black Flag Of The

Revolution.

Meantime,  Koupriane's Agents,  Trembling Before His Anger,  Gathered

At The Eating-House.  The Prefect Of Police Let His Fury Loose On

Them And Treated Them Like The Most Infamous Of Animals.  The

Capture Of Natacha Was Little Comfort.  He Had Planned For The Whole

Bag,  And His Men's Stupidity Took Away All His Self-Control.  If He

Had Had A Whip At Hand He Would Have Found Prompt Solace For His

Mined Hopes.  Natacha,  Standing In A Corner,  With Her Face Singularly

Calm,  Watched This Extraordinary Scene That Was Like A Menagerie In

Which The Tamer Himself Had Become A Wild Beast.  From Another

Corner,  Rouletabille Kept His Eyes Fixed On Natacha Who Ignored Him.

Ah,  That Girl,  Sphinx To Them All!  Even To Him Who Thought A While

Ago That He Could Read Things Invisible To Other Vulgar Men In Her

Features,  In Her Eyes!  The Impassive Face Of That Girl Whose Father

They Had Tried To Assassinate Only A Few Hours Before And Who Had

Just Pressed The Hand Of Priemkof,  The Assassin!  Once She Turned

Her Head Slightly Toward Rouletabille.  The Reporter Then Looked

Towards Her With Increased Eagerness,  His Eyes Burning,  As Though

He Would Say: "Surely,  Natacha,  You Are Not The Accomplice Of Your

Father's Assassins; Surely It Was Not You Who Poured The Poison!"

But Natacha's Glance Passed The Reporter Coldly Over.  Ah,  That

Mysterious,  Cold Mask,  The Mouth With Its Bitter,  Impudent Smile,

An Atrocious Smile Which Seemed To Say To The Reporter: "If It Is

Not I Who Poured The Poison,  Then It Is You!"

It