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

And The Others Pulled Rudely At His Beard.

"I Believe These Men Here Have Come To Rob Me," He Cried In French.

"What Do You Say,  My Son?  -  Shall I Call The Police?"

"Hold On," Replied Rouletabille Impassively.  "They Are All Armed;

They Have Revolvers In Their Pockets."

Pere Alexis's Teeth Commenced To Chatter.  As He Tried To Get Near

The Door He Was Roughly Pushed Back And A Final Personage Entered,

Apparently A Gentleman,  And Dressed As Such,  Save That He Wore A

Visored Leather Cap.

"Ah," Said He At Once In French,  "Why,  It Is The Young French

Journalist Of The Grand-Morskaia Hotel.  Salutations And Your Good

Health!  I See With Pleasure That You Also Appreciate The Counsels

Of Our Dear Pere Alexis."

"Don't Listen To Him,  Little Friend; I Don't Know Him," Cried

Alexis Hutch.

But The Gentlenman Of The Neva Went On:

"He Is A Man Close To The First Principles Of Science,  And Therefore

Not Far From Divine; He Is A Holy Man,  Whom It Is Good To Consult At

Moments When The Future Appears Difficult.  He Knows How To Read As

No One Else Can - Father John Of Cronstadt Excepted,  To Be Strictly

Accurate - On The Sheets Of Bull-Hide Where The Dark Angels Have

Traced Mysterious Signs Of Destiny."

Here The Gentleman Picked Up An Old Pair Of Boots,  Which He Threw

On The Counter In The Midst Of The Ikons.

"Pere Alexis,  Perhaps These Are Not Bull-Hide,  But Good Enough

Cow-Hide.  Don't You Want To Read On This Cow-Hide The Future Of

This Young Man?"

But Here Rouletabille Advanced To The Gentleman,  And Blew An

Enormous Cloud Of Smoke Full In His Face.

"It Is Useless,  Monsieur," Said Rouletabille,  "To Waste Your Time

And Your Breath.   I Have Been Waiting For You."

Let Them Disarm Him Until They Promised To Call A Carriage.  The

Vehicle Rolled Into The Court,  And While Pere Alexis Was Kept Back

In His Shop At The Point Of A Revolver,  Rouletabille Quietly Got

In,  Smoking His Pipe.  The Man Who Appeared To Be The Chief Of The

Band (The Gentleman Of The Neva) Got In Too And Sat Down Beside Him.

The Carriage Windows Were Shuttered,  Preventing All Communication

With The Outside,  And Only A Tiny Lantern Lighted The Interior.

They Started.  The Carriage Was Driven By Two Men In Brown Coats

Trimmed With False Astrakhan.  The Dvornicks Saluted,  Believing It

A Police Affair.  The Concierge Made The Sign Of The Cross.

The Journey Lasted Several Hours Without Other Incidents Than Those

Brought About By The Tremendous Jolts,  Which Threw The Two

Passengers Inside One On Top Of The Other.  This Might Have Made

An Opening For Conversation; And The "Gentleman Of The Neva" Tried

It; But In Vain.  Rouletabille Would Not Respond.  At One Moment,

Indeed,  The Gentleman,  Who Was Growing Bored,  Became So Pressing

That The Reporter Finally Said In The Curt Tone He Always Used When

He Was Irritated:

"I Pray You,  Monsieur,  Let Me Smoke My Pipe In Peace."

Upon Which The Gentleman Prudently Occupied Himself In Lowering One

Of The Windows,  For It Grew Stifling.

Finally,  After Much Jolting,  There Was A Stop While The Horses Were

Changed And The Gentleman Asked Rouletabille To Let Himself Be

Blindfolded.  "The Moment Has Come; They Are Going To Hang Me

Without Any Form Of Trial," Thought The Reporter,  And When,  Blinded

With The Bandage,  He Felt Himself Lifted Under The Arms,  There Was

Revolt Of His Whole Being,  That Being Which,  Now That It Was On The

Point Of Dying,  Did Not Wish To Cease.  Rouletabille Would Have

Believed Himself Stronger,  More Courageous,  More Stoical At Least.

But Blind Instinct Swept All Of This Away,  That Instinct Of

Conservation Which Had No Concern With The Minor Bravadoes Of The

Reporter,  No Concern With The Fine Heroic Manner,  Of The Determined

Pose To Die Finely,  Because The Instinct Of Conservation,  Which Is,

As Its Rigid Name Indicates,  Essentially Materialistic,  Demands

Only,  Thinks Of Nothing But,  To Live.  And It Was That Instinct

Which Made Rouletabille's Last Pipe Die Out Unpuffed.

The Young Man Was Furious With Himself,  And He Grew Pale With The

Fear That He Might Not Succeed In Mastering This Emotion,  He Took

Fierce Hold Of Himself And His Members,  Which Had Stiffened At

The Contact Of Seizure By Rough Hands,  Relaxed,  And He Allowed

Himself To Be Led.  Truly,  He Was Disgusted With His Faintness And

Weakness.  He Had Seen Men Die Who Knew They Were Going To Die.

His Task As Reporter Had Led Him More Than Once To The Foot Of The

Guillotine.  And The Wretches He Had Seen There Had Died Bravely.

Extraordinarily Enough,  The Most Criminal Had Ordinarily Met Death

Most Bravely.  Of Course,  They Had Had Leisure To Prepare Themselves,

Thinking A Long Time In Advance Of That Supreme Moment.  But They

Affronted Death,  Came To It Almost Negligently,  Found Strength Even

To Say Banal Or Taunting Things To Those Around Them.  He Recalled

Above All A Boy Of Eighteen Years Old Who Had Cowardly Murdered An

Old Woman And Two Children In A Back-Country Farm,  And Had Walked

To His Death Without A Tremor,  Talking Reassuringly To The Priest

And The Police Official,  Who Walked Almost Sick With Horror On

Either Side Of Him.  Could He,  Then,  Not Be As Brave As That Child?

They Made Him Mount Some Steps And He Felt That He Had Entered The

Stuffy Atmosphere Of A Closed Room.  Then Someone Removed The

Bandage.  He Was In A Room Of Sinister Aspect And In The Midst Of

A Rather Large Company.

Within These Naked,  Neglected Walls There Were About Thirty Young

Men,  Some Of Them Apparently Quite As Young As Rouletabille,  With

Candid Blue Eyes And Pale Complexions.  The Others,  Older Men,  Were

Of The Physical Type Of Christs,  Not The Animated Christs Of

Occidental Painters,  But Those That Are Seen On The Panels Of The

Byzantine School Or Fastened On The Ikons,  Sculptures Of Silver Or

Gold.  Their Long Hair,  Deeply Parted In The Middle,  Fell Upon

Their Shoulders In Curl-Tipped Golden Masses.  Some Leant Against

The Wall,  Erect,  And Motionless.  Others Were Seated On The Floor,

Their Legs Crossed.  Most Of Them Were In Winter Coats,  Bought In

The Bazaars.  But There Were Also Men From The Country,  With Their

Skins Of Beasts,  Their Sayons,  Their Touloupes. One Of Them Had His

Legs Laced About With Cords And Was Shod With Twined Willow Twigs.

The Contrast Afforded By Various Ones Of These Grave And Attentive

Figures Showed That Representatives From The Entire Revolutionary

Party Were Present.  At The Back Of The Room,  Behind A Table,  Three

Young Men Were Seated,  And The Oldest Of Them Was Not More Than

Twenty-Five And Had The Benign Beauty Of Jesus On Feast-Days,

Canopied By Consecrated Palms.

In The Center Of The Room A Small Table Stood,  Quite Bare And

Without Any Apparent Purpose.

On The Right Was Another Table With Paper,  Pens And Ink-Stands.  It

Was There That Rouletabille Was Conducted And Asked To Be Seated.

Then He Saw That Another Man Was At His Side,  Who Was Required To

Keep Standing.  His Face Was Pale And Desperate,  Very Drawn.  His

Eyes Burned Somberly,  In Spite Of The Panic That Deformed His

Features Rouletabille Recognized One Of The Unintroduced Friends

Whom Gounsovski Had Brought With Him To The Supper At Krestowsky.

Evidently Since Then The Always-Threatening Misfortune Had Fallen

Upon Him.  They Were Proceeding With His Trial.  The One Who Seemed

To Preside Over These Strange Sessions Pronounced A Name:

"Annouchka!"

A Door Opened,  And Annouchka Appeared.

Rouletabille Hardly Recognized Her,  She Was So Strangely Dressed,

Like The Russian Poor,  With Her Under-Jacket Of Red-Flannel And

The Handkerchief Which,  Knotted Under Her Chin,  Covered All Her

Beautiful Hair.

She Immediately Testified In Russian Against The Man,  Who Protested

Until They Compelled Him To Be Silent.  She Drew From Her Pocket

Papers Which Were Read Aloud,  And Which Appeared To Crush The

Accused.  He Fell Back Onto His Seat.  He Shivered.  He Hid His

Head In His Hands,  And Rouletabille Saw The Hands Tremble.  The

Man Kept That Position While The Other Witnesses Were Heard,  Their

Testimony Arousing Murmurs Of Indignation That Were Quickly Checked.

Annouchka Had Gone To Take Her Place With The Others Against The

Wall,  In The Shadows Which More And More Invaded The Room,  At This

Ending Of A Lugubrious Day.  Two Windows Reaching To The Floor Let

A Wan Light Creep With Difficulty Through Their Dirty Panes,  Making

A Vague Twilight In The Room.  Soon Nothing Could Be Seen Of The

Motionless Figures Against The Wall,  Much As The Faces Fade In The

Frescoes From Which The Centuries Have Effaced The Colors In The

Depths Of Orthodox Convents.

Now Someone From The Depths Of The Shadow And The Appalling Silence

Read Something; The Verdict,  Doubtless.

The Voice Ceased.

Then Some Of The Figures Detached Themselves From The Wall And

Advanced.

The Man Who Crouched Near Rouletabille Rose In A Savage Bound And

Cried Out Rapidly,  Wild Words,  Supplicating Words,  Menacing Words.

And Then - Nothing More But Strangling Gasps.  The Figures That Had

Moved Out From The Wall Had Clutched His Throat.

The Reporter Said,  "It Is Cowardly."

Annouchka's Voice,  Low,  From The Depths Of Shadow,  Replied,  "It Is

Just."

But Rouletabille Was Satisfied With Having Said That,  For He Had

Proved To Himself That He Could Still Speak.  His Emotion Had Been

Such,  Since They Had Pushed Him Into The Center Of This Sinister

And Expeditious Revolutionary Assembly Of Justice,  That He Thought

Of Nothing But The Terror Of Not Being Able To Speak To Them,  To

Say Something To Them,  No Matter What,  Which Would Prove To Them

That He Had No Fear.  Well,  That Was Over.  He Had Not Failed To

Say,  "That Is Cowardly."

And He Crossed His Arms.  But He Soon Bad To Turn Away His Head In

Order Not To See The Use The Table Was Put To That Stood In The

Center Of The Room,  Where It Had Seemed To Serve No Purpose.

They Had Lifted The Man,  Still Struggling,  Up Onto The Little Table.

They Placed A Rope About His Neck.  Then One Of The "Judges," One