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

In Silence,  Puzzled,  But Without Protest,  As If They,  Too,  Were

Caught In The Same Strange Day-Dream.  Steadily Counting His Steps

He Crossed Thus The Court,  Which Was Vast.  "Forty,  Forty-One,

Forty-Two," He Cried Excitedly.  "This Is Certainly Strange,  And

Very Promising."

The Others,  Although They Did Not Understand,  Reframed From

Questioning Him,  For They Saw There Was Nothing To Do But Let Him

Go Ahead Without Interruption,  Just As Care Is Taken Not To Wake

A Somnambulist Abruptly.  They Had No Mistrust Of His Motives,  For

The Idea Was Simply Untenable That Rouletabille Was Fool Enough To

Hope To Save Himself From Them By An Imbecile Subterfuge.  No,

They Yielded To The Impression His Inspired Countenance Gave Them,

And Several Were So Affected That They Unconsciously Repeated His

Gestures.  Thus Rouletabille Reached The Edge Of The Court Where

Judgment Had Been Pronounced Against Him.  There He Had To Mount

A Rickety Flight Of Stairs,  Whose Steps He Counted.  He Reached

A Corridor,  But Moving Away From The Side Where The Door Was

Opening To The Exterior He Turned Toward A Staircase Leading To The

Upper Floor,  And Still Counted The Steps As Be Climbed Them.  Some

Of The Company Followed Him,  Others Hurried Ahead Of Him.  But He

Did Not Seem Aware Of Either The One Or The Other,  As He Walked

Along Living Only In His Thoughts.  He Reached The Landing-Place,

Hesitated,  Pushed Open A Door,  And Found Himself In A Room Furnished

With A Table,  Two Chairs,  A Mattress And A Huge Cupboard.  He Went

To The Cupboard,  Turned The Key And Opened It.  The Cupboard Was

Empty.  He Closed It Again And Put The Key In His Pocket.  Then He

Went Out Onto The Landing-Place Again.  There He Asked For The Key

Of The Chamber-Door He Had Just Left.  They Gave It To Him And He

Locked That Door And Put That Key Also In His Pocket.  Now He

Returned Into The Court.  He Asked For A Chair.  It Was Brought

Him.  Immediately He Placed His Head In His Hands,  Thinking Hard,

Took The Chair And Carried It Over A Little Behind The Shed.  The

Nihilists Watched Everything He Did And They Did Not Smile,  Because

Men Do Not Smile When Death Waits At The End Of Things,  However

Foolish.

Finally,  Rouletabille Spoke:

"Messieurs," Said He,  His Voice Low And Shaken,  Because He Knew

That Now He Touched The Decisive Minute,  After Which There Could

Only Be An Irrevocable Fate.  "Messieurs,  In Order To Continue

My Experiment I Am Obliged To Go Through Movements That Might

Suggest To You The Idea Of An Attempt At Escape,  Or Evasion.  I

Hope You Don't Regard Me As Fool Enough To Have Any Such Thought."

"Oh,  Monsieur," Said The Chief,  "You Are Free To Go Through All

The Maneuvers You Wish.  No One Escapes Us.  Outside We Should

Have You Within Arm's Reach Quite As Well As Here.  And,  Besides,

It Is Entirely Impossible To Escape From Here."

"Very Well.  Then That Is Understood.  In Such A Case,  I Ask You

Now To Remain Just Where You Are And Not To Budge,  Whatever I Do,

If You Don't Wish To Inconvenience Me.  Only Please Send Someone

Now Up To The Next Floor,  Where I Am Going To Go Again,  And Let

Him Watch What Happens From There,  But Without Interfering.  And

Don't Speak A Word To Me During The Experiment."

Two Of The Revolutionaries Went To The Upper Floor,  And Opened A

Window In Order To Keep Track Of What Went On In The Court.  All

Now Showed Their Intense Interest In The Acts And Gestures Of

Rouletabille.

The Reporter Placed Himself In The Shed,  Between His Death-Stool

And His Hanging-Rope.

"Ready," Said He; "I Am Going To Begin"

And Suddenly He Jumped Like A Wild Man,  Crossed The Court In A

Straight Line Like A Flash,  Disappeared In The Touba,  Bounded Up

The Staircase,  Felt In His Pocket And Drew Out The Keys,  Opened

The Door Of The Chamber He Had Locked,  Closed It And Locked It

Again,  Turned Right-About-Face,  Came Down Again In The Same Haste,

Reached The Court,  And This Time Swerved To The Chair,  Went Round

It,  Still Running,  And Returned At The Same Speed To The Shed.  He

No Sooner Reached There Than He Uttered A Cry Of Triumph As He

Glanced At The Watch Banging From A Post.  "I Have Won," He Said,

And Threw Himself With A Happy Thrill Upon The Fatal Scaffold.

They Surrounded Him,  And He Read The Liveliest Curiosity In All

Their Faces.  Panting Still From His Mad Rush,  He Asked For Two

Words Apart With The Chief Of The Secret Committee.

The Man Who Had Pronounced Judgment And Who Had The Bearing Of

Jesus Advanced,  And There Was A Brief Exchange Of Words Between

The Two Young Men.  The Others Drew Back And Waited At A Distance,

In Impressive Silence,  The Outcome Of This Mysterious Colloquy,

Which Certainly Would Settle Rouletabille's Fate.

"Messieurs," Said The Chief,  "The Young Frenchman Is Going To Be

Allowed To Leave.  We Give Him Twenty-Four Hours To Set Natacha

Feodorovna Free.  In Twenty-Four Hours,  If He Has Not Succeeded,

He Will Return Here To Give Himself Up."

A Happy Murmur Greeted These Words.  The Moment Their Chief Spoke

Thus,  They Felt Sure Of Natacha's Fate.

The Chief Added:

"As The Liberation Of Natacha Feodorovna Will Be Followed,  The

Young Frenchman Says,  By That Of Our Companion Matiew,  We Decide

That,  If These Two Conditions Are Fulfilled,  M. Joseph Rouletabille

Is Allowed To Return In Entire Security To France,  Which He Ought

Never To Have Left."

Two Or Three Only Of The Group Said,  "That Lad Is Playing With Us;

It Is Not Possible."

But The Chief Declared:

"Let The Lad Try.   He Accomplishes Miracles."

"I Have Escaped By Remarkable Luck," Cried Rouletabille,  As He

Found Himself,  In The Middle Of The Night,  At The Corner Of The

Katharine And The Aptiekarski Pereoulok Canals,  While The Mysterious

Carriage Which Had Brought Him There Returned Rapidly Toward The

Grande Ecurie.   "What A Country!   What A Country!"

He Ran A Little Way To The Grand Morskaia,  Which Was Near,  Entered

The Hotel Like A Bomb,  Dragged The Interpreter From His Bed,

Demanded That His Bill Be Made Out And That He Be Told The Time Of

The Next Train For Tsarskoie-Coelo.  The Interpreter Told Him That

He Could Not Have His Bill At Such An Hour,  That He Could Not Leave

Town Without His Passport And That There Was No Train For

Tsarskoie-Coelo,  And Rouletabille Made An Outcry That Woke The

Whole Hotel.  The Guests,  Fearing Always "Une Scandale," Kept Close

To Their Rooms.  But Monsieur Le Directeur Came Down,  Trembling.

When He Found All That It Was About He Was Inclined To Be Peremptory,

But Rouletabille,  Who Had Seen "Michael Strogoff" Played,  Cried,

"Service Of The Tsar!" Which Turned Him Submissive As A Sheep.  He

Made Out The Young Man's Bill And Gave Him His Passport,  Which Had

Been Brought Back By The Police During The Afternoon.  Rouletabille

Rapidly Wrote A Message To Koupriane's Address,  Which The Messenger

Was Directed To Have Delivered Without A Moment's Delay,  Under The

Pain Of Death!  The Manager Humbly Promised And The Reporter Did

Not Explain That By "Pain Of Death" He Referred To His Own.  Then,

Having Ascertained That As A Matter Of Fact The Last Train Had Left

For Tsarskoie-Coelo,  He Ordered A Carriage And Hurried To His Room

To Pack.

And He,  Ordinarily So Detailed,  So Particular In His Affairs,  Threw

Things Every Which Way,  Linen,  Garments,  With Kicks And Shoves.  It

Was A Relief After The Emotions He Had Gone Through.  "What A

Country!" He Never Ceased To Ejaculate.  "What A Country!"

Then The Carriage Was Ready,  With Two Little Finnish Horses,  Whose

Gait He Knew Well,  An Evil-Looking Driver,  Who None The Less Would

Get Him There; The Trunk; Roubles To The Domestics.  "Spacibo,

Barine. Spacibo."  (Thank You,  Monsieur.  Thank You.)

The Interpreter Asked What Address He Should Give The Driver.

"The Home Of The Tsar."

The Interpreter Hesitated,  Believing It To Be An Unbecoming

Pleasantry,  Then Waved Vaguely To The Driver,  And The Horses Started.

"What A Curious Trot!  We Have No Idea Of That In France," Thought

Rouletabille.  "France!  France!  Paris!  Is It Possible That Soon

I Shall Be Back!  And That Dear Lady In Black!  Ah,  At The First

Opportunity I Must Send Her A Dispatch Of My Return - Before She

Receives Those Ikons,  And The Letters Announcing My Death.  Scan!

Scan!  Scan!  (Hurry!)"

The Isvotchick Pounded His Horses,  Crowding Past The Dvornicks Who

Watched At The Corners Of The Houses During The St. Petersburg Night.

"Dirigi!  Dirigi! Dirigi!  (Look Out!)"

The Country,  Somber In The Somber Night.  The Vast Open Country.

What Monotonous Desolation!  Rapidly,  Through The Vast Silent Spaces,

The Little Car Glided Over The Lonely Route Into The Black Arms Of

The Pines.

Rouletabille,  Holding On To His Seat,  Looked About Him.

"God!  This Is As Sad As A Funeral Display."

Little Frozen Huts,  No Larger Than Tombs,  Occasionally Indicated

The Road,  But There Was No Mark Of Life In That Country Except The

Noise Of The Journey And The Two Beasts With Steaming Coats.

Crack!  One Of The Shafts Broken.  "What A Country!"  To Hear

Rouletabille One Would Suppose That Only In