The Secret of the Night Part 19

"You see," said Koupriane, smiling at Rouletabille's amazement, "we deny them nothing. We give them their saints right here in their quarters." Closing the door, he drew a chair toward Rouletabille and motioned him to sit down. They sat before the little altar loaded with flowers, with colored paper and winged saints.

"We can talk here without being disturbed," he said. "Yonder there is such a crowd of people waiting for me. I'm ready to listen."

"Monsieur," said Rouletabille, "I have come to give you the report of my mission here, and to terminate my connection with it. All that is left for clearing this obscure affair is to arrest the guilty person, with which I have nothing to do. That concerns you. I simply inform you that someone tried to poison the general last night by pouring a.r.s.enate of soda into his sleeping-potion, which I bring you in this phial, a.r.s.enate which was secured most probably by washing it from grapes brought to General Treba.s.sof by the marshal of the court, and which disappeared without anyone being able to say how."

"Ah, ah, a family affair, a plot within the family. I told you so," murmured Koupriane.

"The affair at least has happened within the family, as you think, although the a.s.sa.s.sin came from outside. Contrary to what you may be able to believe, he does not live in the house."

"Then how does he get there?" demanded Koupriane.

"By the window of the room overlooking the Neva. He has often come that way. And that is the way he returns also, I am sure. It is there you can take him if you act with prudence."

"How do you know he often comes that way?"

"You know the height of the window above the little roadway. To reach it he uses a water-trough, whose iron rings are bent, and also the marks of a grappling-iron that he carries with him and uses to hoist himself to the window are distinctly visible on the ironwork of the little balcony outside. The marks are quite obviously of different dates."

"But that window is closed."

"Someone opens it for him."

"Who, if you please?"

"I have no desire to know."

"Eh, yes. It necessarily is Natacha. I was sure that the Villa des Iles had its viper. I tell you she doesn't dare leave her nest because she knows she is watched. Not one of her movements outside escapes us! She knows it. She has been warned. The last time she ventured outside alone was to go into the old quarters of Derewnia. What has she to do in such a rotten quarter? I ask you that. And she turned in her tracks without seeing anyone, without knocking at a single door, because she saw that she was followed. She isn't able to get to see them outside, therefore she has to see them inside."

"They are only one, and always the same one."

"Are you sure?"

"An examination of the marks on the wall and on the pipe doesn't leave any doubt of it, and it is always the same grappling-iron that is used for the window."

"The viper!"

"Monsieur Koupriane, Mademoiselle Natacha seems to preoccupy you exceedingly. I did not come here to talk about Mademoiselle Natacha. I came to point out to you the route used by the man who comes to do the murder."

"Eh, yes, it is she who opens the way."

"I can't deny that."

"The little demon! Why does she take him into her room at night? Do you think perhaps there is some love-affair...?"

"I am sure of quite the opposite."

"I too. Natacha is not a wanton. Natacha has no heart. She has only a brain. And it doesn't take long for a brain touched by Nihilism to get so it won't hesitate at anything."

Koupriane reflected a minute, while Rouletabille watched him in silence.

"Have we solely to do with Nihilism?" resumed Koupriane. "Everything you tell me inclines me more and more to my idea: a family affair, purely in the family. You know, don't you, that upon the general's death Natacha will be immensely rich?"

"Yes, I know it," replied Rouletabille, in a voice that sounded singular to the ear of the Chief of Police and which made him raise his head.

"What do you know?"

"I? Nothing," replied the reporter, this time in a firmer tone. "I ought, however, to say this to you: I am sure that we are dealing with Nihilism..."

"What makes you believe it?"

"This."

And Rouletabille handed Koupriane the message he had received that same morning.

"Oh, oh," cried Koupriane. "You are under watch! Look out."

"I have nothing to fear; I'm not bothering myself about anything further. Yes, we have an affair of the revolutionaries, but not of the usual kind. The way they are going about it isn't like one of their young men that the Central Committee arms with a bomb and who is sacrificed in advance."

"Where are the tracks that you have traced?"

"Right up to the little Krestowsky Villa."

Koupriane bounded from his chair.

"Occupied by Boris. Parbleu! Now we have them. I see it all now. Boris, another cracked brain! And he is engaged. If he plays the part of the Revolutionaries, the affair would work out big for him."

"That villa," said Rouletabille quietly, "is also occupied by Michael Korosakoff."

"He is the most loyal, the most reliable soldier of the Tsar."

"No one is ever sure of anything, my dear Monsieur Koupriane."

"Oh, I am sure of a man like that."

"No man is ever sure of any man, my dear Monsieur Koupriane."

"I am, in every case, for those I employ."

"You are wrong."

"What do you say?"

"Something that can serve you in the enterprise you are going to undertake, because I trust you can catch the murderer right in his nest. To do that, I'll not conceal from you that I think your agents will have to be enormously clever. They will have to watch the datcha des Iles at night, without anyone possibly suspecting it. No more maroon coats with false astrakhan tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, eh? But Apaches, Apaches on the wartrail, who blend themselves with the ground, with the trees, with the stones in the roadway. But among those Apaches don't send that agent of your Secret Service who watched the window while the a.s.sa.s.sin climbed to it."

"What?"

"Why, these climbs that you can read the proofs of on the wall and on the iron forgings of the balcony went on while your agents, night and day, were watching the villa. Have you noticed, monsieur, that it was always the same agent who took the post at night, behind the villa, under the window? General Treba.s.sof's book in which he kept a statement of the exact disposal of each of your men during the period of siege was most instructive on that point. The other posts changed in turn, but the same agent, when he was among the guard, demanded always that same post, which was not disputed by anybody, since it is no fun to pa.s.s the hours of the night behind a wall, in an empty field. The others much preferred to roll away the time watching in the villa or in front of the lodge, where vodka and Crimean wine, kwa.s.s and pivo, kirsch and tchi, never ran short. That agent's name is Touman."

"Touman! Impossible! He is one of the best agents from Kiew. He was recommended by Gounsovski."