VII. ARSENATE OF SODA
The mysterious hand held a phial and poured the entire contents into thepotion. Then the hand withdrew as it had come, slowly, prudently, slyly,and the key turned in the lock and the bolt slipped back into place.
Like a wolf, Rouletabille, warning Matrena for a last time not to budge,gained the landing-place, bounded towards the stairs, slid down thebanister right to the veranda, crossed the drawing-room like a flash,and reached the little sitting-room without having jostled a singlepiece of furniture. He noticed nothing, saw nothing. All around wasundisturbed and silent.
The first light of dawn filtered through the blinds. He was able tomake out that the only closed door was the one to Natacha's chamber. Hestopped before that door, his heart beating, and listened. But no soundcame to his ear. He had glided so lightly over the carpet that he wassure he had not been heard. Perhaps that door would open. He waited. Invain. It seemed to him there was nothing alive in that house except hisheart. He was stifled with the horror that he glimpsed, that he almosttouched, although that door remained closed. He felt along the wallin order to reach the window, and pulled aside the curtain. Window andblinds of the little room giving on the Neva were closed. The bar ofiron inside was in its place. Then he went to the passage, mounted anddescended the narrow servants' stairway, looked all about, in all therooms, feeling everywhere with silent hands, assuring himself that nolock had been tampered with. On his return to the veranda, as he raisedhis head, he saw at the top of the main staircase a figure wan as death,a spectral apparition amid the shadows of the passing night, who leanedtoward him. It was Matrena Petrovna. She came down, silent as a phantomsand he no longer recognized her voice when she demanded of him, "Where?I require that you tell me. Where?"
"I have looked everywhere," he said, so low that Matrena had to comenearer to understand his whisper. "Everything is shut tight. And thereis no one about."
Matrena looked at Rouletabille with all the power of her eyes, as thoughshe would discover his inmost thoughts, but his clear glance did notwaver, and she saw there was nothing he wished to hide. Then Matrenapointed her finger at Natacha's chamber.
"You have not gone in there?" she inquired.
He replied, "It is not necessary to enter there."
"I will enter there, myself, nevertheless," said she, and she set herteeth.
He barred her way with his arms spread out.
"If you hold the life of someone dear," said he, "don't go a stepfarther."
"But the person is in that chamber. The person is there! It is thereyou will find out!" And she waved him aside with a gesture as though shewere sleepwalking.
To recall her to the reality of what he had said to her and to make herunderstand what he desired, he had to grip her wrist in the vice of hisnervous hand.
"The person is not there, perhaps," he said his head. "Understand menow."
But she did not understand him. She said:
"Since the person is nowhere else, the person must be there."
But Rouletabille continued obstinately:
"No, no. Perhaps he is gone."
"Gone! And everything locked on the inside!"
"That is not a reason," he replied.
But she could not follow his thoughts any further. She wished absolutelyto make her way into Natacha's chamber. The obsession of that was uponher.
"If you enter there," said he, "and if (as is most probable) you don'tfind what you seek there, all is lost! And as to me, I give up the wholething."
She sank in a heap onto a chair.
"Don't despair," he murmured. "We don't know for sure yet."
She shook her poor old head dejectedly.
"We know that only she is here, since no one has been able to enter andsince no one has been able to leave."
That, in truth, filled her brain, prevented her from discerning in anycorner of her mind the thought of Rouletabille. Then the impossibledialogue resumed.
"I repeat that we do not know but that the person has gone," repeatedthe reporter, and demanded her keys.
"Foolish," she said. "What do you want them for?"
"To search outside as we have searched inside."
"Why, everything is locked on the inside!"
"Madame, once more, that is no reason that the person may not beoutside."
He consumed five minutes opening the door of the veranda, so many werehis precautions. She watched him impatiently.
He whispered to her:
"I am going out, but don't you lose sight of the little sitting-room. Atthe least movement call me; fire a revolver if you need to."
He slipped into the garden with the same precautions for silence. Fromthe corner that she kept to, through the doors left open, Matrena couldfollow all the movements of the reporter and watch Natacha's chamberat the same time. The attitude of Rouletabille continued to confuse herbeyond all expression. She watched what he did as if she thought himbesotted. The dyernick on guard out in the roadway also watched theyoung man through the bars of the gate in consternation, as though hethought him a fool. Along the paths of beaten earth or cement whichoffered no chance for footprints Rouletabille hurried silently. Aroundhim he noted that the grass of the lawn had not been trodden. And thenhe paid no more attention to his steps. He seemed to study attentivelythe rosy color in the east, breathing the delicacy of dawning morning inthe Isles, amid the silence of the earth, which still slumbered.
Bare-headed, face thrown back, hands behind his back, eyes raised andfixed, he made a few steps, then suddenly stopped as if he had beengiven an electric shock. As soon as he seemed to have recovered fromthat shock he turned around and went a few steps back to another path,into which he advanced, straight ahead, his face high, with the samefixed look that he had had up to the time he so suddenly stopped, asif something or someone advised or warned him not to go further. Hecontinually worked back toward the house, and thus he traversed all thepaths that led from the villa, but in all these excursions he took painsnot to place himself in the field of vision from Natacha's window, arestricted field because of its location just around an abutment of thebuilding. To ascertain about this window he crept on all-fours up to thegarden-edge that ran along the foot of the wall and had sufficient proofthat no one had jumped out that way. Then he went to rejoin Matrena inthe veranda.
"No one has come into the garden this morning," said he, "and no one hasgone out of the villa into the garden. Now I am going to look outsidethe grounds. Wait here; I'll be back in five minutes."
He went away, knocked discreetly on the window of the lodge and waitedsome seconds. Ermolai came out and opened the gate for him. Matrenamoved to the threshold of the little sitting-room and watched Natacha'sdoor with horror. She felt her legs give under her, she could not standup under the diabolic thought of such a crime. Ah, that arm, that arm!reaching out, making its way, with a little shining phial in its hand.Pains of Christ! What could there be in the damnable books over whichNatacha and her companions pored that could make such abominable crimespossible? Ah, Natacha, Natacha! it was from her that she would havedesired the answer, straining her almost to stifling on her rough bosomand strangling her with her own strong hand that she might not hear theresponse. Ah, Natacha, Natacha, whom she had loved so much! She sank tothe floor, crept across the carpet to the door, and lay there, stretchedlike a beast, and buried her head in her arms while she wept over herdaughter. Natacha, Natacha, whom she had cherished as her own child, andwho did not hear her. Ah, what use that the little fellow had gone tosearch outside when the whole truth lay behind this door? Thinking ofhim, she was embarrassed lest he should find her in that animalisticposture, and she rose to her knees and worked her way over to the windowthat looked out upon the Neva. The angle of the slanting blinds let hersee well enough what passed outside, and what she saw made herspring to her feet. Below her the reporter was going through the sameincomprehensible maneuvers that she had seen him do in the garden. Threepathways led to the little road that ran along the wal
l of the villaby the bank of the Neva. The young man, still with his hands behind hisback and with his face up, took them one after the other. In the firsthe stopped at the first step. He didn't take more than two steps in thesecond. In the third, which cut obliquely toward the right and seemed torun to the bank nearest Krestowsky Ostrow, she saw him advance slowly atfirst, then more quickly among the small trees and hedges. Once onlyhe stopped and looked closely at the trunk of a tree against which heseemed to pick out something invisible, and then he continued to thebank. There he sat down on a stone and appeared to reflect, and thensuddenly he cast off his jacket and trousers, picked out a certain placeon the bank across from him, finished undressing and plunged into thestream. She saw at once that he swam like a porpoise, keeping beneathand showing his head from time to time, breathing, then diving below thesurface again. He reached Krestowsky Ostrow in a clump of reeds. Then hedisappeared. Below him, surrounded by trees, could be seen the red tilesof the villa which sheltered Boris and Michael. From that villa aperson could see the window of the sitting-room in General Trebassof'sresidence, but not what might occur along the bank of the riverjust below its walls. An isvotchick drove along the distant route ofKrestowsky, conveying in his carriage a company of young officers andyoung women who had been feasting and who sang as they rode; then deepsilence ensued. Matrena's eyes searched for Rouletabille, but could notfind him. How long was he going to stay hidden like that? She pressedher face against the chill window. What was she waiting for? She waitedperhaps for someone to make a move on this side, for the door near herto open and the traitorous figure of The Other to appear.
A hand touched her carefully. She turned.
Rouletabille was there, his face all scarred by red scratches, withoutcollar or neck-tie, having hastily resumed his clothes. He appearedfurious as he surprised her in his disarray. She let him lead her asthough she were a child. He drew her to his room and closed the door.
"Madame," he commenced, "it is impossible to work with you. Why in theworld have you wept not two feet from your step-daughter's door? You andyour Koupriane, you commence to make me regret the Faubourg Poissoniere,you know. Your step-daughter has certainly heard you. It is lucky thatshe attaches no importance at all to your nocturnal phantasmagorias, andthat she has been used to them a long time. She has more sense than you,Mademoiselle Natacha has. She sleeps, or at least she pretends to sleep,which leaves everybody in peace. What reply will you give her if ithappens that she asks you the reason to-day for your marching andcounter-marching up and down the sitting-room and complains that youkept her from sleeping?"
Matrena only shook her old, old head.
"No, no, she has not heard me. I was there like a shadow, like a shadowof myself. She will never hear me. No one hears a shadow."
Rouletabille felt returning pity for her and spoke more gently.
"In any case, it is necessary, you must understand, that she shouldattach no more importance to what you have done to-night than to thethings she knows of your doing other nights. It is not the first time,is it, that you have wandered in the sitting-room? You understand me?And to-morrow, madame, embrace her as you always have."
"No, not that," she moaned. "Never that. I could not."
"Why not?"
Matrena did not reply. She wept. He took her in his arms like a childconsoling its mother.
"Don't cry. Don't cry. All is not lost. Someone did leave the villa thismorning."
"Oh, little domovoi! How is that? How is that? How did you find thatout?"
"Since we didn't find anything inside, it was certainly necessary tofind something outside."
"And you have found it?"
"Certainly."
"The Virgin protect you!"
"SHE is with us. She will not desert us. I will even say that I believeshe has a special guardianship over the Isles. She watches over themfrom evening to morning."
"What are you saying?"
"Certainly. You don't know what we call in France 'the watchers of theVirgin'?"
"Oh, yes, they are the webs that the dear little beasts of the good Godspin between the trees and that..."
"Exactly. You understand me and you will understand further when youknow that in the garden the first thing that struck me across the faceas I went into it was these watchers of the Virgin spun by the dearlittle spiders of the good God. At first when I felt them on my face Isaid to myself, 'Hold on, no one has passed this way,' and so I went tosearch other places. The webs stopped me everywhere in the garden. But,outside the garden, they kept out of the way and let me pass undisturbeddown a pathway which led to the Neva. So then I said to myself, 'Now,has the Virgin by accident overlooked her work in this pathway? Surelynot. Someone has ruined it.' I found the shreds of them hanging to thebushes, and so I reached the river."
"And you threw yourself into the river, my dear angel. You swim like alittle god."
"And I landed where the other landed. Yes, there were the reeds allfreshly broken. And I slipped in among the bushes."
"Where to?"
"Up to the Villa Krestowsky, madame--where they both live."
"Ah, it was from there someone came?"
There was a silence between them.
She questioned:
"Boris?"
"Someone who came from the villa and who returned there. Boris orMichael, or another. They went and returned through the reeds. But incoming they used a boat; they returned by swimming."
Her customary agitation reasserted itself.
She demanded ardently:
"And you are sure that he came here and that he left here?"
"Yes, I am sure of it."
"How?"
"By the sitting-room window."
"It is impossible, for we found it locked."
"It is possible, if someone closed it behind him."
"Ah!"
She commenced to tremble again, and, falling back into her nightmarishhorror, she no longer wasted fond expletives on her domovoi as on a dearlittle angel who had just rendered a service ten times more precious toher than life. While he listened patiently, she said brutally:
"Why did you keep me from throwing myself on him, from rushing upon himas he opened the door? Ah, I would have, I would have... we would know."
"No. At the least noise he would have closed the door. A turn of the keyand he would have escaped forever. And he would have been warned."
"Careless boy! Why then, if you knew he was going to come, didn't youleave me in the bedroom and you watch below yourself?"
"Because so long as I was below he would not have come. He only comeswhen there is no one downstairs."
"Ah, Saints Peter and Paul pity a poor woman. Who do you think it is,then? Who do you think it is? I can't think any more. Tell me, tell methat. You ought to know--you know everything. Come--who? I demand thetruth. Who? Still some agent of the Committee, of the Central Committee?Still the Nihilists?"
"If it was only that!" said Rouletabille quietly.
"You have sworn to drive me mad! What do you mean by your 'if it wasonly that'?"
Rouletabille, imperturbable, did not reply.
"What have you done with the potion?" said he.
"The potion? The glass of the crime! I have locked it in my room, in thecupboard--safe, safe!"
"Ah, but, madame, it is necessary to replace it where you took it from."
"What!"
"Yes, after having poured the poison into a phial, to wash the glass andfill it with another potion."
"You are right. You think of everything. If the general wakes and wantshis potion, he must not be suspicious of anything, and he must be ableto have his drink."
"It is not necessary that he should drink."
"Well, then, why have the drink there?"
"So that the person can be sure, madame, that if he has not drunk it issimply because he has not wished to. A pure chance, madame, that he isnot poisoned. You understand me this time?"
"Yes, yes. O Christ! But how now, if
the general wakes and wishes todrink his narcotic?"
"Tell him I forbid it. And here is another thing you must do.When--Someone--comes into the general's chamber, in the morning, youmust quite openly and naturally throw out the potion, useless and vapid,you see, and so Someone will have no right to be astonished that thegeneral continues to enjoy excellent health."
"Yes, yes, little one; you are wiser than King Solomon. And what will Ido with the phial of poison?"
"Bring it to me."
"Right away."
She went for it and returned five minutes later.
"He is still asleep. I have put the glass on the table, out of hisreach. He will have to call me."
"Very good. Then push the door to, close it; we have to talk thingsover."
"But if someone goes back up the servants' staircase?"
"Be easy about that. They think the general is poisoned already. It isthe first care-free moment I have been able to enjoy in this house."
"When will you stop making me shake with horror, little demon! You keepyour secret well, I must say. The general is sleeping better than if hereally were poisoned. But what shall we do about Natacha? I dare ask youthat--you and you alone."
"Nothing at all."
"How--nothing?"
"We will watch her..."
"Ah, yes, yes."
"Still, Matrena, you let me watch her by myself."
"Yes, yes, I promise you. I will not pay any attention to her. Thatis promised. That is promised. Do as you please. Why, just now, when Ispoke of the Nihilists to you, did you say, 'If it were only that!'? Youbelieve, then, that she is not a Nihilist? She reads such things--thingslike on the barricades..."
"Madame, madame, you think of nothing but Natacha. You have promised menot to watch her; promise me not to think about her."
"Why, why did you say, 'If it was only that!'?"
"Because, if there were only Nihilists in your affair, dear madame, itwould be too simple, or, rather, it would have been more simple. Canyou possibly believe, madame, that simply a Nihilist, a Nihilist who wasonly a Nihilist, would take pains that his bomb exploded from a vase offlowers?--that it would have mattered where, so long as it overwhelmedthe general? Do you imagine that the bomb would have had less effectbehind the door than in front of it? And the little cavity under thefloor, do you believe that a genuine revolutionary, such as you havehere in Russia, would amuse himself by penetrating to the villa onlyto draw out two nails from a board, when one happens to give himtime between two visits to the dining-room? Do you suppose that arevolutionary who wished to avenge the dead of Moscow and who couldsucceed in getting so far as the door behind which General Trebassofslept would amuse himself by making a little hole with a pin in orderto draw back the bolt and amuse himself by pouring poison into a glass?Why, in such a case, he would have thrown his bomb outright, whether itblew him up along with the villa, or he was arrested on the spot, or hadto submit to the martyrdom of the dungeons in the Fortress of SS. Peterand Paul, or be hung at Schlusselburg. Isn't that what always happens?That is the way he would have done, and not have acted like a hotel-rat!Now, there is someone in your home (or who comes to your home) who actslike a hotel-rat because he does not wish to be seen, because he doesnot wish to be discovered, because he does not wish to be taken in theact. Now, the moment that he fears nothing so much as to be taken inthe act, so that he plays all these tricks of legerdemain, it is certainthat his object lies beyond the act itself, beyond the bomb, beyondthe poison. Why all this necessity for bombs of deferred explosion, forclockwork placed where it will be confused with other things, and not ona bare staircase forbidden to everybody, though you visit it twenty timesa day?"
"But this man comes in as he pleases by day and by night? You don'tanswer. You know who he is, perhaps?"
"I know him, perhaps, but I am not sure who it is yet."
"You are not curious, little domovoi doukh! A friend of the house,certainly, and who enters the house as he wishes, by night, becausesomeone opens the window for him. And who comes from the KrestowskyVilla! Boris or Michael! Ah, poor miserable Matrena! Why don't theykill poor Matrena? Their general! Their general! And they aresoldiers--soldiers who come at night to kill their general. Aided by--bywhom? Do you believe that? You? Light of my eyes! you believe that! No,no, that is not possible! I want you to understand, monsieur le domovoi,that I am not able to believe anything so horrible. No, no, by JesusChrist Who died on the Cross, and Who searches our hearts, I do notbelieve that Boris--who, however, has very advanced ideas, I admit--itis necessary not to forget that; very advanced; and who composes veryadvanced verses also, as I have always told him--I will not believe thatBoris is capable of such a fearful crime. As to Michael, he is an honestman, and my daughter, my Natacha, is an honest girl. Everything looksvery bad, truly, but I do not suspect either Michael or Boris or my pureand beloved Natacha (even though she has made a translation into Frenchof very advanced verses, certainly most improper for the daughter of ageneral). That is what lies at the bottom of my mind, the bottom of myheart--you have understood me perfectly, little angel of paradise? Ah,it is you the general owes his life to, that Matrena owes her life.Without you this house would already be a coffin. How shall I everreward you? You wish for nothing! I annoy you! You don't even listen tome! A coffin--we would all be in our coffins! Tell me what you desire.All that I have belongs to you!"
"I desire to smoke a pipe.
"Ah, a pipe! Do you want some yellow perfumed tobacco that I receiveevery month from Constantinople, a treat right from the harem? I willget enough for you, if you like it, to smoke ten thousand pipes full."
"I prefer caporal," replied Rouletabille. "But you are right. It is notwise to suspect anybody. See, watch, wait. There is always time, oncethe game is caught, to say whether it is a hare or a wild boar. Listento me, then, my good mamma. We must know first what is in the phial.Where is it?"
"Here it is."
She drew it from her sleeve. He stowed it in his pocket.
"You wish the general a good appetite, for me. I am going out. I will beback in two hours at the latest. And, above all, don't let the generalknow anything. I am going to see one of my friends who lives inthe Aptiekarski pereolek."*
* The little street of the apothecaries.
"Depend on me, and get back quickly for love of me. My blood clogs in myheart when you are not here, dear servant of God."
She mounted to the general's room and came down at least ten times tosee if Rouletabille had not returned. Two hours later he was around thevilla, as he had promised. She could not keep herself from running tomeet him, for which she was scolded.
"Be calm. Be calm. Do you know what was in the phial?"
"No."
"Arsenate of soda, enough to kill ten people."
"Holy Mary!"
"Be quiet. Go upstairs to the general."
Feodor Feodorovitch was in charming humor. It was his first good nightsince the death of the youth of Moscow. He attributed it to his nothaving touched the narcotic and resolved, once more, to give up thenarcotic, a resolve Rouletabille and Matrena encouraged. During theconversation there was a knock at the door of Matrena's chamber. She ranto see who was there, and returned with Natacha, who wished to embraceher father. Her face showed traces of fatigue. Certainly she had notpassed as good a night as her father, and the general reproached her forlooking so downcast.
"It is true. I had dreadful dreams. But you, papa, did you sleep well?Did you take your narcotic?"
"No, no, I have not touched a drop of my potion."
"Yes, I see. Oh, well, that is all right; that is very good. Naturalsleep must be coming back..."
Matrena, as though hypnotized by Rouletabille, had taken the glass fromthe table and ostentatiously carried it to the dressing-room to throw itout, and she delayed there to recover her self-possession.
Natacha continued:
"You will see, papa, that you will be able to live just like everyoneelse finally. The great thing
was to clear away the police, theatrocious police; wasn't it, Monsieur Rouletabille?"
"I have always said, for myself, that I am entirely of MademoiselleNatacha's mind. You can be entirely reassured now, and I shall leaveyou feeling reassured. Yes, I must think of getting my interviews donequickly, and departing. Ah well, I can only say what I think. Run thingsyourselves and you will not run any danger. Besides, the general getsmuch better, and soon I shall see you all in France, I hope. I mustthank you now for your friendly hospitality."
"Ah, but you are not going? You are not going!" Matrena had already setherself to protest with all the strenuous torrent of words in herpoor desolated heart, when a glance from the reporter cut short herdespairing utterances.
"I shall have to remain a week still in the city. I have engaged achamber at the Hotel de France. It is necessary. I have so many peopleto see and to receive. I will come to make you a little visit from timeto time."
"You are then quite easy," demanded the general gravely, "at leaving meall alone?"
"Entirely easy. And, besides, I don't leave you all alone. I leave youwith Madame Trebassof and Mademoiselle. I repeat: All three of you stayas I see you now. No more police, or, in any case, the fewest possible."
"He is right, he is right," repeated Natacha again.
At this moment there were fresh knocks at the door of Matrena's chamber.It was Ermolai, who announced that his Excellency the Marshal of theCourt, Count Keltzof, wished to see the general, acting for His Majesty.
"Go and receive the Count, Natacha, and tell him that your father willbe downstairs in a moment."
Natacha and Rouletabille went down and found the Count in thedrawing-room. He was a magnificent specimen, handsome and big as oneof the Swiss papal guard. He seemed watchful in all directions and allamong the furniture, and was quite evidently disquieted. He advancedimmediately to meet the young lady, inquiring the news.
"It is all good news," replied Natacha. "Everybody here is splendid. Thegeneral is quite gay. But what news have you, monsieur le marechal? Youappear preoccupied."
The marshal had pressed Rouletabille's hand.
"And my grapes?" he demanded of Natacha.
"How, your grapes? What grapes?"
"If you have not touched them, so much the better. I arrived here veryanxious. I brought you yesterday, from Krasnoie-Coelo, some of theEmperor's grapes that Feodor Feodorovitch enjoyed so much. Nowthis morning I learned that the eldest son of Doucet, the Frenchhead-gardener of the Imperial conservatories at Krasnoie, had died fromeating those grapes, which he had taken from those gathered for me tobring here. Imagine my dismay. I knew, however, that at the general'stable, grapes would not be eaten without having been washed, but Ireproached myself for not having taken the precaution of leaving wordthat Doucet recommend that they be washed thoroughly. Still, I don'tsuppose it would matter. I couldn't see how my gift could be dangerous,but when I learned of little Doucet's death this morning, I jumped intothe first train and came straight here."
"But, your Excellency," interrupted Natacha, "we have not seen yourgrapes."
"Ah, they have not been served yet? All the better. Thank goodness!"
"The Emperor's grapes are diseased, then?" interrogated Rouletabille."Phylloxera pest has got into the conservatories?"
"Nothing can stop it, Doucet told me. So he didn't want me to leave lastevening until he had washed the grapes. Unfortunately, I was pressedfor time and I took them as they were, without any idea that the mixturethey spray on the grapes to protect them was so deadly. It appears thatin the vineyard country they have such accidents every year. They callit, I think, the... the mixture..."
"The Bordeaux mixture," was heard in Rouletabille's trembling voice "Anddo you know what it is, Your Excellency, this Bordeaux mixture?"
"Why, no."
At this moment the general came down the stairs, clinging to thebanister and supported by Matrena Petrovna.
"Well," continued Rouletabille, watching Natacha, "the Bordeaux mixturewhich covered the grapes you brought the general yesterday was nothingmore nor less than arsenate of soda."
"Ah, God!" cried Natacha.
As for Matrena Petrovna, she uttered a low exclamation and let go thegeneral, who almost fell down the staircase. Everybody rushed. Thegeneral laughed. Matrena, under the stringent look of Rouletabille,stammered that she had suddenly felt faint. At last they were alltogether in the veranda. The general settled back on his sofa andinquired:
"Well, now, were you just saying something, my dear marshal, about somegrapes you have brought me?"
"Yes, indeed," said Natacha, quite frightened, "and what he said isn'tpleasant at all. The son of Doucet, the court gardener, has just beenpoisoned by the same grapes that monsieur le marschal, it appears,brought you."
"Where was this? Grapes? What grapes? I haven't seen any grapes!"exclaimed Matrena. "I noticed you, yesterday, marshal, out in thegarden, but you went away almost immediately, and I certainly wassurprised that you did not come in. What is this story?"
"Well, we must clear this matter up. It is absolutely necessary that weknow what happened to those grapes."
"Certainly," said Rouletabille, "they could cause a catastrophe."
"If it has not happened already," fretted the marshal.
"But how? Where are they? Whom did you give them to?"
"I carried them in a white cardboard box, the first one that came tohand in Doucet's place. I came here the first time and didn't find you.I returned again with the box, and the general was just lying down.I was pressed for my train and Michael Nikolaievitch and BorisAlexandrovitch were in the garden, so I asked them to execute mycommission, and I laid the box down near them on the little gardentable, telling them not to forget to tell you it was necessary to washthe grapes as Doucet expressly recommended."
"But it is unbelievable! It is terrible!" quavered Matrena. "Where canthe grapes be? We must know."
"Absolutely," approved Rouletabille.
"We must ask Boris and Michael," said Natacha. "Good God! surely theyhave not eaten them! Perhaps they are sick."
"Here they are," said the general. All turned. Michael and Boris werecoming up the steps. Rouletabille, who was in a shadowed corner underthe main staircase, did not lose a single play of muscle on the twofaces which for him were two problems to solve. Both faces were smiling;too smiling, perhaps.
"Michael! Boris! Come here," cried Feodor Feodorovitch. "What have youdone with the grapes from monsieur le marechal?"
They both looked at him upon this brusque interrogation, seemed not tounderstand, and then, suddenly recalling, they declared very naturallythat they had left them on the garden table and had not thought aboutthem.
"You forgot my caution, then?" said Count Kaltzof severely.
"What caution?" said Boris. "Oh, yes, the washing of the grapes.Doucet's caution."
"Do you know what has happened to Doucet with those grapes? His eldestson is dead, poisoned. Do you understand now why we are anxious to knowwhat has become of my grapes?"
"But they ought to be out there on the table," said Michael.
"No one can find them anywhere," declared Matrena, who, no less thanRouletabille, watched every change in the countenances of the twoofficers. "How did it happen that you went away yesterday eveningwithout saying good-bye, without seeing us, without troubling yourselveswhether or not the general might need you?"
"Madame," said Michael, coldly, in military fashion, as though hereplied to his superior officer himself, "we have ample excuse to offeryou and the general. It is necessary that we make an admission, and thegeneral will pardon us, I am sure. Boris and I, daring the promenade,happened to quarrel. That quarrel was in full swing when we reached hereand we were discussing the way to end it most promptly when monsieurle marechal entered the garden. We must make that our excuse for givingdivided attention to what he had to say. As soon as he was gone we hadonly one thought, to get away from here to settle our difference witharms in our hands."
/> "Without speaking to me about it!" interrupted Trehassof. "I never willpardon that."
"You fight at such a time, when the general is threatened! It is asthough you fought between yourselves in the face of the enemy. It istreason!" added Matrena.
"Madame," said Boris, "we did not fight. Someone pointed out our fault,and I offered my excuses to Michael Nikolaievitch, who generouslyaccepted them. Is that not so, Michael Nikolaievitch?"
"And who is this that pointed out your fault?" demanded the marshal.
"Natacha."
"Bravo, Natacha. Come, embrace me, my daughter."
The general pressed his daughter effusively to his broad chest.
"And I hope you will not have further disputing," he cried, looking overNatacha's shoulder.
"We promise you that, General," declared Boris. "Our lives belong toyou."
"You did well, my love. Let us all do as well. I have passed anexcellent night, messieurs. Real sleep! I have had just one long sleep."
"That is so," said Matrena slowly. "The general had no need of narcotic.He slept like a child and did not touch his potion."
"And my leg is almost well."
"All the same, it is singular that those grapes should havedisappeared," insisted the marshal, following his fixed idea.
"Ermolai," called Matrena.
The old servant appeared.
"Yesterday evening, after these gentlemen had left the house, did younotice a small white box on the garden table?"
"No, Barinia."
"And the servants? Have any of them been sick? The dvornicks? Theschwitzar? In the kitchens? No one sick? No? Go and see; then come andtell me."
He returned, saying, "No one sick."
Like the marshal, Matrena Petrovna and Feodor Feodorovitch looked at oneanother, repeating in French, "No one sick! That is strange!"
Rouletabille came forward and gave the only explanation that wasplausible--for the others.
"But, General, that is not strange at all. The grapes have been stolenand eaten by some domestic, and if the servant has not been sick it issimply that the grapes monsieur le marechal brought escaped the sprayingof the Bordeaux mixture. That is the whole mystery."
"The little fellow must be right," cried the delighted marshal.
"He is always right, this little fellow," beamed Matrena, as proudly asthough she had brought him into the world.
But "the little fellow," taking advantage of the greetings as AthanaseGeorgevitch and Ivan Petrovitch arrived, left the villa, gripping in hispocket the phial which held what is required to make grapes flourishor to kill a general who is in excellent health. When he had gone a fewhundred steps toward the bridges one must cross to go into the city, hewas overtaken by a panting dvornick, who brought him a letter that hadjust come by courier. The writing on the envelope was entirely unknownto him. He tore it open and read, in excellent French:
"Request to M. Joseph Rouletabille not to mix in matters that do notconcern him. The second warning will be the last." It was signed: "TheCentral Revolutionary Committee."
"So, ho!" said Rouletabille, slipping the paper into his pocket, "that'sthe line it takes, is it! Happily I have nothing more to occupy myselfwith at all. It is Koupriane's turn now! Now to go to Koupriane's!"
On this date, Rouletabille's note-book: "Natacha to her father: 'Butyou, papa, have you had a good night? Did you take your narcotic?'
"Fearful, and (lest I confuse heaven and hell) I have no right totake any further notes."*
* As a matter of fact, after this day no more notes are found in Rouletabille's memorandum-book. The last one is that above, bizarre and romantic, and necessary, as Sainclair, the Paris advocate and friend of Rouletabille, indicates opposite it in the papers from which we have taken all the details of this story.