The Secret of the Night [110]
were painted a reddish-brown, and its roof green. It was not the Russian isba, but the Finnish touba. However, a Russian sign announced it to be a restaurant. The young man had to take only a few steps to enter it. He was the only customer there. An old man, with glasses and a long gray beard, evidently the proprietor of the establishment, stood behind the counter, presiding over the zakouskis. Rouletabille chose some little sandwiches which he placed on a plate. He took a bottle of pivo and made the man understand that later, if it were possible, he would like a good hot supper. The other made a sign that he understood and showed him into an adjoining room which was used for diners. Rouletabille was quite ready enough to die in the face of his failures, but he did not wish to perish from hunger.
A table was placed beside a window looking out over the sea and over the entrance to the bay. It could not have been better and, with his eye now on the horizon, now on the estuary near-by, he commenced to eat with gloomy avidity. He was inclined to feel sorry for himself, to indulge in self-pity. "Just the same, two and two always make four," he said to himself; "but in my calculations perhaps I have forgotten the surd. "Ah, there was a time when I would not have overlooked anything. And even now I haven't overlooked anything, if Natacha is innocent!" Having literally scoured the plate, he struck the table a great blow with his fist and said: "She is!"
Just then the door opened. Rouletabille supposed the proprietor of the place was entering.
It was Koupriane.
He rose, startled. He could not imagine by what mystery the Prefect of Police had made his way there, but he rejoiced from the bottom of his heart, for if he was trying to rescue Natacha from the hands of the revolutionaries Koupriane would be a valuable ally. He clapped the Prefect on the shoulder.
"Well, well!" he said, almost joyfully. "I certainly did not expect you here. How is your wound?"
"Nitchevo! Not worth speaking about; it's nothing."
"And the general and -! Ah, that frightful night! And those two unfortunates who -?"
"Nitchevo! Nitchevo!"
"And poor Ermolai!"
"Nitchevo! Nitchevo! It is nothing."
Rouletabille looked him over. The Prefect of Police had an arm in a sling, but he was bright and shining as a new ten-rouble piece, while he, poor Rouletabille, was so abominably soiled and depressed. Where did he come from? Koupriane understood his look and smiled.
"Well, I have just come from the Finland train; it is the best way."
"But what can you have come here to do, Excellency?"
"The same thing as you."
"Bah!" exclaimed Rouletabille, "do you mean to say that you have come here to save Natacha?"
"How - to save her! I come to capture her."
"To capture her?"
"Monsieur Rouletabille, I have a very fine little dungeon in Saints Peter and Paul fortress that is all ready for her."
"You are going to throw Natacha into a dungeon!"
"The Emperor's order, Monsieur Rouletabille. And if you see me here in person it is simply because His Majesty requires that the thing be done as respectfully and discreetly as possible."
"Natacha in prison!" cried the reporter, who saw in horror all obstacles rising before him at one and the same time. "For what reasons, pray?"
"The reason is simple enough. Natacha Feodorovna is the last word in wickedness and doesn't deserve anybody's pity. She is the accomplice of tbe revolutionaries and the instigator of all the crimes against her father."
"I am sure that you are mistaken, Excellency. But how have you been guided to her?"
"Simply by you."
"By me?"
"Yes, we lost all trace of Natacha. But, as you had disappeared also, I made up my mind that you could only be occupied in searching for her, and that by finding you I might have the chance to lay my hands on her."
"But I haven't seen any of your men?"
"Why, one of them brought you here."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. Didn't you climb onto a telega?"
"Ah, the driver."
"Exactly. I had
A table was placed beside a window looking out over the sea and over the entrance to the bay. It could not have been better and, with his eye now on the horizon, now on the estuary near-by, he commenced to eat with gloomy avidity. He was inclined to feel sorry for himself, to indulge in self-pity. "Just the same, two and two always make four," he said to himself; "but in my calculations perhaps I have forgotten the surd. "Ah, there was a time when I would not have overlooked anything. And even now I haven't overlooked anything, if Natacha is innocent!" Having literally scoured the plate, he struck the table a great blow with his fist and said: "She is!"
Just then the door opened. Rouletabille supposed the proprietor of the place was entering.
It was Koupriane.
He rose, startled. He could not imagine by what mystery the Prefect of Police had made his way there, but he rejoiced from the bottom of his heart, for if he was trying to rescue Natacha from the hands of the revolutionaries Koupriane would be a valuable ally. He clapped the Prefect on the shoulder.
"Well, well!" he said, almost joyfully. "I certainly did not expect you here. How is your wound?"
"Nitchevo! Not worth speaking about; it's nothing."
"And the general and -! Ah, that frightful night! And those two unfortunates who -?"
"Nitchevo! Nitchevo!"
"And poor Ermolai!"
"Nitchevo! Nitchevo! It is nothing."
Rouletabille looked him over. The Prefect of Police had an arm in a sling, but he was bright and shining as a new ten-rouble piece, while he, poor Rouletabille, was so abominably soiled and depressed. Where did he come from? Koupriane understood his look and smiled.
"Well, I have just come from the Finland train; it is the best way."
"But what can you have come here to do, Excellency?"
"The same thing as you."
"Bah!" exclaimed Rouletabille, "do you mean to say that you have come here to save Natacha?"
"How - to save her! I come to capture her."
"To capture her?"
"Monsieur Rouletabille, I have a very fine little dungeon in Saints Peter and Paul fortress that is all ready for her."
"You are going to throw Natacha into a dungeon!"
"The Emperor's order, Monsieur Rouletabille. And if you see me here in person it is simply because His Majesty requires that the thing be done as respectfully and discreetly as possible."
"Natacha in prison!" cried the reporter, who saw in horror all obstacles rising before him at one and the same time. "For what reasons, pray?"
"The reason is simple enough. Natacha Feodorovna is the last word in wickedness and doesn't deserve anybody's pity. She is the accomplice of tbe revolutionaries and the instigator of all the crimes against her father."
"I am sure that you are mistaken, Excellency. But how have you been guided to her?"
"Simply by you."
"By me?"
"Yes, we lost all trace of Natacha. But, as you had disappeared also, I made up my mind that you could only be occupied in searching for her, and that by finding you I might have the chance to lay my hands on her."
"But I haven't seen any of your men?"
"Why, one of them brought you here."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. Didn't you climb onto a telega?"
"Ah, the driver."
"Exactly. I had