Koupriane started away. Rouletabille followed him. What had happened?
As he came up behind Koupriane, he asked the question. In a few curt words, still hurrying on, Koupriane told the reporter he had just learned that the police had left the little Bohemian Katharina alone for a moment with the expiring officer. Katharina acted as housekeeper for Michael and Boris. She knew the secrets of them both. The first thing any novice should have known was to keep a constant eye upon her, and now no one knew where she was. She must be searched for and found at once, for she had opened Michael's shirt, and therein probably lay the reason that no papers were found on the corpse when the police searched it. The absence of papers, of a portfolio, was not natural.
The chase commenced in the rosy dawn of the isles. Already bloodlike tints were on the horizon. Some of the police cried that they had the trail. They ran under the trees, because it was almost certain she had taken the narrow path leading to the bridge that joins Krestowsky to KamenyOstrow. Some indications discovered by the police who swarmed to right and left of the path confirmed this hypothesis. And no carriage in sight! They all ran on, Koupriane among the first. Rouletabille kept at his heels, but he did not pass him. Suddenly there were cries and calls among the police. One pointed out something below gliding upon the sloping descent. It was little Kathanna. She flew like the wind, but in a distracted course. She had reached KamenyOstrow on the west bank. "Oh, for a carriage, a horse!" clamored Koupriane, who had left his turnout at Eliaguine. "The proof is there. It is the final proof of everything that is escaping us!"
Dawn was enough advanced now to show the ground clearly. Katharina was easily discernible as she reached the Eliaguine bridge. There she was in EliaguineOstrow. What was she doing there? Was she going to the Trebassof villa? What would she have to say to them? No, she swerved to the right. The police raced behind her. She was still far ahead, and seemed untiring. Then she disappeared among the trees, in the thicket, keeping still to the right. Koupriane gave a cry of joy. Going that way she must be taken. He gave some breathless orders for the island to be barred. She could not escape now! She could not escape! But where was she going? Koupriane knew that island better than anybody. He took a short cut to reach the other side, toward which Katharina seemed to be heading, and all at once he nearly fell over the girl, who gave a squawk of surprise and rushed away, seeming all arms and legs.
"Stop, or I fire!" cried Koupriane, and he drew his revolver. But a hand grabbed it from him.
"Not that!" said Rouletabille, as he threw the revolver far from them. Koupriane swore at him and resumed the chase. His fury multiplied his strength, his agility; he almost reached Katharina, who was almost out of breath, but Rouletabille threw himself into the Chief's arms and they rolled together upon the grass. When Koupriane rose, it was to see Katharina mounting in mad haste the stairs that led to the Barque, the floating restaurant of the Strielka. Cursing Rouletabille, but believing his prey easily captured now, the Chief in his turn hurried to the Barque, into which Katharina had disappeared. He reached the bottom of the stairs. On the top step, about to descend from the festive place, the form of Prince Galltch appeared. Koupriane received the sight like a blow stopping him short in his ascent. Galitch had an exultant air which Koupriane did not mistake. Evidently he had arrived too late. He felt the certainty of it in profound discouragement. And this appearance of the prince on the Barque explained convincingly enough the reason for Katharina's flight here.
If the Bohemian had filched the papers or the portfolio from the dead, it was the prince now who had them in his pocket.
Koupriane, as he saw the prince about to pass him, trembled. The prince saluted him and ironically amused himself by inquiring:
"Well, well, how do you do, my dear Monsieur Koupriane. Your Excellency has risen in good time this morning, it seems to me. Or else it is I who start for bed too late."
"Prince," said Koupriane, "my men are in pursuit of a little Bohemian named Katharina, well known in the restaurants where she sings. We have seen her go into the Barque. Have you met her by any chance?"
"Good Lord, Monsieur Koupriane, I am not the concierge of the Barque, and I have not noticed anything at all, and nobody. Besides, I am naturally a little sleepy. Pardon me."
"Prince, it is not possible that you have not seen Katharina."
"Oh, Monsieur the Prefect of Police, if I had seen her I would not tell you about it, since you are pursuing her. Do you take me for one of your bloodhounds? They say you have them in all classes, but I insist that I haven't enlisted yet. You have made a mistake, Monsieur Koupriane."
The prince saluted again. But Koupriane still stood in his way.
"Prince, consider that this matter is very serious. Michael Nikolaievitch, General Trebassof's orderly, is dead, and this little girl has stolen his papers from his body. All persons who have spoken with Katharina will be under suspicion. This is an affair of State, monsieur, which may reach very far. Can you swear to me that you have not seen, that you have not spoken to Katharina?"
The prince looked at Koupriane so insolently that the Prefect turned pale with rage. Ah, if he were ableif he only dared!but such men as this were beyond him. Galitch walked past him without a word of answer, and ordered the schwitzar to call him a carriage.
"Very well," said Koupriane, "I will make my report to the Tsar."
Galitch turned. He was as pale as Koupriane.
"In that case, monsieur," said he, "don't forget to add that I am His Majesty's most humble servant."
The carriage drew up. The prince stepped in. Koupriane watched him roll away, raging at heart and with his fists doubled. Just then his men came up.
"Go. Search," he said roughly, pointing into the Barque.
They scattered through the establishment, entering all the rooms. Cries of irritation and of protest arose. Those lingering after the latest of late suppers were not pleased at this invasion of the police. Everybody had to rise while the police looked under the tables, the benches, the long tablecloths. They went into the pantries and down into the bold. No sign of Katharina. Suddenly Koupriane, who leaned against a netting and looked vaguely out upon the horizon, waiting for the outcome of the search, got a start. Yonder, far away on the other side of the river, between a little wood and the Staria Derevnia, a light boat drew to the shore, and a little black spot jumped from it like a flea. Koupriane recognized the little black spot as Kathanna. She was safe. Now he could not reach her. It would be useless to search the maze of the Bohemian quarter, where her countrypeople lived in full control, with customs and privileges that had never been infringed. The entire Bohemian population of the capital would have risen against him. It was Prince Galitch who had made him fail. One of his men came to him:
"No luck," said he. "We have not found Katharina, but she has been here nevertheless. She met Prince Galitch for just a minute, and gave him something, then went over the other side into a canoe."
"Very well," and the Prefect shrugged his shoulders. "I was sure of it."
He felt more and more, exasperated. He went down along the river edge and the first person he saw was Rouletabille, who waited for him without any impatience, seated philosophically on a bench.
"I was looking for you," cried the Prefect. "We have failed. By your fault! If you had not thrown yourself into my arms"
"I was looking for you," cried the Prefect. "We have failed. By your fault! If you had not thrown yourself into my arms"
"I did it on purpose," declared the reporter.
"What! What is that you say? You did it on purpose?"
Koupriane choked with rage.
"Your Excellency," said Rouletabille, taking him by the arm, "calm yourself. They are watching us. Come along and have a cup of tea at Cubat's place. Easy now, as though we were out for a walk."
"Will you explain to me?"
"No, no, Your Excellency. Remember that I have promised you General Trebassof's life in exchange for your prisoner's. Very well; by throwing myself in your arms and keeping you from reaching Katharina, I saved the general's life. It is very simple."
"Are you laughing at me? Do you think you can mock me?"
But the prefect saw quickly that Rouletabille was not fooling and had no mockery in his manner.
"Monsieur," he insisted, "since you speak seriously, I certainly wish to understand"
"It is useless," said Rouletabille. "It is very necessary that you should not understand."
"But at least"
"No, no, I can't tell you anything."
"When, then, will you tell me something to explain your unbelievable conduct?"
Rouletabille stopped in his tracks and declared solemnly:
"Monsieur Koupriane, recall what Natacha Feodorovna as she raised her lovely eyes to heaven, replied to her father, when he, also, wished to understand: 'Never.'"
XI
The Poison Continues
At ten o'clock that morning Rouletabille went to the Trebassof villa, which had its guard of secret agents again, a double guard, because Koupriane was sure the Nihilists would not delay in avenging Michael's death. Rouletabille was met by Ermolai, who would not allow him to enter. The faithful servant uttered some explanation in Russian, which the young man did not understand, or, rather, Rouletabille understood perfectly from his manner that henceforth the door of the villa was closed to him. In vain he insisted on seeing the general, Matrena Petrovna and Mademoiselle Natacha. Ermolai made no reply but "Niet, niet, niet." The reporter turned away without having seen anyone, and walked away deeply depressed. He went afoot clear into the city, a long promenade, during which his brain surged with the darkest forebodings. As he passed by the Department of Police he resolved to see Koupriane again. He went in, gave his name, and was ushered at once to the Chief of Police, whom he found bent over a long report that he was reading through with noticeable agitation.
"Gounsovski has sent me this," he said in a rough voice, pointing to the report. "Gounsovski, 'to do me a service,' desires me to know that he is fully aware of all that happened at the Trebassof datcha last night. He warns me that the revolutionaries have decided to get through with the general at once, and that two of them have been given the mission to enter the datcha in any way possible. They will have bombs upon their bodies and will blow the bombs and themselves up together as soon as they are beside the general. Who are the two victims designated for this horrible vengeance, and who have lightheartedly accepted such a death for themselves as well as for the general? That is what we don't know. That is what we would have known, perhaps, if you had not prevented me from seizing the papers that Prince Galitch has now," Koupriane finished, turning hostilely toward Rouletabille.
Rouletabille had turned pale.
"Don't regret what happened to the papers," he said. "It is I who tell you not to. But what you say doesn't surprise me. They must believe that Natacha has betrayed them."
"Ah, then you admit at last that she really is their accomplice?"
"I haven't said that and I don't admit it. But I know what I mean, and you, you can't. Only, know this one thing, that at the present moment I am the only person able to save you in this horrible situation. To do that I must see Natacha at once. Make her understand this, while I wait at my hotel for word. I'll not leave it."
Rouletabille saluted Koupriane and went out.
Two days passed, during which Rouletabille did not receive any word from either Natacha or Koupriane, and tried in vain to see them. He made a trip for a few hours to Finland, going as far as Pergalovo, an isolated town said to be frequented by the revolutionaries, then returned, much disturbed, to his hotel, after having written a last letter to Natacha imploring an interview. The minutes passed very slowly for him in the hotel's vestibule, where he had seemed to have taken up a definite residence.
Installed on a bench, he seemed to have become part of the hotel staff, and more than one traveler took him for an interpreter. Others thought he was an agent of the Secret Police appointed to study the faces of those arriving and departing. What was he waiting for, then? Was it for Annouchka to return for a luncheon or dinner in that place that she sometimes frequented? And did he at the same time keep watch upon Annouchka's apartments just across the way? If that was so, he could only bewail his luck, for Annouchka did not appear either at her apartments or the hotel, or at the Krestowsky establishment, which had been obliged to suppress her performance. Rouletabille naturally thought, in the latter connection, that some vengeance by Gounsovski lay back of this, since the head of the Secret Service could hardly forget the way he had been treated. The reporter could see already the poor singer, in spite of all her safeguards and the favor of the Imperial family, on the road to the Siberian steppes or the dungeons of Schlusselbourg.
"My, what a country!" he murmured.
But his thoughts soon quit Annouchka and returned to the object of his main preoccupation. He waited for only one thing, and for that as soon as possibleto have a private interview with Natacha. He had written her ten letters in two days, but they all remained unanswered. It was an answer that he waited for so patiently in the vestibule of the hotelso patiently, but so nervously, so feverishly.
When the postman entered, poor Rouletabille's heart beat rapidly. On that answer he waited for depended the formidable part he meant to play before quitting Russia. He had accomplished nothing up to now, unless he could play his part in this later development.
But the letter did not come. The postman left, and the schwitzar, after examining all the mail, made him a negative sign. Ah, the servants who entered, and the errandboys, how he looked at them! But they never came for him. Finally, at six o'clock in the evening of the second day, a man in a frockcoat, with a false astrakhan collar, came in and handed the concierge a letter for Joseph Rouletabille. The reporter jumped up. Before the man was out the door he had torn open the letter and read it. The letter was not from Natacha. It was from Gounsovski. This is what it said:
"My dear Monsieur Joseph Rouletabille, if it will not inconvenience you, I wish you would come and dine with me today. I will look for you within two hours. Madame Gounsovski will be pleased to make your acquaintance. Believe me your devoted Gounsovski."
Rouletabille considered, and decided:
"I will go. He ought to have wind of what is being plotted, and as for me, I don't know where Annouchka has gone. I have more to learn from him than he has from me. Besides, as Athanase Georgevitch said, one may regret not accepting the Head of the Okrana's pleasant invitation."
From six o'clock to seven he still waited vainly for Natacha's response. At seven o'clock, he decided to dress for the dinner. Just as he rose, a messenger arrived. There was still another letter for Joseph Rouletabille. This time it was from Natacha, who wrote him: