to prove the truth of “Empiric Treatment of Medicinal Herbs, the Science of Alchemy, and the Ancient Experiments in Sorcery.”  Between times he continued to cure anyone who applied to him, and the police in particular.  The police guards protected him and used him.  He had splendid plasters for them after “the scandal,” as they called the October riots.  So when the doctors of the quarter tried to prosecute him for illegal practice, a deputation of police-guards went to Koupriane, who took the responsibility and discontinued proceedings against him.  They regarded him as under protection of the saints, and Alexis soon came to be regarded himself as something of a holy man.  He never failed every Christmas and Easter to send his finest images to Rouletabille, wishing him all prosperity and saying that if ever he came to St. Petersburg he should be happy to receive him at Aptiekarski-Pereoulok, where he was established in honest labor.  Pere Alexis, like all the true saints, was a modest man.

When Alexis had recovered a little from his emotion Rouletabille said to him: 

“Pere Alexis, I do bring you poison again, but you have nothing to fear, for His Excellency the Chief of Police is with me.  Here is what we want you to do.  You must tell us what poison these four glasses have held, and what poison is still in this flask and this little phial.”

“What is that little phial?” demanded Koupriane, as he saw Rouletabille pull a small, stoppered bottle out of his pocket.

The reporter replied, “I have put into this bottle the vodka that was poured into Natacha’s glass and mine and that we barely touched.”

“Someone has tried to poison you!” exclaimed Pere Alexis.

“No, not me,” replied Rouletabille, in bored fashion.  “Don’t think about that.  Simply do what I tell you.  Then analyze these two napkins, as well.”

And he drew from his coat two soiled napkins.

“Well,” said Koupriane, “you have thought of everything.”

“They are the napkins the general and his wife used.”

“Yes, yes, I understand that,” said the Chief of Police.

“And you, Alexis, do you understand?” asked the reporter.  “When can we have the result of your analysis?

“In an hour, at the latest.”

“Very well,” said Koupriane.  “Now I need not tell you to hold your tongue.  I am going to leave one of my men here.  You will write us a note that you will seal, and he will bring it to head-quarters.  Sure you understand?  In an hour?”

“In an hour, Excellency.”

They went out, and Alexis followed them, bowing to the floor.  Koupriane had Rouletabille get into his carriage.  The young man did as he was told.  One would have said he did not know where he was or what he did.  He made no reply to the chief’s questions.

“This Pere Alexander,” resumed Koupriane, “is a character, really quite a figure.  And a bit of a schemer, I should say.  He has seen how Father John of Cronstadt succeeded, and he says to himself, ’Since the sailors had their Father John of Cronstadt, why shouldn’t the police-guard have their Father Alexis of Aptiekarski-Pereoulok?’”