Rouletabille walked back and forth, very much worked up; then suddenly he stopped short.

“Impossible,” he said.  “It is impossible.  I cannot; I am not able to go yet.”

“Why?”

“Good God, Monsieur Koupriane, because I have to interview the President of the Duma yet, and complete my little inquiry into the politics of the cadets.”

“Oh, indeed!”

Koupriane looked at him with a sour grin.

“What are you going to do with that man?” demanded Rouletabille.

“Have him fixed up first.”

“And then?”

“Then take him before the judges.”

“That is to say, to the gallows?”

“Certainly.”

“Monsieur Koupriane, I offer it to you again.  Life for life.  Give me the life of that poor devil and I promise you General Trebassof’s.”

“Explain yourself.”

“Not at all.  Do you promise me that you will maintain silence about the case of that man and that you will not touch a hair of his head?”

Koupriane looked at Rouletabille as he had looked at him during the altercation they had on the edge of the Gulf.  He decided the same way this time.

“Very well,” said he.  “You have my word.  The poor devil!”

“You are a brave man, Monsieur Koupriane, but a little quick with the whip...”

“What would you expect?  One’s work teaches that.”

“Good morning.  No, don’t trouble to show me out.  I am compromised enough already,” said Rouletabille, laughing.

“Au revoir, and good luck!  Get to work interviewing the President of the Duma,” added Koupriane knowingly, with a great laugh.

But Rouletabille was already gone.

“That lad,” said the Chief of Police aloud to himself, “hasn’t told me a bit of what he knows.”

IX

ANNOUCHKA

“And now it’s between us two, Natacha,” murmured Rouletabille as soon as he was outside.  He hailed the first carriage that passed and gave the address of the datcha des Iles.  When he got in he held his head between his hands; his face burned, his jaws were set.  But by a prodigious effort of his will he resumed almost instantly his calm, his self-control.  As he went back across the Neva, across the bridge where he had felt so elated a little while before, and saw the isles again he sighed heavily.  “I thought I had got it all over with, so far as I was concerned, and now I don’t know where it will stop.”  His eyes grew dark for a moment with somber thoughts and the vision of the Lady in Black rose before him; then he shook his head, filled his pipe, lighted it, dried a tear that had been caused doubtless by a little smoke in his eye, and stopped sentimentalizing.  A quarter of an hour later he gave a true Russian nobleman’s fist-blow in the back to the coachman as an intimation that they had reached the Trebassof villa.  A charming picture was before him.  They were all lunching gayly in the garden, around the table in the summer-house.  He was astonished, however, at not seeing Natacha with them.  Boris Mourazoff and Michael Korsakoff were there.  Rouletabille did not wish to be seen.  He made a sign to Ermolai, who was passing through the garden and who hurried to meet him at the gate.