pes? What grapes? I haven't seen any grapes!"
exclaimed Matrena. "I noticed you, yesterday, marshal, out in the
garden, but you went away almost immediately, and I certainly was
surprised that you did not come in. What is this story?"

"Well, we must clear this matter up. It is absolutely necessary that we
know 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 to
hand 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 Boris
Alexandrovitch were in the garden, so I asked them to execute my
commission, and I laid the box down near them on the little garden
table, telling them not to forget to tell you it was necessary to wash
the grapes as Doucet expressly recommended."

"But it is unbelievable! It is terrible!" quavered Matrena. "Where can
the grapes be? We must know."

"Absolutely," approved Rouletabille.

"We must ask Boris and Michael," said Natacha. "Good God! surely they
have not eaten them! Perhaps they are sick."

"Here they are," said the general. All turned. Michael and Boris were
coming up the steps. Rouletabille, who was in a shadowed corner under
the main staircase, did not lose a single play of muscle on the two
faces which for him were two problems to solve. Both faces were smiling;
too smiling, perhaps.

"Michael! Boris! Come here," cried Feodor Feodorovitch. "What have you
done with the grapes from monsieur le marechal?"

They both looked at him upon this brusque interrogation, seemed not to
understand, and then, suddenly recalling, they declared very naturally
that they had left them on the garden table and had not thought about
them.

"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 eldest
son is dead, poisoned. Do you understand now why we are anxious to know
what 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 than
Rouletabille, watched every change in the coun