ouse?"

"Doubtless, unless they have gone to a cafe. I don't know. Boris's
father likes to have the family lunch at the Barque when it is fine.
Calm yourself, little domovoi. What ails you? Bad news, eh? Any bad
news?"

"No, no; everything is all right. Quick, the address of Boris's family."

"The house at the corner of La Place St. Isaac and la rue de la Poste."

"Good. Thank you. Adieu."

He started for the Place St. Isaac, and picked up an interpreter at the
Grand Morskaia Hotel on the way. It might be useful to have him. At the
Place St. Isaac he learned the Morazoffs and Natacha Trebassof had
gone by train for luncheon at Bergalowe, one of the nearby stations in
Finland.

"That is all," said he, and added apart to himself, "And perhaps that is
not true."

He paid the coachman and the interpreter, and lunched at the Brasserie
de Vienne nearby. He left there a half-hour later, much calmer. He
took his way to the Grand Morskaia Hotel, went inside and asked the
schwitzar:

"Can you give me the address of Mademoiselle Annouchka?"

"The singer of the Krestowsky?"

"That is who I mean."

"She had luncheon here. She has just gone away with the prince."

Without any curiosity as to which prince, Rouletabille cursed his luck
and again asked for her address.

"Why, she lives in an apartment just across the way."

Rouletabille, feeling better, crossed the street, followed by the
interpreter that he had engaged. Across the way he learned on the
landing of the first floor that Mademoiselle Annouchka was away for the
day. He descended, still followed by his interpreter, and recalling
how someone had told him that in Russia it was always profitable to be
generous, he gave five roubles to the interpreter and asked him for some
information about Mademoiselle Annouchka's life in St. Petersburg. The
interpreter whispered:

"She arrived a week ago, but has not spent a single night in her
apartment over there."

He pointed to the house they had just left, and added:

"Merely her address for the police."

"Yes, yes," said Rouletabille, "I understand. She sings this evening,
doesn't she?"

"Monsieur, it will be a wonderful debut."

"Yes, yes, I know. Thanks."

All these frustrations in the things he had undertaken that day instead
of disheartening him plunged him deep into hard thinking. He returned,
his hands in his pockets, whistling softly, to the Place St. Isaac,
walked around the church, keeping an eye on