not have any doubt."

"Yes, but you declared you had papers, and you have not. That is
abominable procedure, Koupriane," replied Feodor sternly. "I have heard
you condemn such expedients many times."

"General! We are sure, you hear, we are absolutely sure that the man who
tried to poison you yesterday and the man to-day who is dead are one and
the same."

"And what reason have you for being so sure? It is necessary to tell
it," insisted the general, who trembled with distress and impatience.

"Yes, let him tell now."

"Ask monsieur," said Koupriane.

They all turned to Rouletabille.

The reporter replied, affecting a coolness that perhaps he did not
entirely feel:

"I am able to state to you, as I already have before Monsieur the
Prefect of Police, that one, and only one, person has left the traces of
his various climbings on the wall and on the balcony."

"Idiot!" interrupted Natacha, with a passionate disdain for the young
man. "And that satisfies you?"

The general roughly seized the reporter's wrist:

"Listen to me, monsieur. A man came here this night. That concerns only
me. No one has any right to be astonished excepting myself. I make it my
own affair, an affair between my daughter and me. But you, you have just
told us that you are sure that man is an assassin. Then, you see, that
calls for something else. Proofs are necessary, and I want the proofs
at once. You speak of traces; very well, we will go and examine those
traces together. And I wish for your sake, monsieur, that I shall be as
convinced by them as you are."

Rouletabille quietly disengaged his wrist and replied with perfect calm:

"Now, monsieur, I am no longer able to prove anything to you."

"Why?"

"Because the ladders of the police agents have wiped out all my proofs,
monsieur.

"So now there remains for us only your word, only your belief in
yourself. And if you are mistaken?"

"He would never admit it, papa," cried Natacha. "Ah, it is he who
deserves the fate Michael Nikolaievitch has met just now. Isn't it so?
Don't you know it? And that will be your eternal remorse! Isn't there
something that always keeps you from admitting that you are mistaken?
You have had an innocent man killed. Now, you know well enough, you know
well that I would not have admitted Michael Nikolaievitch here if I had
believed he was capable of wishing to poison my father."

"Mademoiselle," replied Rouletabille, not lowering his eyes under
Natacha