“No. At the least noise he would have closed the door. A turn of the key and he would have escaped forever. And he would have been warned.”
“Careless boy! Why then, if you knew he was going to come, didn’t you leave me in the bedroom and you watch below yourself?”
“Because so long as I was below he would not have come. He only comes when there is no one downstairs.”
“Ah, Saints Peter and Paul pity a poor woman. Who do you think it is, then? Who do you think it is? I can’t think any more. Tell me, tell me that. You ought to know—you know everything. Come—who? I demand the truth. Who? Still some agent of the Committee, of the Central Committee? Still the Nihilists?”
“If it was only that!” said Rouletabille quietly.
“You have sworn to drive me mad! What do you mean by your ‘if it was only that’?”
Rouletabille, imperturbable, did not reply.
“What have you done with the potion?” said he.
“The potion? The glass of the crime! I have locked it in my room, in the cupboard—safe, safe!”
“Ah, but, madame, it is necessary to replace it where you took it from.”