Алексей Николаевич Толстой - The Garin Death Ray

"I shall expect Semyonov tomorrow at the Boulevard Malesherbes."

Since that evening seven weeks had passed. Garin's double had been murdered on Krestovsky Island. Semyonov had reappeared on the Boulevard Malesherbes without either drawings or apparatus. Rolling had almost smashed his head with an ink-pot. Garin, or his double, had been seen the day before in Paris.

The following day at one o'clock Zoe picked up Rolling at the Boulevard Malesherbes as usual. Rolling sat beside her in a closed limousine resting his chin on his walking-stick.

"Garin's in Paris," he muttered between his teeth.

Zoe sank back on the cushions and Rolling looked gloomily at her.

"Semyonov should long ago have been led to the guillotine," said Rolling. "He's slipshod, a common murderer, he's an insolent fool. I trusted him and found myself in a ridiculous situation. I suppose he'll drag me into some nasty business now..."

Rolling told Zoe about his conversation with Semyonov. They hadn't managed to steal the drawings and the apparatus because the hoodlums Semyonov had hired had not killed Garin but his double. The appearance of the double worried Rolling more than anything. He realized that his opponent was no fool. Either Garin had had warning of the attempt to be made on his life or he assumed that such an attempt was unavoidable and had covered his tracks leaving them a dummy. All this was very vague. The most incomprehensible thing of all was—what the hell was Garin doing in Paris?

The limousine moved slowly amongst many other cars along the Champs Elysees. The day was warm and damp, a delicate blue haze wreathed the winged horses and glass dome of the Grand Salon, the round roofs of the tall houses, the awnings over the windows, and the luxuriant crowns of the chestnuts.

Those occupying the cars—some lolling back, some with one foot on the other knee, some sucking the knobs of their canes—were in the majority of cases nouveaux riches, young men, not very tall, in soft spring hats and gaudy ties. They were on their way to lunch in the Bois de Boulogne accompanied by those pretty girls that Paris gladly supplies for the amusement of foreigners.

On the Place de 1'fitoile a hired car in which sat Semyonov and a man with a fat, yellow face and dusty moustaches overtook Zoe Montrose's limousine. They were both leaning forward in something resembling frenzy, watching a little green car that wound its way across the Place to the entrance of the underground railway.

Semyonov pointed out the car to his chauffeur but it was difficult to penetrate the throng of traffic. At last they got through and at full speed tried to cut across in front of the little green car. The latter, however, had already stopped at the Metropolitaine entrance. A man of medium height, in a voluminous coat, jumped out of the car and disappeared below ground.

All this occurred in two or three minutes before the eyes of Rolling and Zoe. She called to her chauffeur to turn towards the Metropolitaine. They stopped almost simultaneously with Semyonov. Waving his cane, Semyonov ran to the limousine, pulled open the plate-glass door, and spoke in terrific excitement.

"That was Garin. Got away. Doesn't matter, though. I'll go to him at Rue Batignolles and propose an agreement. Rolling, we must come to an understanding: how much will you give to acquire the apparatus? And you needn't worry, I'll keep within the law. Incidentally allow me to introduce Stas Tyklinski. He's a very decent chap."

Without waiting for permission he called Tyklinski. The latter ran up to the luxurious limousine, pulled off his hat, bowed and kissed Pani Montrose's hand.

Rolling did not offer his hand to either of them but glared out of the depths of the limousine like a puma in a cage. To remain there in full view of all passers-by on the Place de 1'fitoile was not wise. Zoe proposed driving to the left bank for lunch in the Restaurant Laperouse which would not be overcrowded at this time of the year.

Every minute Tyklinski kept bowing, smoothed his pendant moustaches, stared at Zoe Montrose with moist eyes, and ate with suppressed voracity. Rolling sat gloomily with his back to the window. Semyonov chattered away at his ease. Zoe seemed calm, she smiled charmingly and with her eyes indicated to the maitre d'hotel that he fill the guests' glasses more frequently. When the champagne was brought in she asked Tyklinski to tell his story.

He pulled his napkin from his collar.

"We did not even grudge our lives for Pan Rolling. We crossed the Soviet border near Sestroretsk."

"Who do you mean—we?" asked Rolling.

"I and my assistant, sir, a Russian from Warsaw, an officer of Balakhovich's army. A very cruel man. Damn him and all Russians, he gave me more trouble than help. My task was to find out where Garin was conducting his experiments. I went to the ruined house—the lady and gentleman, of course, know how the damned swine almost cut me in two with his apparatus. It was there in the cellar that I found the steel strip; Madame Zoe has got it and has evidence of the effort I made. Garin moved his experiments to another place. I did not sleep day or night, I wanted to justify the trust placed in me by Madame Zoe and Mr. Rolling. I chilled my lungs in the swamps of Krestovsky Island but I achieved my goal. I traced Garin. On the night of the 27th April my assistant and I got into his cottage, bound Garin to an iron bedstead and searched the place thoroughly. Not a thing. It was enough to drive you mad, there was no sign of the apparatus. And all the time I knew he had hidden it in that cottage. Then my assistant got a bit rough with Garin... The lady and gentleman will understand that we were excited. I do not say that we acted on the instructions of Mr. Rolling. No, my assistant forgot himself..."

Rolling looked into his plate. Zoe's long fingers tapped rapidly on the table-cloth flashing their polished nails, emeralds, diamonds, and sapphires. Tyklinski was inspired as he gazed at that priceless hand.

"The lady and gentleman know how I met Garin at the post-office a day later. Mother of God, who would not be scared out of his wits coming face to face with a living corpse? And then the police came chasing after me. We were the victims of a trick, that accursed Garin had foisted another man on to us instead of himself. I decided to make another search of the cottage. There must have been a cellar there. That night I went there alone and put the watchman to sleep. I got in through the window. Let Mr. Rolling not misunderstand me. When Tyklinski risks his life, he risks it for an idea. I could very well have jumped back through the window when I heard such a banging and crashing that would make anybody's hair stand on end. Yes, Mr. Rolling, I realized then that the Lord guided you when you sent me to wrest that awful instrument out of the hands of the Russians, a weapon they could turn against the whole civilized world. That was an historical moment, Pani Zoe, I swear on the honour of a Polish nobleman. I threw myself like a wild beast into the kitchen, where the noise was going on. I saw Garin. He was piling up tables, sacks and boxes against the wall. When he saw me he seized the leather suitcase that I knew so well, the one in which he carried the model of his apparatus, and slipped into the next room. 1 drew my revolver and chased after him. He was already opening the window to jump out. I fired. With his suitcase in one hand and his revolver in the other he ran to the other end of the room, took cover behind the bed, and opened fire. It was a real duel, Madame Zoe. A bullet holed my cap. Suddenly he covered his nose and mouth with a rag of some sort and held out a little metal tube towards me—there was a shot, no louder than the popping of a champagne cork, and at that moment a thousand little claws clutched at my nose, eyes, throat, and chest, I began to sneeze and cough, my insides were turned inside out, and, excuse me, Paw Zoe, I vomited so badly that I rolled on the floor."