As always, the mound of paperwork never seemed to end, and she became absorbed in the work. After about half an hour of hard work, Madame Koska raised her head in surprise—she heard a very soft sound from the main sewing room. It was no more than a faint rustle, something like a cat rubbing against soft material, but there were no cats in the atelier. Could it be the wind? Was a window left open? No, that could not be. Every night the seamstresses made sure not a single window would be left open and she looked afterwards to be doubly certain. It was not the wind. She waited without moving, listening carefully. She heard the faint sound again.
Madame Koska did not know what to do. If this was a burglar, and she disturbed him, her life would be in danger. If she stayed where she was, sooner or later he would enter her office to try to break into the safe. She had to do something. Her hand went almost automatically to the telephone, to call the police, but if she did, the burglar would hear her… she stopped herself and folded her hands together nervously, waiting. Five minutes passed and everything was completely quiet; Madame Koska could not bear the tension anymore. Slowly, she took off her shoes, one after the other, pushed her chair back with great care, and got up. She crept to the door and put her ear on it. Everything was quiet again. Did she imagine the sounds? She must have… It had to be all in her mind, but just to make sure, she very carefully, very quietly, opened the door about an inch or two into the dark room. There were no sounds, no movement of any kind, the place was dark and silent.
“What nonsense,” Madame Koska thought angrily. “You must stop these sick imaginings, Vera! Pull yourself together!” Throwing the door wide open, she walked into the room, intending to go the other wall, turn on the electric light, and banish the fear, but suddenly she sensed something behind her. Before she could turn, move, or scream, a strong hand stopped her mouth and a cloth saturated with something that smelled very sweet was firmly pushed against her nose. Struggling for just a few seconds, Madame Koska fell to the floor.
When Madame Koska came to, the lights were on, and Natalya’s face was very close to her own as she was leaning over her. Madame Koska tried to say something, but her throat was scratchy and dry and she could not talk. She pointed to it and Natalya seemed to understand, since she ran away and came back quickly with a glass of water. She supported Madame Koska to help her sit up, and let her sip the water.
“For the love of God, what happened?” asked Natalya with a tinge of hysteria in her voice. “I just came back, I was going to ring the bell when I saw the door was open! I walked in and turned on the light and there you were, on the floor!”
“I don’t quite know,” Madame Koska whispered. “Someone pushed this substance in my face… and I think I fainted.”
“I will call the doctor and the police,” said Natalya. “Right away.”
“One minute,” said Madame Koska. “How come you are here?”
“I passed by the suppliers and got a big box of ironing cloths. I did not want to carry them home in the rain, and since I knew you were going to stay late to do the accounts, I came back, and there you were… but I must call the doctor!” She ran to the front desk to find the number of the doctor that was listed there. Madame Koska lay back on the floor, feeling dizzy.
In a short time, the doctor came, and it seemed that Natalya called her aunt, too, since Madame Golitsyn was suddenly there. Madame Koska felt rather disoriented, and did not question any of the proceedings. Police officers were roaming the atelier, too. She did not notice when anyone called them.
“She will be all right,” the doctor said to Madame Golitsyn and Natalya. “She just needs rest. She will have a bit of a headache in the morning, that is all.”
“What was it?” asked Madame Golitsyn.
“I believe it was surgical ether,” said the doctor. “From the way she is behaving, I believe the quantity was not very large, only enough to make her lose consciousness and sleep for a short time.”
“Thank goodness,” said Natalya feverishly.
“Madame Koska,” said the doctor, who knew the arrangements of the atelier and Madame Koska’s habits. “Please go upstairs and rest. Take tomorrow off and relax, drink some strong coffee in the morning, and you should be fine. If you feel unwell, call me.”
“I will be staying with her,” said Madame Golitsyn. “Thank you, Doctor.”
The doctor disappeared, and Madame Koska, still in a daze, allowed Natalya and Madame Golitsyn to take her upstairs and help her get to bed. She closed her eyes and fell asleep almost immediately, a drugged, uncomfortable sleep.
When Madame Koska woke up, she felt quite well other than a slight headache. She got up carefully and after refreshing herself by splashing cold water on her face, put on her dressing gown and went to make coffee. On her way to the kitchen she saw Madame Golitsyn sleeping on the large sofa in the living room. Dear Annushka, she thought, staying to protect her, but from what? Who was after her like that? She had no idea, nor did she know when the police would want to question her, but she was sure that would happen soon. She sat at the kitchen table, sipping her coffee and thinking, when Madame Golitsyn came in. “Well, well, Vera” she said. “I am so glad to see you on your feet.”
“Have some coffee,” said Madame Koska. “I think we are going to have a full day of police questioning.”
“Why would they want me?” asked Madame Golitsyn, surprised. “I do wish I could help the police, but I only came when Natalya told me she found you on the floor.”
“That’s just it, my dear,” said Madame Koska calmly. “Natalya. They are going to be very unpleasant to her about her story and she will need your support.”
“What? Natalya? What has she got to do with it?”
“They will want to know the exact time she bought the ironing cloths at the suppliers, the precise moment she came back here, did she go out and come back again, and so on. And they will try to find witnesses, though I suspect they already know most of it since there was a police officer watching the place.”
“What are you driving at, Vera?”
“They are going to suspect her of committing this little burglary, my dear, perhaps administering the ether to my face. They will think she is the cat burglar, or at least, his accomplice, since he is French, not Russian. Or at least that is what Inspector Blount thinks. I am not sure I agree, though.”
Madame Golitsyn sat down with her coffee. Her face was white with terror. “You don’t think so, do you, Vera?” she whispered. “You don’t believe Natalya would attack you…”
“Of course I don’t! I would never suspect your niece of doing me any harm. But the police will and therefore they will concentrate on trying to prove it, instead of looking for the real criminal. They will try to find motives, which of course she does not have. So, my dear, the burglar, whoever he is, has forced our hand. We must get Gretchen to reveal her side of the story.”
Madame Golitsyn did not speak for a few minutes. She seemed deep in thought as she turned her cup of coffee in her hands, warming them. “You are getting to be very good at it,” she suddenly said.
“At what?” asked Madame Koska.
“Figuring these things out, getting into the bottom of the strange events,” said Madame Golitsyn.