Murder on the Leviathan (29 page)

My God, how could she have said such things aloud? This was something she could really feel proud of.

For an instant Fandorin was taken aback, he even blinked those long lashes in a most unromantic fashion. Then he began to speak, stammering more than usual:

'Miss Stamp . . . C-Clarissa ... I do like you. I like you very much. I admire you. And I envy you.'

'You envy me? For what?' she asked, amazed.

'For your courage. For the fact that you are not afraid to b-be refused and appear ridiculous. You see, I am b-basically very timid and uncertain of myself.'

'You, timid?' Clarissa asked, even more astounded.

'Yes. There are two things I am really afraid of: appearing foolish or ridiculous and . . . dropping my guard.'

No, she could not understand this at all.

'What guard?'

'You see, I learned very early what it means to lose someone, and it frightened me very badly - probably for the rest of my life. While I am alone, my defences against fate are strong, and I fear nothing and nobody. For a man like me it is best to be alone.'

'I have already told you, Mr Fandorin, that I am not laying claim to a place in your life, or even a place in your heart. Let alone attempting to penetrate your "defences".'

She said no more, because everything had already been said.

And just at that very moment, of course, someone started hammering on the door. She heard Milford-Stokes's agitated voice in the corridor:

'Mr Fandorin, sir! Are you awake? Open up! Quickly! This is a conspiracy!'

'Stay here,' Erast whispered. 'I shall be back soon.'

He went out into the corridor. Clarissa heard muffled voices, but she could not make out what they were saying. Five minutes later Fandorin came back in. He took some small, heavy object out of a drawer and put it in his pocket, then he picked up his elegant cane and said in an anxious voice:

'Wait here for a while and then go back to your cabin. Things seem to be coming to a head.'

She knew now what he had meant by that . . . Later, when she was back in her cabin, Clarissa had heard footsteps clattering along the corridor and the sound of excited voices, but of course it had never even entered her head that death was hovering above the masts of the proud Leviathan.

'What is it that Mme Kleber wants to confess?' Dr Truffo asked nervously. 'M. Fandorin, please tell us what is going on. How can she be involved in all this?'

But Fandorin just put on an even gloomier expression and said nothing.

Rolling in time to the regular impact of the waves, Leviathan was sailing northwards full steam ahead, carving through the waters of the Palk Strait, which were still murky after the storm. The coastline of Ceylon was a green stripe on the distant horizon. The morning was overcast and close. From time to time a gust of hot air blew a whiff of decay in through the open windows on the windward side of the salon, but the draught could find no exit and it foundered helplessly, hardly even ruffling the curtains.

'I think I have made a mistake,' Erast muttered, taking a step towards the door. 'I'm always one step or half a step behind . . .'

When the first shot came, Clarissa did not immediately realize what the sound was - it was just a sharp crack, and any number of things could go crack on a ship sailing across a rough sea. But then there was another.

'Those are revolver shots!' exclaimed Sir Reginald. 'But where from?'

'The commissioner's cabin!' Fandorin snapped, dashing for the door.

Everybody rushed after him.

There was a third shot, and then, when they were only about 20 steps away from Gauche's cabin, a fourth.

'Stay here!' Fandorin shouted without turning round, pulling a small revolver out of his back pocket.

The others slowed down, but Clarissa was not afraid, she was determined to stay by Erast's side.

He pushed open the door of the cabin and held the revolver out in front of him. Clarissa stood on tiptoes and peeped over his shoulder.

The first thing she saw was an overturned chair. Then she saw Commissioner Gauche. He was lying on his back on the other side of the polished table that stood in the centre of the room. Clarissa craned her neck to get a better look at him and shuddered: Gauche's face was hideously contorted and there was dark blood bubbling out of the centre of his forehead and dribbling onto the floor in two narrow rivulets.

Renate Kleber was in the opposite coiner, huddled against the wall. She was sobbing hysterically and her teeth were chattering. There was a large black revolver with a smoking barrel in her trembling hand.

'Aaa! Ooo!' howled Mme Kleber, pointing to the dead body. 'I ... I killed him!'

'I had guessed,' Fandorin said coolly.

Keeping his revolver trained on the Swiss woman, he went up to her and deftly snatched the gun out of her hand. She made no attempt to resist.

'Dr Truffo!' Erast called, following Renate's every move closely. 'Come here!'

The diminutive doctor glanced into the gunsmoke-filled cabin with timid curiosity.

'Examine the body, please,' said Fandorin.

Muttering some lamentation to himself in Italian, Truffo knelt beside the dead Gauche.

'A fatal wound to the head,' he reported. 'Death was instantaneous. But that's not all . . . There is a gunshot wound to the right elbow. And one here, to the left wrist. Three wounds in all.'

'Keep looking. There were four shots.'

'There aren't any more. One of the bullets must have missed. No, wait! Here it is, in the right knee!'

'I'll tell you everything,' Renate babbled, shuddering and sobbing. 'Only take me out of this awful room!'

Fandorin put the little revolver in his pocket and the big one on the table.

'Very well, let's go. Doctor, inform the head of the watch what has happened here and have him put a guard on this door. And then rejoin us. There is no one apart from us now to conduct the investigation.'

'What an ill-starred voyage!' Truffo gasped as he walked along the corridor. 'Poor Leviathan'

In the Windsor saloon Mme Kleber sat at the table, facing the door, and everyone else sat facing her. Fandorin was the only one who took a chair beside the murderess.

'Gentlemen, do not look at me like that,' Mme Kleber said in a pitiful voice. 'I killed him, but I am the innocent victim. When I tell you what happened, you will see . . . But for God's sake, give me some water.'

The solicitous Japanese poured her some lemonade - the table had not yet been cleared after breakfast.

'So what did happen?' asked Clarissa.

Translate everything she says,' Mrs Truffo sternly instructed her husband, who had already returned. 'Everything, word for word.'

The doctor nodded, wiping the perspiration induced by fast walking from his forehead with a handkerchief.

'Don't be afraid, madam. Just tell the truth,' Sir Reginald encouraged Renate. 'This person is no gentleman, he has no idea how to treat a lady, but I guarantee that you will be treated with respect.'

These words were accompanied by a glance in Fandorin's direction - a glance filled with such fierce hatred that Clarissa Stamp was startled. What on earth could have happened between Erast and Milford-Stokes since the previous day to cause this hostility?

'Thank you, dear Reginald,' Renate sobbed.

She drank her lemonade slowly, snuffling and whining under her breath. Then she looked imploringly at her interrogators and began:

'Gauche is no guardian of the law! He is a criminal, a madman! That loathsome shawl has driven everybody insane! Even a police commissioner!'

'You said you had something to confess to him,' Clarissa reminded her in an unfriendly tone of voice. 'What was it?'

'Yes, there was something that I was hiding . . . Something important. I was going to confess to everything, but first I wanted to expose the commissioner!'

'Expose him? As what?' Sir Reginald asked sympathetically.

Mme Kleber stopped crying and solemnly declared:

'A murderer. Renier did not kill himself. Commissioner Gauche killed him!' Seeing how astounded her listeners were by this claim, she continued rapidly. 'It's obvious! You try smashing your skull by running at the wall in a room of only six square metres. It can't be done. If Charles had decided to kill himself, he would have taken off his tie, tied it to the ventilation grille and jumped off a chair. No, Gauche killed him! He struck him on the head with some heavy object and then made it look like suicide by smashing the dead man's head against the wall.'

'But why would the commissioner want to kill Renier?' Clarissa asked with a sceptical shake of her head. Mme Kleber was obviously talking nonsense.

'I told you, greed had driven him completely insane. That shawl is to blame for everything. Either Gauche was angry with Charles for burning the shawl, or he didn't believe him -I don't know which. But anyway it's quite clear that Gauche killed him. And when I told him so to his face, he didn't try to deny it. He took out his pistol and started waving it about and threatening me. He said that if I didn't keep my mouth shut I'd go the same way as Renier . . .' Renate began sniffling again and then -miracle of miracles - the baronet offered her his handkerchief.

What mysterious transformation was this? He had always shunned Renate like the plague!

'. . . Well, then he put the pistol on the table and started shaking me by the shoulders. I was so afraid, so afraid! I don't know how I managed to push him away and grab the gun from the table. It was terrible! I ran away from him and he started chasing me round the table. I turned and pressed the trigger. I kept pressing it until he fell . . . And then Mr Fandorin came in.'

Renate began sobbing at the top of her voice. Milford-Stokes patted her shoulder tentatively, as if he were touching a rattlesnake.

Clarissa started when the silence was suddenly broken by the sound of loud clapping.

'Bravo!' said Fandorin with a mocking smile, still clapping his hands. 'Bravo, Mme Kleber. You are a great actress.'

'How dare you!' exclaimed Sir Reginald, choking with indignation, but Erast cut him short with a wave of his hand.

'Sit down and listen. I shall tell you what really happened.' Fandorin was absolutely calm and seemed quite certain that he was right. 'Mme Kleber is not only a superb actress, she is quite exceptionally talented in every respect. She possesses true brilliance and breadth of imagination. Unfortunately, her greatest talent lies in the criminal sphere. You are an accomplice to a whole series of murders, madam. Or rather, not an accomplice, but the instigator, the leading lady. It was Renier who was your accomplice.'

'Look,' Renate appealed plaintively to Sir Reginald. 'Now this one's gone crazy too. And he was such a quiet boy.'

'The most amazing thing about you is the superhuman speed with which you react to a situation,' Erast continued as though she hadn't even spoken. 'You never defend yourself - you always strike first, Mile Sanfon. You don't mind if I call you by your real name, do you?'

'Sanfon! Marie Sanfon? Her?' Dr Truffo exclaimed.

Clarissa realized she was sitting there with her mouth open. Milford-Stokes jerked his hand away from Renate's shoulder. Renate herself looked at Fandorin pityingly.

'Yes, you see before you the legendary, brilliant, ruthless international adventuress Marie Sanfon. Her style is breathtakingly daring and inventive. She leaves no clues or witnesses. And last, but not least, she cares nothing for human life. The testimony of Charles Renier, which we shall come to later, is a mixture of truth and lies. I do not know, my lady, when you met him and under what circumstances, but two things are beyond all doubt. Firstly, Renier genuinely loved you and he tried to divert suspicion from you until his very last moment. And secondly, it was you who persuaded the son of the Emerald Rajah to go in search of his inheritance - otherwise why would he have waited for so many years? You made Lord Littleby's acquaintance, acquired all the information you required and worked out a p-plan. Obviously at first you had counted on obtaining the shawl by cunning and flattery - after all, his Lordship had no idea of the significance of that scrap of cloth. But you soon became convinced that it would never work: Littleby was absolutely crazy about his collection and he would never have agreed to part with any of the exhibits. It was not possible to obtain the shawl by stealth either - there were armed guards constantly on duty beside the display case. So you decided to keep the risk to a minimum and leave no traces behind, the way you always prefer to do things. Tell me, did you know that Lord Littleby had not gone away, that he was at home on that fateful evening? I am sure you did. You needed to bind Renier to you with blood. It was not he who killed the servants - you did.'

'Impossible!' said Dr Truffo, throwing his hand in the air.

'Without medical training and practice, no woman could give nine injections in three minutes! It's quite out of the question.'

'Firstly, she could have prepared nine loaded syringes in advance. And secondly . . .' Erast took an apple from a dish and cut a piece off it with an elegant flourish. 'M. Renier may have had no experience in using a syringe, but Marie Sanfon does have such experience. Do not forget that she was raised in a convent of the Grey Sisters of St Vincent, an order founded to provide medical assistance to the poor, and their novices are trained from an early age to work in hospitals, leper colonies and hospices. All these nuns are highly qualified nurses and, as I recall, young Marie was one of the best.'