The Coronation (46 page)

‘Ask how long ago he was killed,’ Erast Petrovich whispered.

‘How long ago was he killed?’ I asked.

‘What? How should I know? Wait, I do know! I heard the gentlemen from the court police say that the body was still very warm.’

‘That Lind is no man, he’s a devil!’ I whispered with my hand over the receiver. ‘He carries on settling scores, no matter what!’

‘Ask if Emilie has got back.’

‘Tell me, Kornei Selifanovich, has Mademoiselle Declique shown up yet?’

‘Mademoiselle? Why, has she been found?’ Somov’s voice trembled. ‘Do you know something about her?’

There had to be some reason why he was so agitated, there had to be. I immediately recalled how he had pestered Emilie with his French lessons. Perhaps Fandorin was not so far wrong in suspecting him!

‘Surely Banville would not have dared to go back into the Hermitage?’ I asked Erast Petrovich. ‘That’s simply incredible!’

‘Of course it’s incredible,’ he remarked coolly. ‘Carr was stabbed by Somov. He certainly knows all about kitchen knives.’

‘I can’t hear anything!’ said the voice in the receiver. ‘Afanasii Stepanovich, where are you? How can I find you?’

Fandorin took the mouthpiece from me.

‘This is Fandorin here. Hello, Somov. I would like to see you. If you value the life of His Highness, leave the house immediately by the back entrance, walk through the park and in thirty minutes, no later, be at the Donskoi Cemetery, by the wall opposite the entrance. Delay may be fatal.’

And he hung up, without waiting for a reply.

‘Why such a rush?’ I asked.

‘I do not want him to meet Emilie, who will reach the Hermitage at any moment now. We don’t want Somov to get the idea of eliminating a dangerous witness. You heard how agitated he was. If the audacity with which Somov killed Carr is anything to go by, your estimable assistant was planning to make a run for it in any case.’

I shook my head, far from convinced that it was Somov who had killed Carr.

‘Right, Afanasii Stepanovich,’ said Fandorin, putting his little revolver in his pocket. Then he took another pistol of rather more impressive proportions out of his travelling bag and stuck it into his belt. ‘This is where our p-paths part. I shall meet Somov and have a good talk with him.’

‘What does “a good talk” mean?’

‘I shall tell him that he has been discovered and offer him a choice: to serve hard labour for life or to help catch Lind.’

‘And what if you are mistaken, and he is not guilty of anything?’

‘I shall understand that from the way he behaves. But Somov is the spy, I am certain of it.’

I followed Erast Petrovich round the room, observing his preparations. Everything was happening too fast. I had no time to gather my thoughts.

‘But why do we have to separate?’

‘Because if Somov is Lind’s man, it is highly likely that at this very moment he is telephoning his boss, and the welcome awaiting me at the cemetery will be somewhat hotter than I was counting on. Although of course they have no time at all to prepare. But it’s a convenient spot, isolated.’

‘All the more reason why I must go with you!’

‘No, Ziukin. You must stay here and guard this.’

Erast Petrovich put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the diamond, wrapped in his handkerchief. I held out my hand reverently and felt the strange warmth radiating from the sacred stone.

Fandorin swung round on his heels and went out into the corridor. I stayed close behind. In the kitchen doorway Erast Petrovich squatted down on his haunches, hooked up one of the floorboards, and a moment later he was holding the familiar casket.

‘There you are, Ziukin, now I d-do not owe the House of Romanov anything. You can be regarded as a plenipotentiary representative of the royal family, surely?’ He smiled briefly. ‘The important thing is, never leave the telephone. I shall definitely call you.’

‘Where from?’

‘I do not know yet. From some hotel, restaurant or post office.’

In the doorway Fandorin turned and looked back at me. His glance seemed strange, as if there was something he could not bring himself to tell me, or he was hesitating over what to do next. I did not like this at all; in fact, to tell the truth, I was frightened that he might have changed his mind and intended to take the jewels with him.

I took a step back, tightening my grip on the casket, and said: ‘You’ll be late. It’s a long way. What if Somov doesn’t wait for you?’

‘He will,’ Fandorin replied absent-mindedly, clearly thinking about something else. Could that possibly be pity in his eyes? ‘Listen, Afanasii Stepanovich . . .’

‘What?’ I asked cautiously, sensing that he was about to tell me something very important.

‘No . . . never mind. Wait for my call.’

He turned and left.

What an abominable way to behave!

I made myself as comfortable as possible beside the telephone.

Judging that Fandorin could not call me during the next hour in any case, I took some money (Erast Petrovich had left an entire wad of banknotes on the table), went to Myasnitskaya Street and bought fresh cod, some remarkable Moscow ham and newspapers. I took the casket with me, pressing it close to me with my elbow and keeping a keen lookout to spot any thieves who might be loitering nearby. The Orlov was hanging round my neck, in a bag specially made out of a woollen sock.

Weary of all the shocks it had endured, my heart had also been tempered and toughened by them. Only a few days earlier I would scarcely have been able to sit there so calmly, drinking tea, eating and looking through the newspapers. As the common folk would say, a few of my corners had been knocked off.

The Moscow newspapers did not exactly pass over the Khodynsk Field disaster in silence – how could they, when the entire city was filled with wailing and weeping? But they wrote evasively, laying the greatest emphasis on the charitable actions of members of the imperial family. A certain fitting delicacy and concern for the authority of the dynasty could be discerned in that.

For example, the
Moscow Gazette
gave a highly detailed description of a visit to the Staro-Ekaterinskaya Hospital by the dowager empress, during which Her Majesty gave each of the victims a bottle of Madeira. The emperor and empress had given instructions for the funerals to be paid for by the treasury and families who had lost their breadwinner were awarded compensation. This was indeed a most noble gesture, but it seemed to me that the newspaper was excessively admiring of Their Majesties’ generosity, making no comment on the reason for the royal benefaction. The people of Moscow were unlikely to find the tone of the article to their taste. And I was totally dismayed by the
Moscow Illustrated Newspaper
, which could think of nothing better than to reproduce the artistically designed menu for the forthcoming supper for three thousand in the Faceted Palace:

LUCULLAN BOUILLON
ASSORTED PIES
COLD HAZEL GROUSE Á LA SUVOROV
CHICKENS ROASTED ON THE SPIT
SALAD
WHOLE ASPARAGUS
ICE CREAM
DESSERT

That is to say, I could see perfectly well that, owing to the sad events, the menu that had been drawn up was modest in the extreme, with no extravagances at all. Only a single salad? No sturgeon, no stuffed pheasants or even black caviar! A truly spartan meal. The highly placed individuals who had been invited to the supper would appreciate the significance of this. But why print such a thing in a newspaper that had many readers for whom ‘dog’s delight’ sausage was a treat?

On sober consideration, what I detected in all of this was not concern for the prestige of the authorities but rather the diametrical opposite. Obviously, Simeon Alexandrovich and the high police master had forbidden the newspapers to write openly about what had happened, and so the editors were doing their best, each in his own way, to inflame the resentment of the common people.

Feeling very upset, I put the newspapers aside and gazed out of the window. This occupation, which appears so pointless at first glance, is excellent for calming agitated nerves, especially on a clear May evening, when the shadows are so soft and golden, the trees are still growing accustomed to their newly acquired foliage and the sky is clear and serene.

I spent a rather long time in quiet contemplation free of all thoughts. And when the outlines of the houses were completely blurred and then effaced by the twilight, and the street lamps came on, the telephone rang.

‘Listen carefully and d-do not interrupt,’ I heard Fandorin’s voice say. ‘Do you know the Vorobyovsky Hills?’

‘Yes, they’re not far from—’

‘There’s a decorative p-park there. We saw it from the boat, remember? Do you remember the bridge suspended on cables over the ravine? I told you I had seen one almost exactly like it in the Himalayas?’

‘Yes, I remember, but why are you telling me all this?’

‘Be there tomorrow morning. At six. Bring the stone and the casket.’

‘Why? What has ha—’

‘Yes, and one more thing,’ he said, interrupting me unceremoniously. ‘Do not be surprised as I shall be dressed as a monk. I might well be late, but you, Ziukin, be there on time. Do you understand all that?’

‘Yes, that is no. I don’t understand a single—’

I heard the disconnect signal and slammed the receiver down in extreme indignation. How dare he talk to me in that fashion? He had not explained anything; he had not told me anything! How had his meeting with Somov gone? Where was Fandorin now? Why was he not coming back here? And, most importantly, why did I have to take the jewels to such a strange place?

I suddenly recalled the strange expression with which he had looked at me when we parted. What was it he had wanted to tell me as he left, but had not been able to bring himself to say?

He had said: ‘This is where our paths part.’ What if our paths had parted not only in the literal but also the figurative sense? Oh Lord, and I had no one to ask for advice!

I sat there, looking at the silent telephone and thinking intently.

Karnovich? Out of the question.

Lasovsky? I could assume that he had been removed from his post, and even if he had not been removed . . .

Endlung? Of course. He was a fine chap. But he would be no help in a such a puzzling business.

Emilie! She was the one who could help me.

I had to telephone the Hermitage, I realised, and ask for Mademoiselle Declique in a disguised voice, preferably a female one . . . And at that very moment the telephone came to life and began ringing desperately. God be praised! So Fandorin was not quite such an ignorant fellow as I had supposed. We had simply been cut off.

I deliberately spoke first, so that he would not have a chance to shock me with some new trick in his usual manner.

‘Before I do as you demand, be so good as to explain,’ I said hurriedly, ‘what happened with Somov? And why disguise yourself as a monk? Could you not find any other costume? This is sacrilege!’

‘
Mon Dieu
, what are you saying, Athanas?’ Mademoiselle’s voice said and I choked, but only for a moment.

It was simply wonderful that she had phoned me herself!

‘Who were you talking to?’ Emilie asked, changing into French.

‘Fandorin,’ I mumbled.

‘What monk? What has Somov got to do with anything? I’m ringing from his room, your old room, that is. Somov has gone missing; no one knows where he is. But that is not important. Carr has been killed!’

‘Yes, yes, I know.’

‘You know? How?’ She sounded amazed. ‘All the grand dukes are here, and Colonel Karnovich. He has been interrogating Freyby for several hours. The poor colonel has completely lost his head. He took almost no notice of my arrival – all he said to me was: “You can tell me later; it’s not important just now.” I try to tell him about Lord Banville, but he does not believe me! He tells me I am mentally disturbed because of all the shocks. Can you believe it? He imagines that Freyby is Doctor Lind! I want to ask you and Erast for advice. Perhaps I should try once again? Explain to Karnovich that Freyby is only a minor figure? Or perhaps tell him that you have found the empress’s stolen jewels? Then all these gentlemen will calm down and start listening to me. What should I do?’

‘Emilie, I am in need of advice myself,’ I confessed. ‘Never mind about Mr Freyby. I don’t think he is guilty of anything, but let Karnovich carry on questioning him. At least that will keep him busy. Don’t tell anyone about the jewels. I have a different idea . . .’

I hesitated, because the idea had only just occurred to me and it had not been properly formulated yet. I picked the telephone book up off the table and opened it at the letter ‘p’. Was the Vorobyovsky Park listed?

As I leafed through the pages, I said what I would not have been able to say if Emilie had been standing there in front of me: ‘I am so glad to hear your voice. I was feeling completely lost and alone, but now I feel much better. I hope I am not speaking too boldly?’

‘Good Lord, Athanas, sometimes your formality makes you quite insufferable!’ she exclaimed. ‘Are you never going to say the words that I long to hear? Simply and clearly, with no quibbling or evasion?’