Boris Akunin - The Coronation

She put her hand on Fandorin’s wrist – exactly as she had done so recently with mine – and squeezed it. He squeezed her elbow in a highly familiar manner, nodded and walked rapidly away in the direction of his room, as if he were in a great hurry to get somewhere.

I shall jump ahead of my story at this point – why will become clear later – and tell you what came of the Moscow police’s operation.

Colonel Lasovsky’s plan was not bad at all, and no doubt it would have been crowned with success if Lind had complied with the conditions that he himself had set for the meeting. But that, unfortunately, is precisely what the guileful doctor did not do.

And so the governess was driven to Arbat Street. She had a velvet reticule holding the priceless treasure in her hands, and there were two gendarmes with her: one sitting opposite her, the other on the coach box.

Immediately after Krymsky Most Street, when the carriage turned into another street which, if I am not mistaken, is called Ostozhenka Street, Mademoiselle suddenly stood up, turned round to look after a carriage that had driven past in the opposite direction and shouted in a piercing voice: ‘Mika! Mika!’

The officers also looked round, just in time to glimpse a little blue sailor’s cap between the swaying curtains of a rear window.

They had no time to turn their carriage – just as I did not the day before, but fortunately therewas a cab driving towards them.

The gendarmes told Mademoiselle to stay in the carriage, threw the cabby off his own rig and set off in pursuit of the carriage that had driven away with Mikhail Georgievich.

They were unable to catch it, however, because the cab horse was no match for a fine four-in-hand. Meanwhile, as Mademoiselle Declique squirmed in confusion on her seat, a gentleman wearing a beard and moustache approached her, politely doffed hisOffice of Mines peaked cap and addressed her in broken French: ‘The terms have been met – you have seen the prince. And now, if you don’t mind, the payment.’

What could Mademoiselle do? Especially since therewere two other men, whom she described as looking far less gallant than the polite gentleman, strolling about not very far away.

She gave them the reticule and tried to follow Fandorin’s instructions by memorising the three men’s appearances.

Well, she memorised them and later described them in the greatest possible detail, but what good would that do? There was no reason to think that Doctor Lind was short of men.

I did not learn about the failure of the operation conceived by the high police master until later, because I was not at the Hermitage that evening. When Mademoiselle returned, never having reached the cunning trap set around Arbat Street, I had already left the Neskuchny Park.

After I had seen the governess off on her way to the risky undertaking in which she was obliged to participate because I had behaved stupidly and bungled my own assignment, I found the inactivity simply too painful. I paced backwards and forwards in my room, thinking what a monster Fandorin was. That guttapercha gentleman ought not to be allowed anywhere near young girls and respectable women. How shamelessly he had turned Her Highness’s head! How craftily he had won the good favour of Mademoiselle Declique! And after all, what for? What could this slick seducer and experienced man of the world want with a modest governess who was no great beauty and no grande dame ? Why would he talk to her in that velvety voice and squeeze her elbow so tenderly? Oh this specimen never did anything without a reason.

At this point my thoughts suddenly turned in a completely unexpected direction. I remembered that Simeon Alexandrovich, who had known Fandorin in his previous life, had called him ‘an adventurer of the very worst sort’ from whom you could expect absolutely anything at all. I had formed the very same impression.

The suspicions came crowding into my mind one after another, and I attempted to make sense of them by setting them out in order, in Fandorin’s own manner.

First. After a little reflection, the story about the finding of the newspaper boy appeared suspicious. If one supposed that Fandorin really had displayed quite uncommon resourcefulness and sought out the little rogue, then why would he have let him go? What if the boy had kept something back or quite simply lied, and then gone running to report to Lind?

Second. Why had Fandorin tried to dissuade Mademoiselle from following the instructions of the police and recommended her to act as she thought best? A fine adviser Lasovsky had, no two ways about it!

Third. If he found the high police master’s plan so disagreeable, then why had he not said so at the meeting?

Fourth. Where was he off to in such a hurry after he said goodbye to Mademoiselle Declique? What kind of urgent business could he suddenly have when the operation was being conducted without his involvement? Yet another trick like yesterday’s?

And fifth, and most importantly. Had he told me the truth about his relations with Lind? I could not be certain about that either.

It was this last thought, coupled with my feeling of guilt for the risk to which Mademoiselle had been exposed thanks to my good offices, that drove me to commit an act the like of which I had never committed before in my life. I could never even have imagined that I was capable of anything of the sort.

I walked up to the door of Fandorin’s room, looked around and put my eye to the keyhole. Peeping through it proved to be extremely uncomfortable – my back soon turned numb and my bent knees began to ache. But what was going on in the room rendered such minor discomforts entirely irrelevant. They were both there – the master and the servant. Fandorin was sitting in front of the mirror, naked to the waist and performing some incomprehensible manipulations with his face. It looked to me as if he was putting on make-up, just as Mr Carr did every morning, with his door open and without the slightest sign of embarrassment in front of the servants. Masa did not fall within my limited range of vision, but I could hear him snuffling somewhere in the immediate vicinity of the door.

Fandorin reached out his hand, pulled a crimson silk Russian shirt over his head and then stood up so that I could not see him any longer, but I did hear squeaking and tramping sounds, as if someone were pulling on a pair of blacked boots.

What was this masquerade in aid of? What shady business was afoot here?

I was so completely absorbed that I let my guard down and almost banged my head against the door when I heard a gentle cough behind my back.

Somov! Ah, this was not good.

My assistant was gazing at me in utter amazement. Things were doubly bad because that morning I had put a flea in his ear for his lack of discretion – as I walked along the corridor before breakfast I had caught him coming out of Mademoiselle Declique’s room, where he had absolutely no business to be. In reply to my stern question, Somov had blushed and admitted that in the mornings he studied French on his own, and he had asked the governess to explain a particularly difficult point of grammar. I told him that although I encouraged the study of foreign languages by the staff, Mademoiselle Declique had after all been hired to teach His Highness and not the servants. It seemed to me that Somov resented my remarks, but of course he did not dare to answer me back. And now this embarrassing blunder!

‘The door handles and keyholes have not been polished as well as they might,’ I said, concealing my embarrassment. ‘Here, take a look for yourself.’

I squatted down, breathed on the brass handle and, thank God, fingerprints appeared on its misty surface.

‘But a guest only has to take hold of the handle once, and a mark will be left. Afanasii Stepanovich, no one will ever spot trifles like that!’