Boris Akunin - Murder on the Leviathan

‘So a year of faultless conduct went for a thousand f-francs?’ the Russian diplomat said with a laugh. ‘Not so very expensive. Evidently with a discount for wholesale.’

The company began a lively discussion of the story, expressing the most contradictory opinions, but Renate Kleber gazed curiously at M. Gauche as he opened his black file with a self satisfied air and began rustling his papers. He was an intriguing specimen, this old grandpa, no doubt about it. And what secrets was he keeping in there? Why was he shielding the file with his elbow?

That question had been nagging at Renate for a long time.

Once or twice she had tried to exploit her position as a motherto-be by glancing over Gauche’s shoulder as he conjured with that precious file of his, but the mustachioed boor had rather impudently slammed the file shut in the lady’s face and even wagged his finger at her, as much as to say: now that’s not allowed.

Today, however, something rather remarkable happened.

When M. Gauche, as usual, rose from the table ahead of the others, a sheet of paper slid silently out of his mysterious file and glided gently to the floor. Engrossed in some gloomy thoughts of his own, the rentier failed to notice anything and left the saloon. The door had scarcely closed behind him before Renate adroitly raised her body, with its slightly thickened waist, out of her chair. But she was not the only one to have been so observant. The well-brought-up Miss Stamp (such a nimble creature!) was the first to reach the scrap of paper.

‘Ah, I think Mr Gauche has dropped something!’ she exclaimed, deftly grabbing up the scrap and fastening her beady eyes on it. ‘I’ll catch up with him and return it.’

But Mme Kleber was already clutching the edge of the paper in tenacious fingers and had no intention of letting go.

‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘A newspaper clipping? How interesting!’

The next moment everyone in the room had gathered around the two ladies, except for the Japanese blockhead, who was still pumping the air with his fan, and Mrs Truffo, who observed this flagrant invasion of privacy with a reproachful expression on her face.

The clipping read as follows:

The fiendish murder of ten people that took place the day before yesterday on the rue de Grenelle continues to exercise the imagination of Parisians. Of the possible explanations proposed thus far the two most prevalent are a maniacal doctor and a fanatical sect of bloodthirsty Hindu devotees of the god Shiva.

However, in the course of conducting our own independent investigation, we at Le Soir have uncovered a circumstance which could possibly open up a new angle on the case. It would appear that in recent weeks the late Lord Littleby was seen at least twice in the company of the international adventuress Marie Sanfon, well known to the police forces of many countries. The Baron de ML, a close friend of the murdered man, has informed us that his Lordship was infatuated with a certain lady, and on the evening of the fifteenth of March he had intended to set out for Spa for some kind of romantic rendezvous.

Could this rendezvous, which was prevented by the most untimely attack of gout suffered by the unfortunate collector, possibly have been arranged with Mile Sanfon? The editors would not make so bold as to propose our own version of events, but we regard it as our duty to draw the attention of Commissioner Gauche to this noteworthy circumstance. You may expect further reports from us on this subject.

The municipal health authorities inform us that the foci of the cholera infection which they have been combating energetically since the summer have finally been isolated. The vigorous prophylactic measures taken by the physicians of Paris have yielded positive results and we may now hope that the epidemic of this dangerous disease, which began in July, is beg

‘What could that be about?’ Renate asked, wrinkling up her brow in puzzlement. ‘Something about a murder, and cholera or something of the kind.’

‘Well the cholera obviously has nothing to do with the matter,’ said Professor Sweetchild. ‘It’s simply the way the page has been cut. The important thing, of course, is the murder on the rue de Grenelle. Surely you must have heard about it? A sensational case, the newspapers were all full of it.’

‘I do not read the newspapers,’ Mme Kleber replied with dignity. ‘In my condition it places too much strain on the nerves. And in any case I have no desire to learn about all sorts of unpleasant goings-on.’

‘Commissioner Gauche?’ said Lieutenant Renier, peering at the clipping and running his eyes over the article once again.

‘Could that be our own M. Gauche?’

Miss Stamp gasped:

‘Oh, it couldn’t be!’

At this point even the doctor’s wife joined them. This was a genuine sensation and everyone started talking at once: ‘The police, the French police are involved in this!’ Sir Reginald exclaimed excitedly.

Renier muttered:

‘So that’s why the captain keeps interrogating me about the Windsor saloon …’

M. Truffo translated as usual for his spouse, while the Russian took possession of the clipping and scrutinized it closely.

‘That bit about the Indian fanatics is absolute nonsense,’ declared Sweetchild. ‘I made my opinion on that clear from the very beginning. In the first place, there is no bloodthirsty sect of followers of Shiva. And in the second place, everyone knows that the statuette was recovered. Would a religious fanatic be likely to throw it into the Seine?’

‘Yes, the business of the golden Shiva is a genuine riddle,’ said Miss Stamp with a nod. ‘They wrote that it was the jewel of Lord Littleby’s collection. Is that correct, professor?’

The Indologist shrugged condescendingly.

‘What can I say, madam? Lord Littleby only started collecting relatively recently, about twenty years ago. In such a short period it is difficult to assemble a truly outstanding collection.

They do say that the deceased did rather well out of the suppression of the Sepoy Rebellion of 1857. The notorious Shiva, for instance, was “presented” to the lord by a certain maharajah who was threatened with court martial for intriguing with the insurgents. Littleby served for many years in the Indian military prosecutor’s office, you know. Undoubtedly his collection includes quite a few valuable items, but the selection is rather haphazard.’

‘But do tell me, at last, why this lord of yours was killed!’

Renate demanded. ‘Look, M. Aono doesn’t know anything about it either, do you?’ she asked, appealing for support to the Japanese, who was standing slightly apart from the others.

The Japanese smiled with just his lips and bowed, and the Russian mimed applause:

‘Bravo, Mme Kleber. You have quite c-correctly identified the most important question here. I have been following this case in the press. And in my opinion the reason for the c-crime is more important than anything else. That is where the key to the riddle lies. Precisely in the question “why?”. What was the purpose for which ten people were killed?’

‘Ah, but that is very simple!’ said Miss Stamp with a shrug. ‘The plan was to steal everything that was most valuable from the collection. But the thief lost his head when he came face to face with the owner. After all, it had been assumed that his Lordship was not at home. It must be one thing to inject someone with a syringe and quite another to smash a man’s head open. But then, I wouldn’t know, I have never tried it.’ She twitched her shoulders. ‘The villain’s nerves gave out and he left the job half finished. But as for the abandoned Shiva …’ Miss Stamp pondered. ‘Perhaps that is the heavy object with which poor Littleby’s brains were beaten out. It is quite possible that a criminal also has normal human feelings and he found it repugnant or even simply frightening to hold the bloody murder weapon in his hand. So he walked as far as the embankment and threw it in the Seine.’