Boris Akunin - Murder on the Leviathan

You guessed from the way the commissioner was behaving that he had the shawl, and your first thought was not of defence, but attack! You wanted to get back the key to the treasure, and you did.’

‘Why must I listen to this nonsense?’ Renate exclaimed in a tearful voice. ‘You, monsieur, are nobody and nothing. A mere foreigner! I demand that my case be handled by one of the ship’s senior officers!’

The little doctor suddenly straightened his shoulders, stroked a strand of hair forward across his olive-skinned bald patch and declared:

‘There is a senior ship’s officer present, madam. You may regard this interrogation as sanctioned by the ship’s command.

Continue, M. Fandorin. You say that this woman managed to get the shawl away from the commissioner?’

‘I am certain of it. I do not know how she managed to get hold of Gauche’s revolver. The poor fool was probably not afraid of her at all. But somehow she managed it and demanded the shawl. When the old man wouldn’t give it to her, she shot him, first in one arm, then in the other, then in the knee. She tortured him! Where did you learn to shoot like that, madam?

Four shots, and all perfectly placed. I’m afraid it is rather hard to believe that Gauche chased you round the table with a wounded leg and two useless arms. After the third shot he couldn’t stand any more pain and gave you the shawl. Then you finished your victim off with a shot to the centre of the forehead.’

‘Oh God!’ Mrs Truffo exclaimed unnecessarily.

But Clarissa was more concerned about something else.

‘Then she has the shawl?’

‘Yes,’ said Erast with a nod.

‘Nonsense! Rubbish! You’re all crazy!’ Renate (or Marie Sanfon?) laughed hysterically. ‘Lord, this is such grotesque nonsense!’

This is easy to check,’ said the Japanese. ‘We must search Mme Kleber. If she does not have the shawl, then Mr Fandorin is mistaken. In such cases in Japan we cut our bellies open.’

‘No man’s hands shall ever search a lady in my presence!’ declared Sir Reginald, rising to his feet with a menacing air.

‘What about a woman’s hands?’ asked Clarissa. ‘Mrs Truffo and I will search this person.’

‘Oh yes, it would take no time at all,’ the doctor’s wife agreed eagerly.

‘Do as you like with me,’ said Renate, pressing her hands together like a sacrificial victim. ‘But afterwards you will be ashamed …’

The men went out and Mrs Truffo searched the prisoner with quite remarkable dexterity. She glanced at Clarissa and shook her head.

Clarissa suddenly felt afraid for poor Erast. Could he really have made a mistake?

‘The shawl is very thin,’ she said. ‘Let me have a look.’

It was strange to feel her hands on the body of another woman, but Clarissa bit her lip and carefully examined every seam, every fold and every gather on the underwear. The shawl was not there.

‘You will have to get undressed,’ she said resolutely. It was terrible, but it was even more terrible to think that the shawl would not be found. What a blow for Erast. How could he bear it?

Renate raised her arms submissively to make it easier to remove her dress and said timidly:

‘In the name of all that is holy, Mile Stamp, do not harm my child.’

Gritting her teeth, Clarissa set about unfastening Renate’s dress. When she reached the third button there was a knock at the door and Erast’s cheerful voice called out:

‘Ladies, stop the search! May we come in?’

‘Yes, yes, come in!’ Clarissa shouted, quickly fastening the buttons again.

The men had a mysterious air about them. They took up a position by the table without saying a word. Then, with a magician’s flourish, Erast spread out on the tablecloth a triangular piece of fabric that shimmered with all the colours of the rainbow.

‘The shawl!’ Renate screeched.

‘Where did you find it?’ asked Clarissa, feeling totally confused.

‘While you were searching Mile Sanfon, we were busy too,’

Fandorin explained with a smug expression. ‘It occurred to me that this prudent individual could have hidden the incriminating clue in the commissioner’s cabin. But she only had a few seconds, so she could not have hidden it too thoroughly. It did not take long to find the crumpled shawl where she had thrust it under the edge of the carpet. So now we can all admire the famous bird of paradise, Kalavinka.’

Clarissa joined the others at the table and they all gazed spellbound at the scrap of cloth for which so many people had died.

The shawl was shaped like an isosceles triangle, with sides no longer than about 20 inches. The colours of the painting were brilliant and savage. A strange creature with pointed breasts, half-woman and half-bird like the sirens of ancient times, stood with its wings unfurled against a background of brightly coloured trees and fruit. Her face was turned in profile and instead of an eye the long curving lashes framed a small hole that had been painstakingly trimmed with stitches of gold thread.

Clarissa thought she had never seen anything more beautiful in her life.

‘Yes, it’s the shawl all right,’ said Sir Reginald. ‘But how does your find prove Mme Kleber’s guilt?’

‘What about the travelling bag?’ Fandorin asked in a low voice. ‘Do you remember the travelling bag that we found in the captain’s launch yesterday? One of the things I saw in it was a cloak that we have often seen on the shoulders of Mme Kleber. The travelling bag is now part of the material evidence.

No doubt other items belonging to our good friend here will also be found in it.’

‘What reply can you make to that, madam?’ the doctor asked Renate.

‘The truth,’ she replied, and in that instant her face changed beyond all recognition.

… then suddenly her face was transformed beyond all recognition, as though someone had waved a magic wand and the weak, helpless little lamb crushed by a cruel fate was instantly changed into a ravening she-wolf She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, her eyes suddenly ablaze and her nostrils flaring as if the woman before us had turned into a deadly predator - no, not a she-wolf one of the big cats, a panther or lioness who has scented fresh blood. I recoiled, I could not help it. My protection was certainly no longer required here!

The transformed Mme Kleber cast Fandorin a glance of searing hatred that pierced even that imperturbable gentleman’s defences. He shuddered.

I could sympathize entirely with this strange woman’s feelings. My own attitude to the contemptible Russian has also changed completely.

He is a terrible man, a dangerous lunatic with a fantastic, monstrously depraved imagination. How could I ever have respected and trusted him? I can hardly even believe it now!

I simply do not know how to tell you this, my sweet Emily. My hand is trembling with indignation as it holds the pen. At first I intended to conceal it from you, but I have decided to tell you after all. Otherwise it will be hard for you to understand the reason for the metamorphosis in my feelings towards Fandorin.

Yesterday night, after all the shocks and upheavals that I have described above, Fandorin and I had an extremely strange conversation that left me feeling both perplexed and furious. The Russian approached me and thanked me for saving the ship, and then, positively oozing sympathy and stammering over every word, he began talking the most unimaginable, monstrous drivel. What he said was literally this I remember it word for word: ‘I know of your grief Sir Reginald.

Commissioner Gauche told me everything a long time ago. Of course, it was none of my business, and I have thought long and hard before deciding to speak to you about it, but when I see how greatly you are suffering, I cannot remain indifferent. The only reason I dare to say all this is that I have suffered a similar grievous loss, and my reason was also undermined by the shock. I have managed to preserve my reason, and even hone its edge to greater sharpness, but the price I had to pay for survival was a large piece of my heart. But believe me, in your situation there is no other way. Do not hide from the truth, no matter how terrible it might be, and do not seek refuge in illusion. Above all, do not blame yourself. It is not your fault that the horses bolted, or that your pregnant wife was thrown out of the carriage and killed. This is a trial, a test ordained for you by fate. I cannot understand what need there could possibly be to subject a man to such cruelty, but one thing I do know: if you do not pass this test, it means the end, the death of your very soul.’