Anatoly Rybakov - THE BRONZE BIRD

"What are they looking for?" Misha asked, astonished that the investigator knew about the men.

The investigator laughed.

"They're probably looking for what people usually look for in a woods: buried treasure. I was born in these parts and as long as I can remember there has always been somebody digging for treasure. At one time the ground was dug up to such an extent that the peasants did not have to plough it. The count was a rich and eccentric man. He owned diamond fields in the Urals, so people began to say that there is hidden treasure here. Nobody has ever found anything. But the belief persists."

"Perhaps Kuzmin knew where the treasure was hidden and was killed because he would not tell," Misha suggested.

"That was not the motive," the investigator said. "On the contrary, if he knew they would have protected him in the hope that sooner or later he would share his secret. The only thing is that there is no buried treasure here."

"Then why did the boatman attack us?"

"It's difficult to say," the investigator said, shrugging his shoulders. "He claims he did it because he thought you had Kuzmin's boat. He's lying, of course. But that is neither here nor there. We know the boatman for an old offender. He specializes in foreign currency and precious stones. But he is not a murderer. No, I don't think he'd kill anybody, especially as he's just out of gaol."

Misha did not know what to think. He was disconcerted. Here was a known, thief and confirmed criminal at large and nobody seemed to care.

As though reading Misha's mind, the investigator said:

"The law is the law. At the moment there is nothing to put him into prison for. But tell me, did you see a stranger, a man of middle age, not a local inhabitant, on the estate grounds?"

"I don't think so."

"Think," the investigator urged. "Perhaps you did see somebody who'd fit that description-accidentally, just a glimpse. Here, on the river or in the village. Perhaps some of your troop saw him?"

Misha searched his memory, but he knew for certain that no stranger had been seen by him or any of his troop.

"No, nobody saw a stranger here. We know all the local people."

"Well, all right," the investigator said, cutting short the conversation. "I just thought I'd ask."

When the investigator left, Misha told Genka and Slava of the conversation he had had with him.

Genka said that the investigator was not worthy of his calling and should confine himself to catching poachers and not murderers. He was of the opinion that they should pay no attention to the man and try to unravel the mystery themselves, prove Nikolai's innocence and get evidence to convict the boatman and his accomplices. In short, they had to go to the woods.

But Slava was of a somewhat different opinion.

"Our trouble is that we are not going about this thing scientifically. Remember how it was with the dirk? We went to a library, did some serious research and figured it all out. But what are we doing now? I'll tell you. We are letting ourselves be guided by rumours: the count was very rich, he owned mines in the Urals, people believe there is treasure buried in the woods, and so forth. But these are only rumours. We need scientific proof. Who were the Karagayev counts? What did they really own in the Urals? What started the rumour about the hidden treasure? That is what we have to find out. We have to turn to primary sources. Then we shall not walk about in the dark as we're doing now."

Misha thought for a moment and said:

"One thing does not preclude the other: we'll learn what we can from books and find out what those men are doing in the woods. So, Slava, go to Moscow and get all the materials you can at the Rumyantsev Library. Incidentally, it is time we sent to the parents for supplies."

Slava was not particularly keen on going for the stores.

"I can't be at the library and collect supplies at the same time. I can't tear myself in two."

"That's all right. Take Kit along. He'll help. While you'll be in the library he will go round for the supplies."

"I suppose I'll manage with Kit," Slava agreed.

"That's settled then. Meanwhile, Genka and I will go to the woods. Not now, but when you return from Moscow. Of course, we could take the whole troop and prove that there are no phantoms, no headless counts. But if we do that we might scare the bandits away. They'll only go somewhere else and we'll never find out anything. So what we must do is to let one or two of us go. And we must take Longshanks with us. Nobody else knows the way to the Goligin Brushwood Road. He will, of course, refuse to come, but we'll persuade him."

Slava and Kit took the train for Moscow, while Misha went to see Longshanks. Longshanks was at home, squaring stakes and propping up the fallen wattle.

"Doing chores?"

"I have to."

"Any news from your brother?"

"What news can there be? He's in gaol."

"Listen, Longshanks," Misha said, "I have another plan. If we carry it out we'll prove that your brother is innocent."

"We've already tried to do that," Longshanks sighed, "and went down the river in a boat. But nothing came of it."

"Still, we proved that somebody had taken Kuzmin's boat. The investigator himself says that the evidence against Nikolai is questionable. And now, if you help us, we'll be able to prove much more. You'll see."

"What do I have to do?"

"Did you know that Kuzmin had been employed as a forester by the count?"

"How could I know that?"

"Well, I'll tell you. He was a forester on the Karagayevo estate. I know that for certain."

"What of it?"

"If he was a forester, that means he had some relation to the woods. Isn't that right?"

"I suppose so."

"Now then, who's hiding in the woods? The men the boatman brought the sacks for. Right?"

"I suppose so," Longshanks repeated, trying to concentrate in order to understand what Misha was driving at.

"That means," Misha concluded, "that there is some connection between the murdered forester and the men in the woods."

Although the effect and the premise were poles apart, Longshanks thought the argument convincing. Perhaps it was because he knew nothing about logic.

"That's true," he said, opening his mouth in wonder.

"There, you see," Misha said, hurrying to strengthen the impression he had made, "that means we have to find out if those men are really in the woods and, if they are, what they are doing there. If we do that we'll clear everything up."

"How will we find out?"

"Very simply. By going to the woods at night."

"You mean to the Goligin Brushwood Road?" Longshanks asked, terrified.

"What makes you think that? No, we'll not go as far as that."

"Not for anything!" Longshanks declared. "Nothing in the world will make me go. Let's not talk about it any more."

Misha had been prepared for this. But he knew that it was hopeless going to the woods without Longshanks. He would only lose his way at night.

"I never thought you'd refuse to get your brother out of a hole," he said.

"If I knew that that would help him. But I don't know."

"It's a dead certainty," Misha insisted. "Just think. Here's your brother in danger of being sentenced to death and you don't want to lift a finger to help him. I'm an outsider and yet I want to do something-I'm not afraid to go to the woods at night. But you're his brother and you're showing the white feather. Aren't you ashamed?"

Longshanks was silent.

"Think of your mother. Look how she's wasting with grief. She is, isn't she?"

"Yes," Longshanks replied dismally.

"There, you see! And him only under investigation. What'll happen if they condemn him? She'll go mad with grief. Aren't you sorry for her? Oh, you!"