Anatoly Rybakov - THE BRONZE BIRD

"I didn't want to," Genka replied. "I couldn't make myself do it. We've got nothing to eat and sleep was the only thing with which to stifle our hunger. And then nothing's happened, so far as I can see."

Nothing had happened, of course, but for discipline's sake Misha took Genka to task.

Sleep had refreshed them considerably and had it not been for that gnawing, empty feeling in their stomachs they would have felt quite happy.

The hours began to drag by again. And again the boys began to feel sleepy. They wandered about the museum together, then sat dozing, then Misha walked about alone while Genka dozed. In the end both fell asleep.

The first thing Misha did when he woke up was to look at his watch. It was eight o'clock. He shook Genka awake and was just in time, for a few minutes later a key grated in the lock of the back door and the attendant came in.

The boys concealed themselves behind a curtain. Genka suggested getting into the coffin, but Misha rejected the idea: from where they were they could see everything, but in the coffin it was like being in a trap.

From their hiding-place, Misha and Genka heard the swish-swish of a broom and the clang of a dust-pan-the attendant was sweeping the floor. The back door was open, letting in the coolness of the morning and the ring of children's voices. The attendant went out of that door a few times, carrying the sweepings.

It was all the boys could do to keep on their feet. The two harassing nights they had spent in the museum were beginning to tell on them. The attendant, do-nothing that he was, had not opened even the ventilation panes. Time moved unbearably slowly.

When the attendant swept the floor near their hiding-place, the boys held their breath. They were afraid he would draw the curtain, for behind it the dust was the thickest. But the attendant evidently thought that since the floor behind the curtain had not been swept for a year there was no sense in, doing it now. He was so close that he even brushed Misha's feet with his broom. With bated breath the boys expected him to draw the curtain at any moment. But no! The shuffling footfalls receded, as did the sounds made by the broom and the dust-pan.

Nine o'clock. With his nerves on edge, Misha counted off the minutes: as soon as the attendant opened the front door and went into one of the rooms, they would make a dash for the street.

The hook rang against the wall, the wooden bolt banged open, a key turned in the lock and a bright strip of sunlight fell across the floor at the farther end of the corridor. The door was open! Make ready! The old man would go into one of the back rooms.

They heard his footsteps. But what was that? He was not alone. He was talking with somebody.

Misha looked through a hole in the curtain. Behind the attendant walked a tall man in a green suit. He limped slightly, dragging one foot. They were heading for the Life of the Gentry room, where Misha and Genka were hiding.

The attendant and the man in the green suit halted in front of the curtain.

"Will you be drawing?" the attendant asked. "Just a sketch," replied the man in the green suit, taking a notebook and a pencil from his pocket.

"Will you require a chair?" "No, thank you. Don't bother. That will be all." The attendant shuffled away.

The stranger drew rapidly in his notebook. He was about thirty-five or forty, smooth-shaven, with sleek, reddish hair, smart-looking, tensed, in a green suit and a white, starched collar. The old man's footsteps died away.

What happened next made the boys gape with wonder.

The stranger stuffed the notebook into his pocket, took down the rope, went to the bronze bird, raised the head, put a folded piece of paper under it, replaced the head, rehung the rope, and resumed his drawing.

He did all that very quickly, but Misha noticed that he had raised the bird's head with his left hand. With two fingers of his right hand he had pressed the bird's eyes. That was why he hadn't been able to open the bird!

Then the stranger put the notebook back into his pocket again and went to join the old man. Soon the boys could hear their voices. They went past the boys' hiding-place to the exit.

"Good-bye and thank you very much," the stranger said, shaking the attendant by his hand and evidently leaving a tip in it.

The old man bowed low, mumbling:

"Thank you, thank you very much. Good-bye."

Then he shuffled his way back into the corridor. The moment he went round the corner, the boys darted out of their hiding-place, noiselessly went to the front door and, pretending they had just come in, banged the door. Speaking in loud voices, they went to the Life of the Gentry room.

The attendant appeared and looked suspiciously at them.

"You here again?"

"We didn't manage to see everything on Saturday," Misha replied.

"No end of people seem to want to see this room," the old man said, shaking his head.

"Everybody is studying how the gentry lived," Misha explained, "and that is why they are coming here."

"The gentry have been kicked out a long time ago and yet people want to know about them. Evidently the way they lived was better," the old man said and slowly walked away.

"A geezer of the old regime," Genka whispered after him. The attendant disappeared round a corner.

Misha lifted the rope a little, went to the bird and, imitating the stranger, took hold of the bird's head with his left hand and pressed its eyes with two ringers of his right hand. The bird did not open.

He pressed harder-and suddenly the bird's head fell back.

In a recess lay the note. Misha took it out and read it. There was only one line:

"Next Wednesday by the day train."

Misha replaced the note, lowered the bird's head over the hiding-place and hung up the rope.

The boys left the museum and hurried to the railway station.

"Next Wednesday by the day train." That was not hard to understand: somebody would come on Wednesday next by the day train. The note had obviously been left for the "countess." The hiding-place in the museum was a means of communication between her and the man in the green suit.

Wednesday. Kuzmin was murdered on a Wednesday.

Since there was a hiding-place in the small bird, it was reasonable to expect that there was one in the bird on the manor. That had to be checked. But how? Of course, now that Misha and his friends had gained access to the servants' hall their chances of getting at the bronze bird had increased. But... But Seva was recovering with catastrophic speed.

Misha made him hold the thermometer for half an hour at a stretch. But the column of mercury never rose above the 98° mark. Then the doctor came and declared that Seva was well and could leave his bed and go back to the camp. That meant they would have to leave the servants' hall. What was to be done?

Oh, if only somebody fell ill. Misha walked about the camp, hopefully scrutinizing everybody and asking after their health. But the youngsters never felt better in their lives. Nobody complained of anything. As a last resort, Misha said to the Bleater:

"We're always caught napping when somebody falls ill. From what I know about medicine, the first thing is to prevent disease." The Bleater was touched to the quick.

"I'm always talking about disease prevention," he said, "but nobody listens to me. And you're the first..."

"Keep your shirt on," Misha said, avoiding an argument. We've got to make use of the hospital while it's still at our disposal. Examine everybody and if you find anything in anybody that worries you, send him to the hospital immediately. We'll call the doctor tomorrow. Be thorough. I won't hold it against you if you make a mistake and put someone in bed who's not ill at all. It is the kind of mistake I can condone."