by Boris Akunin
And there was the Russian, speak of the devil. He stood by the door, with his handsome face as dark as a storm cloud.
'Well, M. Fandorin, have you decided to take your prize with you in the boat?' Renate inquired provocatively.
Everyone roared with laughter, but the Russian (even though it was rather witty) failed to appreciate the joke.
'Commissioner Gauche,' he said quietly. 'Would you be so kind as to step out into the corridor. As quickly as you can.'
It was strange, but when he spoke these words the diplomat did not stammer once. Perhaps the nervous shock had cured him? Such things did happen.
Renate was on the point of joking about that too, but she bit her tongue. That would probably have been going too far.
'What's all the hurry?' Watchdog asked gruffly. 'Another teller of tales. Later, young man, later. First I want to hear the rest of what the professor has to say. Where has he got to?'
Fandorin looked at the commissioner expectantly, but when he realized that the old man was feeling obstinate and had no intention of going out into the corridor, he shrugged and said:
'The professor will not be joining us.'
Gauche scowled.
'And why would that be?'
'What do you mean, he won't be joining us?' Renate put in. 'He stopped just when it was getting interesting! That's not fair!'
'Professor Sweetchild has just been murdered,' the diplomat announced coolly.
'What's that?' Watchdog roared. 'Murdered? What do you mean, murdered?'
'I believe it was done with a surgical scalpel,' the Russian replied with remarkable composure. 'His throat was cut very precisely.'
Commissioner Gauche
'Are they ever going to let us go ashore?' Mme Kleber asked plaintively. 'Everyone else is out strolling round Bombay, and we're just sitting here doing nothing . . .'
The curtains were pulled across the windows to keep out the searing rays of the sun that scorched the deck and made the air sticky and suffocating. But although it was hot and stuffy in the Windsor saloon, everyone sat there patiently, waiting for the truth to be revealed.
Gauche took out his watch - a presentation piece with a profile portrait of Napoleon III - and replied vaguely:
'Soon, ladies and gentlemen. I'll let you out soon. But not all of you.'
At least he knew what he was waiting for: Inspector Jackson and his men were conducting a search. The murder weapon itself was probably lying at the bottom of the ocean, but some clues might have been left. They must have been left. Of course, there was plenty of circumstantial evidence anyway, but hard evidence always made a case look more respectable. It was about time Jackson put in an appearance . . .
The Leviathan had reached Bombay at dawn. Since the evening of the previous day all the Windsorites had been confined to their cabins under house arrest, and immediately the ship arrived in port Gauche had contacted the authorities, informed them of his own conclusions and requested their assistance. They had sent Jackson and a team of constables. Come on, Jackson, get a move on, thought Gauche, wishing the inspector would stop dragging his feet. After a sleepless night the commissioner's head felt as heavy as lead and his liver had started playing up, but despite everything he was feeling rather pleased with himself. He had finally unravelled the knots in the tangled thread, and now he could see where it led.
At half past eight, after finalizing his arrangements with the local police and spending some time at the telegraph office, Gauche had ordered the detainees to be assembled in the Windsor saloon - it would be more convenient for the search. He hadn't even made an exception for Renate, who had been sitting beside him at the time of the murder and could not possibly have cut the professor's throat. The commissioner had been watching over his prisoners for more than three hours now, occupying a strategic position in the deep armchair opposite his client, and there were two armed policemen standing outside the door of the saloon, where they could not be seen from inside.
The detainees were all too sweaty and nervous to make conversation. Renier dropped in from time to time, nodded sympathetically to Renate and went off again about his business. The captain looked in twice, but he didn't say anything, just gave the commissioner a savage glance - as if this whole mess was papa Gauche's fault!
The professor's deserted chair was like the gap left by a missing tooth. The Indologist himself was lying ashore, in the chilly vaults of the Bombay municipal morgue. The thought of the dark shadows and the blocks of ice almost made Gauche envy the dead man. Lying there, with all his troubles behind him, with no sweat-drenched collar cutting into his neck . . .
The commissioner looked at Dr Truffo, who did not seem very comfortable either: the sweat was streaming down his olive-skinned face and his English Fury kept whispering in his ear.
'Why are you looking at me like that, monsieur!' Truffo exploded when he caught the policeman's glance. 'Why do you keep staring at me? It's absolutely outrageous! What right do you have? I've been a respectable medical practitioner for fifteen years . . .' he almost sobbed. 'What difference does it make if a scalpel was used? Anyone could have done it!'
"Was it really done with a scalpel?' Mile Stamp asked timidly. It was the first time anyone in the saloon had mentioned what had happened.
'Yes, only a very good quality scalpel produces such a clean incision,' Truffo replied angrily. 'I inspected the body. Someone obviously grabbed Sweetchild from behind, put one hand over his mouth and slit his throat with the other. The wall of the corridor is splattered with blood, just above the height of a man. That's because his head was pulled back . . .'
'No great strength would have been required, then?' asked the Russian. 'The element of surprise would have b-been enough?'
The doctor gave a despondent shrug.
'I don't know, monsieur. I've never tried it.'
Aha, at last! The door half-opened and the inspector's bony features appeared in the gap. The inspector beckoned to the commissioner, who grunted with the effort of hoisting himself out of the armchair.
There was a pleasant surprise waiting for the commissioner in the corridor. Everything had worked out quite splendidly! A thorough job, efficient and elegant. Solid enough to bring the jury in straight away, no lawyer would ever demolish evidence like that. Good old papa Gauche, he could still give any young whippersnapper a hundred points' start. And well done Jackson for his hard work!
The four of them went back into the saloon together: the captain, Renier and Jackson, with Gauche bringing up the rear. At this stage he was feeling so pleased with himself that he even started humming a little tune. And his liver had stopped bothering him.
'Well, ladies and gentlemen, this is it,' Gauche announced cheerfully, walking out into the very centre of the saloon. He put his hands behind his back and swayed on his heels. It was a pleasant feeling to know you were a figure of some importance, even, in your own way, a ruler of destinies. The road had been long and hard, but he had reached the end at last. Now for the most enjoyable part.
'Papa Gauche has certainly had to rack his old brains, but an old hunting dog will always sniff out the fox's den, no matter how confused the trail might be. By murdering Professor Sweetchild our criminal has finally given himself away. It was an act of despair. I believe that under questioning the murderer will tell me all about the Indian shawl and many other things as well. Incidentally, I should like to thank our Russian diplomat who, without even knowing it, helped to set me on the right track with several of his comments and questions.'
In his moment of triumph Gauche could afford to be magnanimous. He nodded condescendingly to Fandorin, who bowed his head without speaking. What a pain these aristocrats were, with all their airs and graces, always so arrogant, you could never get a civil word out of them.
'I shall not be travelling with you any further. Thanks for the company, as they say, but all things in moderation. The murderer will also be going ashore: I shall hand him over to Inspector Jackson in a moment, he
re on board the ship.'
Everyone in the saloon looked warily at the morose, skinny Englishman standing there with his hands in his pockets.
'I am very glad this nightmare is over,' said Captain Cliff. 'I realize you have had to put up with a lot of unpleasantness, but it has all been sorted out now. The head steward will find you places in different saloons if you wish. I hope that the remainder of your cruise on board the Leviathan will help you to forget this sad business.'
'Hardly,' said Mme Kleber, answering for all of them. 'This whole experience has been far too upsetting for all of us! But please don't keep us in suspense, monsieur Commissioner, tell us quickly who the murderer is.'
The captain was about to add something to what he had said, but Gauche raised his hand to stop him. This time he had earned the right to a solo performance.
'I must confess that at first my list of suspects included every single one of you. The process of elimination was long and difficult, but now I can reveal the most crucial point: beside Lord Littleby's body we discovered one of the Leviathan's gold emblems - this one here.' He tapped the badge on his own lapel. 'This little trinket belongs to the murderer. As you know, a gold badge could only have been worn by a senior officer of the ship or a first-class passenger. The officers were immediately eliminated from the list of suspects, because they all had their badges in place and no one had requested the shipping line to issue a new emblem to replace one that had been lost. But among the passengers there were four individuals who were not wearing a badge. Mile Stamp, Mme Kleber, M. Milford-Stokes and M. Aono. I have kept this quartet under particularly close observation. Dr Truffo found himself here because he is a doctor, Mrs Truffo because husband and wife must not be set asunder, and our Russian diplomat because of his snobbish disinclination to appear like a caretaker.'
The commissioner lit his pipe and started pacing around the salon.
'I have erred, I confess. At the very beginning I suspected monsieur le baronet, but I received timely information concerning his . . . circumstances, and selected a different target. You, madam!' Gauche swung round to face Miss Stamp.
'As I observed,' she replied coldly. 'But I really cannot see what made me appear so suspicious.'
'Oh, come now!' said Gauche, surprised. 'In the first place, everything about you indicates that you suddenly became rich only very recently. That in itself is already highly suspicious. In the second place, you lied about never having been in Paris, even though the words Hotel Ambassadeur are written on your fan in letters of gold. Of course, you stopped carrying the fan, but old Gauche has sharp eyes. I spotted that trinket of yours straight away. It is the sort of thing that expensive hotels give to their guests as mementoes of their stay. The Ambassador happens to stand on the rue de Grenelle, only five minutes' walk from the scene of the crime. It is a luxurious hotel, very large, and all sorts of people stay in it, so why is the mademoiselle being so secretive, I asked myself. There is something not right here. And I found I couldn't get the idea of Marie Sanfon out of my head . . .' The commissioner smiled disarmingly at Clarissa Stamp. "Well, I was casting around in the dark for a while, but eventually I hit upon the right trail, so I offer my apologies, mademoiselle.'
Gauche suddenly noticed that the red-headed baronet had turned as white as a sheet: his jaw was trembling and his green eyes were glaring at the commissioner balefully.
'What precisely do you mean by . . . my "circumstances"?' he said slowly, choking on the words in his fury. 'What are you implying, mister detective?'
'Come, come,' said Gauche, raising a conciliatory hand. 'Above all else, you must remain calm. You must not become agitated. Your circumstances are your circumstances and they are no one else's business. I only mentioned them to indicate that you no longer figure among my potential suspects. Where is your emblem, by the way?'
'I threw it away,' the baronet replied gruffly, his eyes still looking daggers at Gauche. 'It's repulsive! It looks like a golden leech! And . . .'
'And it was not fitting for the baronet Milford-Stokes to wear the same kind of nameplate as a rag-tag bunch of nouveaux riches, was it?' the commissioner remarked shrewdly. 'Yet another snob.'
Mile Stamp also seemed to have taken offence.
'Commissioner, your description of exactly what it is that makes me such a suspicious character was most illuminating. Thank you,' she said acidly, with a jerk of her pointed chin. 'You have indeed tempered justice with mercy.'
'When we were still in Aden I sent a number of questions to the prefecture by telegram. I could not wait for the replies because the inquiries that had to be made took some time, but there were several messages waiting for me in Bombay. One of them concerned you, mademoiselle. Now I know that from the age of fourteen, when your parents died, you lived in the country with a female cousin of your mother. She was rich, but miserly. She treated you, her companion, like a slave and kept you on little more than bread and water.
The Englishwoman blushed and seemed to regret ever having made her comment. Now, my sweet little bird, thought Gauche, let us see how deeply you blush at what comes next!
'A couple of months ago the old woman died and you discovered she had left her entire estate to you. It is hardly surprising that after so many years under lock and key you should want to get out and travel a bit, to see the world. I expect you had never seen anything of life except in books?'
'But why did she conceal the fact that she visited Paris?' Mme Kleber interrupted rudely. 'Because her hotel was on the street where all those people were killed? She was afraid you would suspect her, was that it?'
'No,' laughed Gauche. 'That was not it. Having suddenly become rich, Mile Stamp acted as any other woman would have done in her place - the first thing she did was to visit Paris, the capital of the world. To admire the beautiful sights of Paris, to dress in the latest Paris fashion and also, well . . . for romantic adventures.'
The Englishwoman had clenched her fingers together nervously, she was gazing at Gauche imploringly, but nothing was going to stop him now - this fine lady should have known better than to look down her nose at a commissioner of the Paris police.
'Miss Stamp found romance in plenty. In the Ambassador Hotel she made the acquaintance of an exceptionally suave and handsome gentleman, who is listed in the police files under the name of the Vampire. A shady character who specializes in rich, ageing foreign women. The flames of passion were ignited instantly and - as always happens with the Vampire - they were extinguished without warning. One morning, on the thirteenth of March to be exact, madam, you woke alone and forlorn in a hotel room that you could barely recognize because it was so empty. Your friend had made off with everything except the furniture. They sent me a list of the items that were stolen from you.' Gauche glanced into his file. 'Number thirty-eight on the list is "a golden brooch in the form of a whale". When I read that, I began to understand why Miss Stamp does not like to remember Paris.'
The foolish woman was a pitiful sight now - she had covered her face with her hands and her shoulders were heaving.
'I have never really suspected Mme Kleber,' said Gauche, moving on to the next point on his agenda, 'even though she was unable to give a clear explanation of why she had no emblem.'
'But why did you ignore what I told you?' the Japanese butted in. 'I told you something very important.'
'I didn't ignore it!' The commissioner swung round to face the speaker. 'Far from it. I had a word with Mme Kleber and she gave me an explanation that accounted for everything. She suffered so badly during the first stage of pregnancy that her doctor prescribed . . . certain sedative substances. Afterwards the painful symptoms passed, but the poor woman had already become habituated to the medication, which she took for her nerves and insomnia. She was taking larger and larger doses and the habit was threatening to get out of hand. I had a fatherly word with Mme Kleber and afterwards, under my watchful eye, she threw the vile narcotic into the sea.' Gauche cast a glance of feigned severity at Renate, who ha
d stuck out her lower lip like a sulky child. 'Remember, my dear, you promised papa Gauche on your word of honour.'
Renate lowered her eyes and nodded.
Clarissa erupted. 'Ah, what touching concern for Mme Kleber! Why could you not spare my blushes, monsieur detective? You have humiliated me in front of the entire company.'
But the commissioner had no time for her now - he was still gazing at the Japanese, and his gaze was grave and unrelenting. The quick-witted Jackson understood, without having to be told, that it was time. There was a funereal gleam of burnished steel as he took his hand out of his pocket. He held the revolver with the barrel pointing straight at the Oriental's forehead.
'I believe that you Japanese think of us as ginger-haired monkeys?' Gauche said in a hostile voice. 'I've heard that's what you call Europeans. We are hairy barbarians and you are cunning, subtle and so highly cultured. White people are not even fit to lick your boots.' The commissioner puffed out his cheeks sarcastically and blew a thick cloud of smoke out to one side. 'Killing ten monkeys means nothing to you, you don't even think of it as wrong.'
Aono sat there tense and still. His face was like stone.
'You accuse me of killing Lord Littleby and his vassals . . . that is, servants?' the Oriental asked in a flat, lifeless voice. 'Why do you accuse me?'
'For every possible reason criminal science has to offer, my dear chap,' the commissioner declared. Then he turned away from the Japanese, because the speech he was about to make was not intended for this yellow dog, it was intended for History. The time would come when they would print it in the textbooks on criminology!
'First, gentlemen, allow me to present the circumstantial evidence indicating that this person could have committed the crimes of which I accuse him.' (Ah, but he shouldn't be giving this speech to an audience of ten people, he should be addressing a packed hall in the Palais de Justice!) 'And then I shall present to you the evidence which demonstrates beyond all possible doubt that M. Aono not only could have, but actually did murder eleven people - ten on the fifteenth of March on the rue de Grenelle and one yesterday, the fourteenth of April, on board the steamer Leviathan.'
