by Boris Akunin
'Possibly. I haven't had time to check that. But what if Francoise B. means Francoise Bagdassar? In the European manner, since Indian rajahs don't have surnames.'
'Then where did the name Renier come from?'
'I don't know. Let's suppose he took his mother's maiden name when he was naturalized.'
'Conjecture,' Gauche retorted. 'Not a single hard fact. Nothing but "what if?" and "let's suppose".'
'I agree. But surely Renier's behaviour at the time of Sweetchild's murder was suspicious? Remember how the lieutenant offered to fetch Mme Kleber's shawl? And he asked the professor not to start without him. I think the few minutes Renier was away were long enough for him to set fire to the litter bin and pick up the scalpel from his cabin.'
'And why do you think it was he who had the scalpel?'
'I told you the negro's bundle disappeared from the boat after the search. And who was in charge of the search? Renier!'
Gauche shook his head sceptically. The steamer swung over hard and he struck his shoulder painfully against the doorpost, which didn't help to improve his mood.
'Do you remember how Sweetchild began?' Fandorin continued. He took a watch out of his pocket, glanced at it and began speaking faster. ' "Suddenly it hit me! Everything fell into place - about the shawl, and about the son! It's a simple piece of clerical work. Dig around in the registers at the Ecole Maritime and you'll find him!" Not only had he guessed the secret of the shawl, he had discovered something about the rajah's son as well. For instance, that he studied at the Ecole Maritime in Marseille. A training school for sailors. Which our Renier also happens to have attended. Sweetchild mentioned a telegram he sent to an acquaintance of his in the French Ministry of the Interior. Perhaps he was trying to find out what became of the child. And he obviously did find out something, but he didn't guess that Renier is the rajah's son, otherwise he would have been more careful.'
'And what did he dig up about the shawl?' Gauche asked eagerly.
'I think I can answer that question as well. But not now, later. We're running out of time!'
'So you think Renier himself set the fire and took advantage of the panic to shut the professor's mouth?' Gauche mused.
'Yes, damn it! Use your brains! I know there's not much hard evidence, but we have only twenty minutes left before Leviathan enters the strait!'
But the commissioner still wasn't convinced.
'The arrest of a ship's captain on the high seas is mutiny. Why did you believe what this gentleman told you?' He jerked his chin in the direction of the crazy baronet. 'He's always talking all sorts of nonsense.'
The red-headed Englishman laughed disdainfully and looked at Gauche as if he were some kind of woodlouse or flea. He didn't dignify his comment with a reply.
'Because I have suspected Renier for a long time,' the Russian said rapidly. 'And because I thought what happened to Captain Cliff was strange. Why did the lieutenant need to negotiate for so long with the shipping company over the telegraph? It means they did not know that Cliff s daughter had been involved in a fire. Then who sent the telegram to Bombay? The governors of the boarding school? How would they know the Leviathan's route in such detail? Perhaps it was Renier himself who sent the message? My guidebook says that Bombay has at least a dozen telegraph offices. Sending a telegram from one office to another would be very simple.'
'And why in damnation's name would he want to send such a telegram?'
'To gain control of the ship. He knew that if Cliff received news like that he would not be able to continue the voyage. The real question is, why did Renier take such a risk? Not out of idle vanity - so that he could command the ship for a week and then let everything go hang. There is only one possible explanation: he did it so he could send the Leviathan to the bottom, with all the passengers and crew on board. The investigation was getting too close for comfort and he could feel the noose tightening around his neck. He must know the police will carry on hounding all the suspects. But if there's a shipwreck with all hands lost, the case is closed. And then there's nothing to stop him picking up the casket at his leisure.'
'But he'll be killed along with the rest of us!'
'No, he won't. We've just checked the captain's launch and it is ready to put to sea. It's a small craft, but sturdy. It can easily weather a storm. It has a supply of water and a basket of provisions and something else that is rather touching - a travelling bag all packed and ready to go. Renier must be planning to abandon ship as soon as the Leviathan has entered the narrow channel and can no longer turn back. The ship will be unable to swing around, and even if the engines are stopped the current will still carry it onto the rocks. A few people might be saved, since we are not far from the shore, but everyone who disappears will be listed as missing at sea.'
'Don't be such a stupid ass, monsieur policeman!' the navigator butted in. 'We've wasted far too much time already. Mr Fandorin woke me up and said the ship was on the wrong course. I wanted to sleep and I told Mr Fandorin to go to hell. He offered me a bet, a hundred pounds to one that the captain was off course. I thought, the Russian's gone crazy, everyone knows how eccentric the Russians are, this will be easy money. I went up to the bridge. Everything was in order. The captain was on watch, the pilot was at the helm. But for the sake of a hundred pounds I checked the course anyway, and then I started sweating, I can tell you! But I didn't say a word to the captain. Mr Fandorin had warned me not to say anything. And that,' the navigator looked at his watch, 'was twenty-five minutes ago.'
Then he added something in English that was obviously uncomplimentary about the French in general and French policemen in particular. The only word Gauche could understand was 'frog'.
The sleuth hesitated for one final moment and then made up his mind. Immediately he was transformed, and began getting dressed with swift, precise movements. Papa Gauche might be slow to break into a gallop, but once he started moving he needed no more urging.
As he pulled on his jacket and trousers he told the navigator:
'Fox, bring two sailors up onto the top deck, with carbines. The captain's mate should come too. No, better not, there's no time to explain everything all over again.'
He put his trusty Lefaucheux in his pocket and offered the diplomat a four-cylinder Marietta.
'Do you know how to use this?'
'I have my own, a Herstal-Agent,' replied Fandorin, showing him a handsome, compact revolver unlike any Gauche had ever seen before. 'And this as well.'
With a single rapid movement he drew a slim, pliable sword blade out of his cane.
'Then let's go.'
Gauche decided not to give the baronet a gun - who could tell what the lunatic might do with it?
The three of them strode rapidly down the long corridor. The door of one of the cabins opened slightly and Renate Kleber glanced out, with a shawl over her brown dress.
'Gentlemen, why are you stamping about like a herd of elephants?' she exclaimed angrily. 'I can't get any sleep as it is with this awful storm.'
'Close the door and don't go anywhere,' Gauche told her sternly, shoving her back into the cabin without even slowing his stride. This was no time to stand on ceremony.
The commissioner thought he saw the door of cabin No. 24, which belonged to Mile Stamp, tremble and open a crack, but he had no time now to worry about minor details.
On deck the wind drove the rain into their faces. They had to shout to make themselves heard.
There were the steps leading to the wheelhouse and the bridge. Fox was already waiting at the bottom with two sailors from the watch.
'I told you to bring carbines!' shouted Gauche.
'They're in the armoury!' the navigator yelled in his ear. 'And the captain has the key!'
'Never mind, let's go up,' Fandorin communicated with a gesture. There were raindrops glistening on his face.
Gauche looked around and shuddered: in the flickering lightning the rain glittered like steel threads in the night sky, and the waves frothed and f
oamed white in the darkness. It was an awesome sight.
Their heels clattered as they climbed the iron steps, their eyes half-dosed against the lashing rain. Gauche went first. At this moment he was the most important person on the whole Leviathan, this immense 200-metre monster sliding on unsuspectingly towards disaster. The detective's foot slipped on the top step and he only just grabbed hold of the banister in time. He straightened up and caught his breath.
They were up. There was nothing above them now except the funnels spitting out occasional sparks and the masts, almost invisible in the darkness.
There was the metal door with its steel rivets. Gauche raised his finger in warning: quiet! The precaution was not really necessary - the sea was so loud that no one in the wheelhouse could have heard a thing.
'This is the door to the captain's bridge and the wheelhouse,' shouted Fox. 'No one enters without the captain's permission.'
Gauche took his revolver out of his pocket and cocked it. Fandorin did the same.
'You keep quiet!' the detective warned the over-enterprising diplomat. Til do the talking. Oh, I should never have listened to you.' He gave the door a determined shove.
But of course the damned door didn't budge.
'He's locked himself in,' said Fandorin. 'You say something, Fox.'
The navigator knocked loudly and shouted in English: 'Captain, it's me, Jeremy Fox! Please open up! We have an emergency!'
They heard Renier's muffled voice from behind the door: 'What's happened, Jeremy?' The door remained closed.
The navigator glanced at Fandorin in consternation. Fandorin pointed at the commissioner, then put a finger to his own temple and mimed pressing the trigger. Gauche didn't understand what the pantomime meant, but Fox nodded and roared at the top of his voice:
'The French cop's shot himself!'
The door immediately swung open and Gauche presented his wet but living face to Renier. He trained the barrel of his Lefaucheux on the captain.
Renier screamed and leapt backwards as if he had been struck. Now that was real hard evidence for you: a man with a clear conscience wouldn't shy away from a policeman like that. Gauche grabbed hold of the sailor's tarpaulin collar.
'I'm glad you were so distressed by the news of my death, my dear Rajah,' the commissioner purred, then he barked out the words known and feared by every criminal in Paris. 'Get your hands in the air! You're under arrest.'
The most notorious cut-throats in the city had been known to faint at the sound of those words.
The helmsman froze at his wheel, with his face half-turned towards them.
'Keep hold of the wheel, you idiot!' Gauche shouted at him. 'Hey you!', he prodded one of the sailors from the watch with his finger, 'bring the captain's mate here immediately so he can take command. In the meantime you give the orders, Fox. And look lively about it! Give the command "halt all engines" or "full astern" or whatever, don't just stand there like a dummy.'
'Let me take a look,' said the navigator, leaning over a map. Maybe it's not too late just to swing hard to port.'
Renier's guilt was obvious. The fellow didn't even pretend to be outraged, he just stood there hanging his head, with his hands raised in the air and his fingers trembling.
'Right then, let's go for a little talk, shall we?' Gauche said to him. 'Ah, what a lovely little talk we'll have.'
Renate Kleber
Renate arrived for breakfast later than everyone else, so she was the last to hear about the events of the previous night. Everyone threw themselves on her, desperate to tell her the incredible, nightmarish news.
Apparently, Captain Renier was no longer captain.
Apparently, Renier was not even Renier.
Apparently, he was the son of that rajah.
Apparently, he was the one who had killed everybody.
Apparently, the ship had almost sunk in the night.
'We were all sound asleep in our cabins,' whispered Clarissa Stamp, her eyes wide with terror, 'and meanwhile that man was sailing the ship straight onto the rocks. Can you imagine what would have happened? The sickening scraping sound, the impact, the crunching as the metal plating is ripped away. The shock throws you out of bed onto the floor and for a moment you can't understand what's happening. Then the shouting, the running feet. The floor tilting over further and further. And the terrible realization that the ship isn't moving, it has stopped. Everyone runs out on deck, undressed . . .'
'Not me!' the doctor's wife declared resolutely.
'. . . The sailors try to lower the lifeboats,' Clarissa continued in the same hushed, mystical voice, ignoring Mrs Truffo's comment, 'but the crowds of passengers milling around on the deck get in their way. Every new wave throws the ship further over onto its side. Now we are struggling to stay on our feet, we have to hold on to something. The night is pitch-black, the sea is roaring, the thunder rumbles in the sky . . . One lifeboat is finally lowered, but so many people crazed by fear have packed into it that it overturns. The little children . . .'
'P-please, no more,' Fandorin interrupted the word-artist gendy but firmly.
'You should write novels about the sea, madam,' the doctor remarked with a frown.
But Renate had frozen motionless with one hand over her heart. She had already been pale from lack of sleep and now she had turned quite green at all the news.
'Oh!' she said, and then repeated it: 'Oh!'
Then she turned on Clarissa with a stern face.
'Why are you saying these awful things? Surely you know I mustn't listen to such things in my condition?'
Watchdog was not at the table. It was not like him to miss breakfast.
'But where is M. Gauche?' Renate asked.
'Still interrogating his prisoner,' the Japanese told her. In the last few days he had stopped being so surly and given up glaring at Renate like a wild beast.
'Has M. Renier really confessed to all these appalling crimes?' she gasped. 'He is slandering himself. He must be confused in his mind. You know, I noticed some time ago that he was not quite himself. Did he himself say that he is the rajah's son? Well, I suppose it's better than Napoleon's son. It's obvious the poor man has simply gone mad.'
'Yes, that too, madam, that too,' Commissioner Gauche's weary voice said behind her.
Renate had not heard him come in. But that was only natural -the storm was over, but the sea was still running high, the steamship was rolling on the choppy waves and every moment there was something squeaking, clanging or cracking. Big Ben's pendulum was no longer swinging since the clock had been hit by a bullet, but the clock itself was swaying to and fro - sooner or later the oak monstrosity was bound to keel over, Renate thought in passing, before concentrating her attention on Watchdog.
'What's going on, tell me!' she demanded.
The policeman walked unhurriedly across to his chair and sat down. He gestured to the steward to pour him some coffee.
'Oof, I am absolutely exhausted,' the commissioner complained. 'What about the passengers? Do they know?'
'The whole ship is buzzing with the news, but so far not many people know the details,' the doctor replied. 'Mr Fox told me everything, and I considered it my duty to inform everyone here.'
Watchdog looked at Fandorin and the Ginger Lunatic and shook his head in surprise.
'I see that you gentlemen, however, are not inclined to gossip.'
Renate did not understand the meaning of his remark, but it was irrelevant to the matter in hand.
'What about Renier?' she asked. 'Has he really confessed to all these atrocities?'
Watchdog took a sip from his cup, relishing it. There was something different about him today. He no longer looked like an old dog that yaps but doesn't bite. This dog looked as though it would snap at you. And if you weren't careful it would even take a bite out of you. Renate decided to rechristen the commissioner Bulldog.
'A nice drop of coffee,' Bulldog said appreciatively. 'Yes, he confessed, of course he did. What else could he do?
It took a bit of coaxing, but old Gauche has plenty of experience. Your friend Renier is sitting writing out his confession as we speak. He's got into the flow, there's just no stopping him. I left him there to get on with it.'
'Why is he "mine"?' Renate asked in alarm. 'Don't be ridiculous. He's just a polite man who gave a pregnant woman a helping hand. And I don't believe that he is such a monster.'
'When he's finished his confession, I'll let you read it,' Bulldog promised. 'For old times' sake. All those hours we've spent sitting at the same table. And now it's all over, the investigation's finished. I trust you won't be acting for my client this time, M. Fandorin? There's no way this one can avoid the guillotine.'
'The insane asylum more likely,' said Renate.
The Russian was also on the point of saying something, but he held back. Renate looked at him curiously. He looked as fresh and fragrant as if he had spent the whole night dreaming sweetly in his own bed. And as always, he was dressed impeccably: a white jacket and a silk waistcoat with a pattern of small stars. He was a very strange character; Renate had never met anyone like him before.
The door burst open so violently that it almost came off its hinges and a sailor with wildly staring eyes appeared on the threshold. When he spotted Gauche he ran over and whispered something to him, waving his arms about despairingly.
Renate listened, but she could only make out the English words 'bastard' and 'by my mother's grave'.
'Now what's happened?'
'Doctor, please come out into the corridor.' Bulldog pushed away the plate with his omelette in a gesture of annoyance. 'I'd like you to translate what this lad is muttering about for me.'
The three of them went out.
'What!' the commissioner's voice roared in the corridor. 'Where were you looking, you numskull?'
There was the sound of hasty footsteps retreating into the distance, then silence.
'I'm not going to set foot outside this room until M. Gauche comes back,' Renate declared firmly.
