by Boris Akunin
'He burned it!' gasped Clarissa Stamp. 'Then the shawl has been destroyed?'
Renate stared hard at Bulldog, who shrugged indifferently and said:
'And thank God it's gone. To hell with the treasure, that's what I say, ladies and gentlemen. We'll all be far better off without it.'
The new Seneca had pronounced judgement. Renate rubbed her chin and thought hard.
Do you find that hard to believe? Well then, to prove my sincerity I shall tell you the secret of the shawl. There is no point in hiding it now.
The commissioner broke off and cast a cunning glance at the Russian.
'As I recall, monsieur, last night you boasted of having guessed that secret. Why don't you share your guess with us, and we shall see if you are as astute as our dead man thought.'
Fandorin was not taken aback in the least.
'It is not very c-complicated,' he said casually.
He's bluffing, thought Renate, but he does it very well. Can he really have guessed?
'Very well, what do we know about the shawl? It is triangular, with one straight edge and two that are rather sinuous. That is one. The picture on the shawl shows a mythical bird with a hole in place of its eye. That is two. I am sure you remember the description of the Brahmapur palace, in particular its upper level: a mountain range on the horizon, reflected in a mirror image on the wall. That is th-three.'
'We remember, but what of it?' asked the Lunatic.
'Oh, come now, Sir Reginald,' the Russian exclaimed in mock surprise. 'You and I both saw Sweetchild's little sketch. It contained all the clues required to guess the truth: the triangular shawl, the zigzag fine, the word "palace".'
He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and folded it along a diagonal to make a triangle.
"The shawl is the key that indicates where the treasure is hidden. The shape of the shawl corresponds to the outline of one of the mountains depicted in the frescos. All that is required is to position the upper corner of the shawl on the peak of that mountain, thus.' He put the triangle on the table and ran his finger round its edge. 'And then the eye of the bird Kalavinka will indicate the spot where one must search. Not on the painted mountain, of course, but on the real one. There must be a cave or something of the kind there. Have I got it right, Commissioner, or am I mistaken?'
Everyone turned towards Gauche, who thrust out his chubby hps and knitted his bushy eyebrows so that he looked exactly like a gruff old bulldog.
'I don't know how you pull these things off,' he grumbled. 'I read the letter back there in the cell and I haven't let it out of my hands for a second ... All right then, listen to this.'
In my father's palace there are four halls which were used for official ceremonies: winter ceremonies were held in the North Hall, summer ceremonies in the South Hall, spring ceremonies in the East Hall and autumn ceremonies in the West Hall. You may remember the deceased Professor Sweet-child speaking about this. The murals in these halls do indeed portray the mountainous landscape that can be seen through the tall windows stretching from the floor to the ceiling. Even after all these years, if I close my eyes I can still see that landscape before me. I have travelled so far and seen so many things, but nowhere in the world is there any sight more beautiful! My father buried the casket under a large brown rock on one of the mountains. To discover which mountain peak it is, you must set the shawl against each of the mountains depicted on the walls in turn. The treasure is on the mountain with the outline that perfectly matches the form of the cloth. The place where the rock should be sought is indicated by the empty eye of the bird of paradise. Of course, even if someone knew in which general area to look, it would take him many hours, or even days, to find the stone - the search would have to cover many square metres of ground. But there can be no possibility of confusion. There are many brown boulders on the mountains, but there is only one in that particular area of the mountain side. A mote lies in the single eye / A lone brown rock among the grey,' says the note in the Koran. How many times I have pictured myself pitching my tent on that mountain side and searching for that 'mote'. But it is not to be.
The emeralds, sapphires, rubies and diamonds are fated to lie there until an earthquake sends the boulder tumbling down the mountain. It may not happen for a hundred thousand years, but the precious stones can wait - they are eternal.
But my time is ended. That cursed shawl has drained all my strength and addled my wits. I am crushed, I have lost my reason.
'Well, he's quite right about that,' the commissioner concluded, laying the half-sheet of paper on the table. 'That's all, the letter breaks off at that point.'
'I must say that Renier-san has acted correctly,' said the Japanese. 'He lived an unworthy life, but he died a worthy death. Much can be forgiven him for that, and in his next birth he will be given a new chance to make amends for his sins.'
'I don't know about his next birth,' said Bulldog, carefully gathering the sheets of paper together and putting them into his black file,' but this time around my investigation is concluded, thank God. I shall take a little rest in Calcutta and then go back to Paris. The case is closed.'
But then the Russian diplomat presented Renate with a surprise.
'The case is certainly not closed,' he said loudly. 'You are being too hasty again, Commissioner.' He turned to face Renate and trained the twin barrels of his cold blue eyes on her. 'Surely Mme Kleber has something to say to us?'
Clarissa Stamp
This question caught everyone by surprise. But no, not everyone - Clarissa was astonished to realize that the mother-to-be was not disconcerted in the least. She turned a little paler and bit her plump lower lip for a moment, but she replied in a loud, confident voice with barely any hesitation:
'You are right, monsieur, I do have something to tell. But not to you, only to a representative of the law.'
She glanced helplessly at the commissioner and implored him:
'In God's name, sir, I should like to make my confession in private.'
Gauche did not seem to have anticipated this turn of events. The sleuth blinked and cast a suspicious glance at Fandorin. Then he thrust out his double chin pompously and growled:
"Very well, if it's so important to you, we can go to my cabin.'
Clarissa had the impression that the policeman had no idea what Mme Kleber intended to confess to him.
But then, the commissioner could hardly be blamed for that - Clarissa herself had been struggling to keep up with the rapid pace of events.
The moment the door closed behind Gauche and his companion, Clarissa glanced inquiringly at Fandorin, who seemed to be the only one who really knew what was going on. It was a whole day since she had dared to look at him so directly, instead of stealing furtive glances or peering from under lowered eyelashes.
She had never before seen Erast (oh yes, she could call him that to herself) looking so dismayed. There were wrinkles on his forehead and alarm in his eyes, his fingers were drumming nervously on the table. Could it be that even this confident man, with his lightning-fast reactions, was no longer in control of the situation? Clarissa had seen him disconcerted the previous night, but only for the briefest of moments, and then he had rapidly recovered his self-control.
It was after the Bombay catastrophe.
She had not shown herself in public for three whole days. She told the maid she was not well, took meals in her cabin and only went out walking under cover of darkness, like a thief in the night.
There was nothing wrong with her health, but how could she show herself to these people who had witnessed her shame, and especially to him? That scoundrel Gauche had made her a general laughing stock, humiliated her, destroyed her reputation. And the worst thing was that she could not even accuse him of lying - it was all true, every last word of it. Yes, as soon as she came into possession of her inheritance, she had gone dashing to Paris, the city she had heard and read so much about. Like a moth to the flame. And she had singed her wings. Surely it was enough that
the shameful affair had deprived her of her final shred of self-respect. Why did everyone else have to know that Miss Stamp was a loose woman and a gullible fool, the contemptible victim of a professional gigolo?
Mrs Truffo had visited her twice to enquire about her health. Of course, she wanted to gloat over Clarissa's humiliation; she gasped affectedly and complained about the heat, but there was a gleam of triumph in her beady, colourless eyes: well my darling, which of us is the lady now?
The Japanese called in and said it was their custom 'to pay a visit of condolence' when someone was unwell. He offered his services as a doctor and looked at her with sympathy.
Finally, Fandorin had come knocking. Clarissa had spoken to him sharply and not opened the door - she told him she had a migraine.
Never mind, she said to herself as she sat there all alone, picking listlessly at her beefsteak. Only nine days to hold out until Calcutta. Nine days was no great time to spend behind closed doors. It was child's play if you had been imprisoned for almost a quarter of a century. It was still better here than in her aunt's house. Alone in her comfortable cabin with good books for company. And once she reached Calcutta she would quietly slip ashore and turn over a brand new leaf.
But in the evening of the third day she began having very different thoughts. Oh, how right the Bard had been when he penned those immortal lines:
Such sweet release new freedom does beget,
When cherished bonds are shed without regret!
Now she really did have nothing to lose. Late that night (it was already after 12) Clarissa had resolutely arranged her hair, powdered her face lightly, put on the ivory-coloured Parisian dress that suited her so well and stepped out into the corridor. The ship's motions tossed her from one wall to the other.
Clarissa halted outside the door of cabin No. 18, trying not to think about anything. When she raised her hand it faltered - but only for a moment, just a single brief moment. She knocked on the door.
Erast opened it almost immediately. He was wearing a blue Hungarian robe with cord fastenings and his white shirt showed through the wide gap at the front.
'G-good evening, Miss Stamp,' he said, speaking quickly. 'Has something happened?'
Then without waiting for a reply he added:
'Please wait for a moment and I'll get changed.'
When he let her in he was already dressed in a frock coat with an impeccably knotted tie. He gestured for her to take a seat.
Clarissa sat down, looked him in the eyes and began:
'Please do not interrupt me. If I lose the thread then it will be even worse ... I know I am a lot older than you. How old are you? Twenty-five? Less? It doesn't matter. I am not asking you to marry me. But I like you. I am in love with you. My entire upbringing was designed to ensure that I would never under any circumstances say those words to any man, but at this moment I do not care. I do not want to lose any more time. I have already wasted the best years of my life. I am fading away without ever having blossomed. If you like me even a little, tell me so. If not, then tell me that also. Nothing could be more bitter than the shame that I have already endured. And you should know that my . . . adventure in Paris was a nightmare, but I do not regret it. Better a nightmare than the stupor in which I have spent my whole life. Well then, answer me, don't just sit there saying nothing!'
My God, how could she have said such things aloud? This was something she could really feel proud of.
For an instant Fandorin was taken aback, he even blinked those long lashes in a most unromantic fashion. Then he began to speak, stammering more than usual:
'Miss Stamp . . . C-Clarissa ... I do like you. I like you very much. I admire you. And I envy you.'
'You envy me? For what?' she asked, amazed.
'For your courage. For the fact that you are not afraid to b-be refused and appear ridiculous. You see, I am b-basically very timid and uncertain of myself.'
'You, timid?' Clarissa asked, even more astounded.
'Yes. There are two things I am really afraid of: appearing foolish or ridiculous and . . . dropping my guard.'
No, she could not understand this at all.
'What guard?'
'You see, I learned very early what it means to lose someone, and it frightened me very badly - probably for the rest of my life. While I am alone, my defences against fate are strong, and I fear nothing and nobody. For a man like me it is best to be alone.'
'I have already told you, Mr Fandorin, that I am not laying claim to a place in your life, or even a place in your heart. Let alone attempting to penetrate your "defences".'
She said no more, because everything had already been said.
And just at that very moment, of course, someone started hammering on the door. She heard Milford-Stokes's agitated voice in the corridor:
'Mr Fandorin, sir! Are you awake? Open up! Quickly! This is a conspiracy!'
'Stay here,' Erast whispered. 'I shall be back soon.'
He went out into the corridor. Clarissa heard muffled voices, but she could not make out what they were saying. Five minutes later Fandorin came back in. He took some small, heavy object out of a drawer and put it in his pocket, then he picked up his elegant cane and said in an anxious voice:
'Wait here for a while and then go back to your cabin. Things seem to be coming to a head.'
She knew now what he had meant by that . . . Later, when she was back in her cabin, Clarissa had heard footsteps clattering along the corridor and the sound of excited voices, but of course it had never even entered her head that death was hovering above the masts of the proud Leviathan.
'What is it that Mme Kleber wants to confess?' Dr Truffo asked nervously. 'M. Fandorin, please tell us what is going on. How can she be involved in all this?'
But Fandorin just put on an even gloomier expression and said nothing.
Rolling in time to the regular impact of the waves, Leviathan was sailing northwards full steam ahead, carving through the waters of the Palk Strait, which were still murky after the storm. The coastline of Ceylon was a green stripe on the distant horizon. The morning was overcast and close. From time to time a gust of hot air blew a whiff of decay in through the open windows on the windward side of the salon, but the draught could find no exit and it foundered helplessly, hardly even ruffling the curtains.
'I think I have made a mistake,' Erast muttered, taking a step towards the door. 'I'm always one step or half a step behind . . .'
When the first shot came, Clarissa did not immediately realize what the sound was - it was just a sharp crack, and any number of things could go crack on a ship sailing across a rough sea. But then there was another.
'Those are revolver shots!' exclaimed Sir Reginald. 'But where from?'
'The commissioner's cabin!' Fandorin snapped, dashing for the door.
Everybody rushed after him.
There was a third shot, and then, when they were only about 20 steps away from Gauche's cabin, a fourth.
'Stay here!' Fandorin shouted without turning round, pulling a small revolver out of his back pocket.
The others slowed down, but Clarissa was not afraid, she was determined to stay by Erast's side.
He pushed open the door of the cabin and held the revolver out in front of him. Clarissa stood on tiptoes and peeped over his shoulder.
The first thing she saw was an overturned chair. Then she saw Commissioner Gauche. He was lying on his back on the other side of the polished table that stood in the centre of the room. Clarissa craned her neck to get a better look at him and shuddered: Gauche's face was hideously contorted and there was dark blood bubbling out of the centre of his forehead and dribbling onto the floor in two narrow rivulets.
Renate Kleber was in the opposite coiner, huddled against the wall. She was sobbing hysterically and her teeth were chattering. There was a large black revolver with a smoking barrel in her trembling hand.
'Aaa! Ooo!' howled Mme Kleber, pointing to the dead body. 'I ... I killed him!'
> 'I had guessed,' Fandorin said coolly.
Keeping his revolver trained on the Swiss woman, he went up to her and deftly snatched the gun out of her hand. She made no attempt to resist.
'Dr Truffo!' Erast called, following Renate's every move closely. 'Come here!'
The diminutive doctor glanced into the gunsmoke-filled cabin with timid curiosity.
'Examine the body, please,' said Fandorin.
Muttering some lamentation to himself in Italian, Truffo knelt beside the dead Gauche.
'A fatal wound to the head,' he reported. 'Death was instantaneous. But that's not all . . . There is a gunshot wound to the right elbow. And one here, to the left wrist. Three wounds in all.'
'Keep looking. There were four shots.'
'There aren't any more. One of the bullets must have missed. No, wait! Here it is, in the right knee!'
'I'll tell you everything,' Renate babbled, shuddering and sobbing. 'Only take me out of this awful room!'
Fandorin put the little revolver in his pocket and the big one on the table.
'Very well, let's go. Doctor, inform the head of the watch what has happened here and have him put a guard on this door. And then rejoin us. There is no one apart from us now to conduct the investigation.'
'What an ill-starred voyage!' Truffo gasped as he walked along the corridor. 'Poor Leviathan'
In the Windsor saloon Mme Kleber sat at the table, facing the door, and everyone else sat facing her. Fandorin was the only one who took a chair beside the murderess.
'Gentlemen, do not look at me like that,' Mme Kleber said in a pitiful voice. 'I killed him, but I am the innocent victim. When I tell you what happened, you will see . . . But for God's sake, give me some water.'
The solicitous Japanese poured her some lemonade - the table had not yet been cleared after breakfast.
