by Boris Akunin
'Oh God!' Mrs Truffo exclaimed unnecessarily.
But Clarissa was more concerned about something else.
'Then she has the shawl?'
'Yes,' said Erast with a nod.
'Nonsense! Rubbish! You're all crazy!' Renate (or Marie Sanfon?) laughed hysterically. 'Lord, this is such grotesque nonsense!'
'This is easy to check,' said the Japanese. 'We must search Mme Kleber. If she does not have the shawl, then Mr Fandorin is mistaken. In such cases in Japan we cut our bellies open.'
'No man's hands shall ever search a lady in my presence!' declared Sir Reginald, rising to his feet with a menacing air.
'What about a woman's hands?' asked Clarissa. 'Mrs Truffo and I will search this person.'
'Oh yes, it would take no time at all,' the doctor's wife agreed eagerly.
'Do as you like with me,' said Renate, pressing her hands together like a sacrificial victim. 'But afterwards you will be ashamed . . .'
The men went out and Mrs Truffo searched the prisoner with quite remarkable dexterity. She glanced at Clarissa and shook her head.
Clarissa suddenly felt afraid for poor Erast. Could he really have made a mistake?
'The shawl is very thin,' she said. 'Let me have a look.'
It was strange to feel her hands on the body of another woman, but Clarissa bit her lip and carefully examined every seam, every fold and every gather on the underwear. The shawl was not there.
'You will have to get undressed,' she said resolutely. It was terrible, but it was even more terrible to think that the shawl would not be found. What a blow for Erast. How could he bear it?
Renate raised her arms submissively to make it easier to remove her dress and said timidly:
'In the name of all that is holy, Mile Stamp, do not harm my child.'
Gritting her teeth, Clarissa set about unfastening Renate's dress. When she reached the third button there was a knock at the door and Erast's cheerful voice called out:
'Ladies, stop the search! May we come in?'
'Yes, yes, come in!' Clarissa shouted, quickly fastening the buttons again.
The men had a mysterious air about them. They took up a position by the table without saying a word. Then, with a magician's flourish, Erast spread out on the tablecloth a triangular piece of fabric that shimmered with all the colours of the rainbow.
'The shawl!' Renate screeched.
'Where did you find it?' asked Clarissa, feeling totally confused.
'While you were searching Mile Sanfon, we were busy too,' Fandorin explained with a smug expression. 'It occurred to me that this prudent individual could have hidden the incriminating clue in the commissioner's cabin. But she only had a few seconds, so she could not have hidden it too thoroughly. It did not take long to find the crumpled shawl where she had thrust it under the edge of the carpet. So now we can all admire the famous bird of paradise, Kalavinka.'
Clarissa joined the others at the table and they all gazed spellbound at the scrap of cloth for which so many people had died.
The shawl was shaped like an isosceles triangle, with sides no longer than about 20 inches. The colours of the painting were brilliant and savage. A strange creature with pointed breasts, half-woman and half-bird like the sirens of ancient times, stood with its wings unfurled against a background of brighdy coloured trees and fruit. Her face was turned in profile and instead of an eye the long curving lashes framed a small hole that had been painstakingly trimmed with stitches of gold thread. Clarissa thought she had never seen anything more beautiful in her life.
'Yes, it's the shawl all right,' said Sir Reginald. 'But how does your find prove Mme Kleber's guilt?'
'What about the travelling bag?' Fandorin asked in a low voice. 'Do you remember the travelling bag that we found in the captain's launch yesterday? One of the things I saw in it was a cloak that we have often seen on the shoulders of Mme Kleber. The travelling bag is now part of the material evidence. No doubt other items belonging to our good friend here will also be found in it.'
'What reply can you make to that, madam?' the doctor asked Renate.
'The truth,' she replied, and in that instant her face changed beyond all recognition.
Reginald Milford-Stokes
. . . then suddenly her face was transformed beyond all recognition, as though someone had waved a magic wand and the weak, helpless little lamb crushed by a cruel fate was instantly changed into a ravening she-wolf. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, her eyes suddenly ablaze and her nostrils flaring as if the woman before us had turned into a deadly predator - no, not a she-wolf, one of the big cats, a panther or lioness who has scented fresh blood. I recoiled, I could not help it. My protection was certainly no longer required here!
The transformed Mme Kleber cast Fandorin a glance of searing hatred that pierced even that imperturbable gentleman's defences. He shuddered.
I could sympathize entirely with this strange woman's feelings. My own attitude to the contemptible Russian has also changed completely. He is a terrible man, a dangerous lunatic with a fantastic, monstrously depraved imagination. How could I ever have respected and trusted him? I can hardly even believe it now!
I simply do not know how to tell you this, my sweet Emily. My hand is trembling with indignation as it holds the pen. At first I intended to conceal it from you, but I have decided to tell you after all. Otherwise it will be hard for you to understand the reason for the metamorphosis in my feelings towards Fandorin.
Yesterday night, after all the shocks and upheaval that I have described above, Fandorin and I had an extremely strange conversation that left me feeling both perplexed and furious. The Russian approached me and thanked me for saving the ship, and then, positively oozing sympathy and stammering over every word, he began talking the most unimaginable, monstrous drivel. What he said was literally this -I remember it word for word: 'I know of your grief, Sir Reginald. Commissioner Gauche told me everything a long time ago. Of course, it is none of my business, and I have thought long and hard before deciding to speak to you about it, but when I see how greatly you are suffering, I cannot remain indifferent. The only reason I dare to say all this is that I have suffered a similar grievous loss, and my reason was also undermined by the shock. I have managed to preserve my reason, and even hone its edge to greater sharpness, but the price I had to pay for survival was a large piece of my heart. But believe me, in your situation there is no other way. Do not hide from the truth, no matter how terrible it might be, and do not seek refuge in illusion. Above all, do not blame yourself. It is not your fault that the horses bolted, or that your pregnant wife was thrown out of the carriage and killed. This is a trial, a test ordained for you by fate. I cannot understand what need there could possibly be to subject a man to such cruelty, but one thing I do know: if you do not pass this test, it means the end, the death of your very soul.'
At first I simply could not understand what the scoundrel was getting at. Then I realized. He imagined that you, my precious Emily, were dead! That you were the pregnant lady who was thrown from a carriage and killed. If I had not been so outraged, I should have laughed in the crazy diplomat's face. How dare he say such a thing, when I know that you are waiting there for me beneath the azure skies of the islands of paradise! Every hour brings me closer to you, my darling Emily. And now there is nobody and nothing that can stop me.
Only -it is very strange -I cannot for the life of me remember how you came to be in Tahiti, alone without me. There certainly must have been some important reason for it. No matter. When we meet, my dear friend, you will explain everything to me.
But let me return to my story.
Mme Kleber straightened up, suddenly seeming taller (it is amazing how much the impression of height depends on posture and the set of the head), and began speaking, for the most part addressing Fandorin:
All these stories you have hatched up here are absolute nonsense. There is not a single piece of proof or hard evidence. Nothing but assumpt
ions and unfounded speculation. Yes, my real name is Marie Sanfon, but no court in the world has ever been able to charge me with any crime. Yes, my enemies have often slandered me and intrigued against me, but I am strong. Marie Sanfon's nerve is not so easily broken. I am guilty of only one thing - that I loved a criminal and a madman to distraction. Charles and I were secretly married, and it is his child that I am carrying under my heart. It was Charles who insisted on keeping our marriage secret. If this misdemeanour is a crime, then I am willing to face a judge and jury, but you may be sure, mister home-grown detective, that an experienced lawyer will scatter your chimerical accusations like smoke. What charges can you actually bring against me? That in my youth I lived in a convent with the Grey Sisters and eased the suffering of the poor? Yes, I used to give myself injections, but what of that? The moral suffering caused by a life of secrecy and a difficult pregnancy led me to become addicted to morphine, but now I have found the strength to break free of that pernicious habit. My secret but entirely legitimate husband insisted that I should embark on this voyage under an assumed name. That was how the mythical Swiss banker Kleber came to be invented. The deception caused me suffering, but how could I refuse the man I loved? I had absolutely no idea about his other life and his fatal passion, or his insane plans!
'Charles told me that it was not appropriate for the captain's first mate to take his wife with him on a cruise, but he was concerned for the health of our dear child and could not bear to be parted from me. He said it would be best if I sailed under a false name. What kind of crime is that, I ask you?
'I could see that Charles was not himself, that he was in the grip of strange passions that I did not understand, but never in my worst nightmare could I have dreamed that he committed that terrible crime on the rue de Grenelle! And I had no idea that he was the son of an Indian rajah. It comes as a shock to me that my child will be one-quarter Indian. The poor little mite, with a madman for a father. I have no doubt at all that Charles has been completely out of his mind for the last few days. How could anyone sane attempt to sink a ship? It is obviously the act of a sick mind. Of course I knew nothing at all about that insane plan.'
At this point Fandorin interrupted her and asked with a hideous little grin: 'And what about your cloak that was packed so thoughtfully in the travelling bag?'
Mme Kleber - Miss Sanfon - that is, Mme Renier ... Or Mme Bagdassar? I do not know what I ought to call her. Very well, let her remain Mme Kleber, since that is what I am used to. Mme Kleber replied to her inquisitor with great dignity: 'My husband evidently packed everything ready for our escape and was intending to wake me at the last minute.'
But Fandorin was unrelenting. 'But you were not asleep,' he said, with a haughty expression on his face. 'We saw you when we were walking along the corridor. You were fully clothed and even had a shawl on your shoulders.'
‘I could not sleep because I felt strangely alarmed,' replied Mme Kleber. ‘I must have felt in my heart that something was wrong . . . I was shivering and I felt cold, so I put on my shawl. Is that a crime?'
I was glad to see that the amateur prosecutor was stumped. The accused continued with calm self-assurance: "The idea that I supposedly tortured that other madman, M. Gauche, is absolutely incredible. I told you the truth. The old blockhead went insane with greed and he threatened to kill me. I have no idea how I managed to hit the target with all four bullets. But it is pure coincidence. Providence itself must have guided my hand. No, sir, you cannot make anything of that either!'
Fandorin's smug self-assurance had been shattered. T beg your pardon!' he cried excitedly. 'But we found the shawl! You hid it under the carpet'.'
'Yet another unfounded assertion!' retorted Mme Kleber. 'Of course the shawl was hidden by Gauche, who had taken it from my poor husband. And despite all your vile insinuations, I am grateful to you, sir, for returning my property.'
And so saying, she calmly stood up, walked over to the table and took the shawl.
‘I am the legitimate wife of the legitimate heir of the Emerald Rajah,' declared this astonishing woman. 'I have a marriage certificate. I am carrying Bagdassar's grandson in my womb. It is true that my deceased husband committed a number of serious crimes, but what has that to do with me and our inheritance?'
Miss Stamp jumped to her feet and tried to grab the shawl from Mme Kleber.
"The lands and property of the rajah of Brahmapur were confiscated by the British government,' my fellow countrywoman declared resolutely. "That means the treasure belongs to Her Majesty Queen Victoria!' - and there was no denying that she was right.
'Just a moment!' our good Dr Truffo put in. 'Although I am Italian by birth lama citizen of France and I represent her interests here. The rajah's treasure was the personal property of his family and did not belong to the principality of Brahmapur, which means its confiscation was illegal! Charles Renier became a French citizen of his own free will. He committed a most heinous crime on the territory of his adopted country. Under the laws of the French Republic the punishment for such crimes, especially when committed out of purely venal motives, includes the expropriation of the criminal's property by the state. Give back the shawl, madam! It belongs to France.' And he also took a defiant grip on the edge of the shawl.
The situation was a stalemate, and the crafty Fandorin took advantage of it. With the Byzantine cunning typical of his nation, he said loudly: 'This is a serious dispute that requires arbitration. Permit me, as the representative of a neutral power, to take temporary possession of the shawl, so that you do not tear it to pieces. I shall place it over here, a little distance away from the contending parties.'
And so saying, he took the shawl and carried it across to the side table on the leeward side of the salon, where the windows were closed. You will see later, my beloved Emily, why I mention these details.
Thus the bone of contention, the shawl, was lying there on the side table, a bright triangle of shimmering colour sparkling with gold. Fandorin was standing with his back to the shawl in the pose of a guard of honour. The rest of us were bunched together at the dining table. Add to this the rustling of the curtains on the windward side of the room, the dim light of an overcast afternoon and the irregular swaying of the floor beneath our feet, and the stage was set for the final scene.
'No one will dare to take from the rajah's grandson what is his by right!' Mme Kleber declared, with her hands set on her hips. 'I am a Belgian subject and the court hearing will take place in Brussels. All I need to do for the jury to decide in my favour is to promise that a quarter of the inheritance will be donated to charitable work in Belgium ... A quarter of the inheritance is eleven billion Belgian francs, five times the annual income of the entire kingdom of Belgium!'
Miss Stamp laughed in her face: 'You underestimate Britannia, my dear. Do you really think that your pitiful Belgium will be allowed to decide the fate of fifty million pounds? With that money we shall build hundreds of mighty battleships and triple the size of our fleet, which is already the greatest in the world. We shall bring order to the entire planet!'
Miss Stamp is an intelligent woman. Indeed, civilization could only benefit if our treasury were enriched by such a fantastic sum. Britain is the most progressive and free country in the world. All the peoples of the earth would benefit if their lives were arranged after the British example.
But Dr Truffo was of a different opinion entirely. 'This sum of one and a half billion French francs will not only finance France's recovery from the tragic consequences of the war with Germany, it will allow her to create the most modem and well-equipped army in the whole of Europe. You English have never been Europeans. You are islanders! You do not share in the interests of Europe. M. de Verier, who until recently was the captain's second mate and is now in temporary command of the Leviathan, will not allow the shawl to go to the English. I shall bring M. de Perier here immediately, and he will place the shawl in the captain's safe!'
Then everyone began talking at once, all tryi
ng to shout each other down. The doctor became so belligerent that he even dared to push me in the chest, and Mme Kleber kicked Miss Stamp on the ankle.
Then Fandorin took a plate from the table and smashed it on the floor with a loud crash. As everyone gazed at him in amazement, the cunning Byzantine said: 'We shall not solve our problem in this way. You are getting too heated, ladies and gentlemen. Why don't we let a bit of fresh air into the salon - it has become rather stuffy in here.'
He went over to the windows on the leeward side and began opening them one by one. When Fandorin opened the window above the side table on which the shawl was lying, something startling happened: the draught immediately snatched at the feather-light material, which trembled and fluttered and suddenly flew up into the air. Everyone gasped in horror as the silk triangle went flying away across the deck, swayed twice above the handrails - as if it were waving goodbye to us - and sailed off into the distance, gradually sinking lower and lower. We all stood there dumbfounded, following its leisurely flight until it ended somewhere among the lazy white-capped waves.
'How very clumsy I am,' said Fandorin, breaking the deadly silence. 'All that money lost at sea! Now neither Britain nor France will be able to impose its will on the world. What a terrible misfortune for civilization. And it was half a billion roubles. Enough for Russia to repay its entire foreign debt.'
