“No offence taken, sir,” Blackstone said, remembering the old Indian saying that an elephant does not take offence at the farting of an ant.
“I mean to say, there are officers at the Yard who could just about pass themselves off as gentlemen if the situation called for it,” Sir Roderick continued. “But — and let’s be honest about this — you’re certainly not one of them.”
“True.”
“The Count doesn’t like you at all. Captain Dobroskok can’t stand the sight of you. And most of the guests in the house seem to think you’re some kind of manservant.’
“Point taken, sir,” Blackstone said, a little impatiently — for even the elephant can begin to take umbrage if the ant farts often enough.
“So I would have thought that if anyone could be spared from this investigation, it would have been you,” Sir Roderick continued.
“That would certainly make sense, sir,” Blackstone agreed, drawing just a little hope from his boss’s obvious confusion.
“And yet a galloper’s just arrived with this dispatch from the Foreign Office,” Sir Roderick said. “It seems that they want me to go back to St Petersburg for what they call ‘further briefings’, but at the same time they’re most insistent that you stay here. I can’t understand it.”
“It’s got me mystified, too,” the Inspector said.
“You know, Blackstone, I get the distinct impression that something’s going on here that we know nothing about. This golden egg business, for example. I’m starting to suspect that that’s not the real issue at all. Do you have any thoughts on the matter?”
“I’m just a simple copper, sir,” Blackstone said, starting to enjoy himself now. “I’ve been told to look for the golden egg, and that’s what I’m doing.”
“That’s just my point!” Sir Roderick explained. “You’ve no subtlety, have you? Not your fault, of course — one shouldn’t expect anything else, given your background...”
“It’s very kind of you to make allowances, sir.”
“...but you’re completely out of your depth here. Which makes it all the more strange that I’m to go and you’re to stay.”
“Very strange,” Blackstone agreed.
Or at least it might have seemed strange to him, had he not been able to sense the invisible hand of Vladimir lurking somewhere behind the scenes and carefully pulling all the strings.
Now he had received his instructions from London, Sir Roderick was quick to act, and the carriage which was to convey him to the railway station was ready within the hour. Blackstone, feeling it was his duty to see him off — if only to make sure the bloody fool was actually going — was in attendance.
As they both stood in the courtyard, another coach pulled up. This one had none of the refinement of the carriage which would be conveying Sir Roderick. It was a stubby vehicle, painted entirely in black, and with bars at the window. The two men who descended from it were also in black, and had an air of menace about them that was detectable even from a distance.
“That’s the Okhrana, come to pick up your arsonist friend,” Sir Roderick said.
The two secret police officers strode towards the house like men who knew exactly where they were going and had no fear of anyone ever daring to impede their progress.
“You know, Blackstone, I have to rather admire the way the Russkies conduct their business,” the Assistant Commissioner continued. “We have to go through all the rigmarole of asking for warrants and attending magistrates’ courts, but that kind of thing doesn’t get in their way at all. If they know a chap’s a thoroughly bad lot, they deal with him immediately. We could learn a lot from their methods, don’t you think?”
“Undoubtedly, sir.”
“By the way, I never asked you how your so-called interview with the arsonist went. Didn’t turn out to speak English after all, did he?”
“No, sir.”
“Never thought he would. Knew it was a waste of time right from the start. I had intended, once you’d seen how mistaken you were, to haul you over the coals for it, but I don’t suppose there’s much point now.”
The secret policemen re-emerged from the house with Vladimir between them. The prisoner wore manacles on his wrists and ankles, and each of the escorts had a firm grip on one of his arms.
“Nothing namby-pamby about the way they treat their prisoners here,” Sir Roderick said approvingly.
The policemen opened the carriage door and thrust Vladimir roughly into it. He didn’t struggle. Why should he, Blackstone asked himself, when there was probably a bottle of excellent vodka and a plate of the finest caviar waiting for him inside the coach?
“Well, I suppose I’d better be going,” Sir Roderick said, climbing into his own coach. “You won’t get anywhere with this investigation, you know. Even if there is a solution, it’d take a better man than you to find it.”
“You’re probably right,” Blackstone agreed.
“So, bearing that in mind, the wisest thing you can probably do is try to avoid making a nuisance of yourself,” Sir Roderick advised. “It won’t do you any good to keep offending people in the way you have been — especially since I won’t be here to protect you.”
“I’ll bear that in mind, sir,” Blackstone promised.
“Well, goodbye, Blackstone,” Sir Roderick said. “The next time we see each other, you’ll probably be a uniformed constable back on the beat — unless, of course, they’ve kicked you off the Force completely.”
“I suspect you’re right, sir.”
The two carriages pulled away at the same time. Sir Roderick and Vladimir would probably also be on the same train back to St Petersburg, Blackstone thought, but, if anything, the ‘prisoner’ would probably travel in considerably more luxury than the English policeman.
The next two days were very strange ones for Blackstone. It felt to him almost as if he’d been placed in a bubble. His physical movements were restricted by the presence of the military cordon, his mental ones by the lack of the egg on which Yuri was still working. There was nothing to do but to float around and enjoy himself in the company of Agnes.
It should have been one of the happiest periods in his life — and in many ways it was. He and Agnes went riding together, though not beyond the bounds of the cordon. They picnicked beside a small brook which ran through the extensive grounds. They walked, and talked about the life of an India they had both known so long, long ago.
Yet all the time there was a nagging voice in the back of Blackstone’s head which reminded him that this could not go on forever. That the bubble, by its very nature, was eventually bound to burst. And when it did burst, this almost make-believe world he was living in would be gone — when it burst, he would be forced to face the harsh realities which, just for the moment, he could put to one side.
At around lunchtime on the third day, almost exactly forty-eight hours after Sir Roderick’s departure, Yuri produced the egg. It was a marvellous piece of work, and even though he knew the truth, Blackstone still found it hard to believe it was a fake.
Looking at it, nestling in the palm of his hand, Blackstone felt a wave of deep sadness wash through him. The bubble had been pricked, and he felt the pin sink deep into his very soul.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The whole house party — surrounded by the usual gaggle of servants — was seated around a long table on the South Lawn, with the Count at one end and the white-whiskered figure of the Grand Duke Ivan at the other. The Count looked as if he were trying desperately to animate the conversation, but most of the Russians wore on their faces the bored expressions of people who would much have preferred to be elsewhere. Only the Duc de Saint-Cast — who was shamelessly flirting with one of the Russian ladies despite the glares he was getting from Mademoiselle Durant — really seemed to be enjoying himself.
Positioning was everything, Blackstone told himself as he walked across the lawn. He needed to be close enough so he did not appear to be hiding anything, and yet far enough a
way to be able to do just that.
He came to a halt ten feet from the table, about an equal distance from the Count and the Grand Duke. The Count ignored him, and the other guests didn’t even seem to be aware that he was there.
“It’s lucky that you all stayed longer than you had originally planned to, because the hunting in the next few days should be exceptional,” the Count was enthusing.
“Not much point in hunting when we can’t go beyond the military lines,” said one of the Russians. “Anyway, I’ve had enough of that kind of sport for one year. Rather be back in Petersburg, where it’s a bit livelier.”
“Excuse me, Your Excellency,” Blackstone said.
The Count gave Blackstone a look which was clearly a command for him to go away, then turned his attention back to his guest.
“Had enough of hunting, Nicholas?” he said, with patently false jocularity. “I shouldn’t have thought a sportsman like you could ever have had too much of hunting.”
“Your Excellency,” Blackstone said.
“How dare you disturb us!” the Count demanded, rising from his seat in what could only be described as a threatening manner. “Your superior would have been accepted here, but then he is a gentleman. Your presence, on the other hand, most certainly is not welcome.”
I’ll be even less welcome when you hear what I’ve got to say, Blackstone thought.
“I apologize for intruding, and certainly would not have done so under most circumstances,” he said with mock-humility, “but I thought you’d like to know as soon as possible that I’ve found it.”
“Found what?”
“The golden egg.”
The Count looked thunderstruck. “But... but that’s simply impossible!” he gasped.
“I can assure you, it isn’t,” Blackstone replied. “It was hidden under the hay in one of the stables.”
A new, wary look appeared in the Count’s eyes. “Is this some kind of joke, my man?” he demanded. “Because if that’s what it is, I promise you you’ll pay dearly for it.”
“I wouldn’t go threatening me, if I were you, sir,” Blackstone advised. “I’m a British subject — and a serving police officer, which makes me a crown servant. I don’t think my government would take it kindly if you had me whipped as if I were one of your peasants.”
“Such... such insolence is intolerable!” the Count said, now so red in the face that he looked to be on the point of exploding.
“If he says he has the egg, why doesn’t he show it to us?” Grand Duke Ivan asked.
“Because he can’t!” the Count said furiously, as Blackstone reached into his pocket. “Because there isn’t—”
And then he saw what the English policeman had pulled out of his pocket and was holding out in his hand.
“I’ve got to admit, that looks rather like a Faberge egg to me,” the Grand Duke said.
“Let me see the egg!” the Count ordered Blackstone. “Bring it over to me at once!”
But Blackstone had already slipped it back into his pocket. “Didn’t you hear what I said, you oaf?” the Count shrieked. “I want to examine the egg.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, sir,” Blackstone said, with what could have passed for genuine regret in his voice. “You can’t what?”
“This egg, as I’m sure you’re aware, sir, is the property of His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales. I was ordered to retrieve it, and now that it is in my custody I would be in dereliction of my duty if I gave it — even for a while —to anyone else.”
“The man has a point, you know,” the Grand Duke said. “I certainly wouldn’t want any of my servants handing over my property, just because some titled country gentleman told him to.” He turned towards Blackstone. “Tell me, my good fellow, who stole the egg?”
“I have not been able to establish that, sir,” Blackstone said, in his best witness-box manner. “Indeed, it was not within my remit to do so.”
“Is that so?” the Grand Duke asked.
“It is, sir. I was instructed only to recover the egg. Nothing was said about uncovering the guilty party. But if His Excellency the Count wishes me to pursue my investigations further, I’m sure my masters in London would have no objection to my doing so.”
“Get out of my sight!” the Count said in a strangled voice.
“Does that mean you don’t wish me to proceed any further with my investigations, sir?” Blackstone asked innocently.
“Yes, damn it, that’s exactly what it means!”
“In that case, I will leave your estate as soon as is practicable, sir,” Blackstone said. “I apologize again for disturbing your lunch.”
Then, having given a small bow which was almost gentlemanly, he turned, and walked back to the house.
“Well, I’m glad that’s settled,” the Grand Duke commented when Blackstone had gone. He turned to one of the servants who was hovering nearby. “What time is it, my good fellow?”
The servant consulted his watch. “It’s a quarter past one, Your Royal Highness.”
“Then if I can whip some sort of life into my people, we should just about catch the evening train,” the Grand Duke said.
“You’re surely not thinking of leaving, Your Royal Highness?” the Count asked, in a panic.
“Certainly am. Would have left two days ago, if it hadn’t been for this blasted business of the egg,” the Grand Duke told him. “Not saying you haven’t put on a reasonable show for us, Count Rachinsky — or at least as reasonable a show as was possible within your limited means — but even the most lavish hospitality tends to pall after a while.”
“But you can’t leave!”
The Grand Duke arched his right eyebrow. “Why can’t I? We were asked to remain here until the egg was recovered—”
“Yes, but—”
“—and, as inconvenient as that was for me, I was prepared to be gracious. But now the egg has been found, and I can see no reason for staying any longer.”
“But the egg hasn’t been found!” the Count protested.
“What are you talking about? Of course it’s been found. Saw it myself in that detective chap’s hand.”
“That was a forgery. It simply has to be.”
“Does it? How would you know? Got ambitions to be a craftsman, have you? Been studying jewellery-making in your spare time?”
“No, but—”
“Anyway, it looked genuine enough to me.”
A look of loathing came into the Count’s eyes, but since such looks are not to be directed at a grand duke, it was quickly gone again.
“Please stay a little longer,” he pleaded. “Just until I can get fresh instructions from St Petersburg.”
“Don’t see why you need fresh instructions. The egg’s been found, and we can all go home.”
“I’m not sure the soldiers will allow you through the cordon without fresh orders,” the Count said desperately.
“Oh, you’re not, aren’t you?” the Grand Duke asked, his voice now very much reflecting his growing irritation. “Well, let me make the position clear to you, Count. I’m not some jumped-up little aristocrat whose family has only held its title for the last hundred years or so. I’m a Romanoff. The Tsar is my nephew, and I am the Colonel-in-Chief of three crack regiments. Can you really see the soldiers attempting to stop me when I want to leave?”
“I well... no,” the Count said.
“I... well... no,” the Grand Duke mimicked. “I give you notice, Count, that I intend to leave your estate as soon as possible. And I imagine that most of my fellow guests will feel the same way.”
And all around the table, heads nodded in agreement.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Count stood on the balcony of his study, watching the procession of coaches which was being assembled below.
If only there had not been a grand duke present at the gathering, he might have been able to bully the other guests into staying, he told himself. But there had been a grand duke present, an
d the Tsar’s displeasure at an attempt to forcibly constrain his Uncle Ivan might have been even greater than the displeasure he would undoubtedly express when he learned that the guests had been allowed to leave.
It was all that bastard Blackstone’s fault, the Count thought. He had no idea how the bloody Englishman had managed to pull off his trick, but there was no doubt that it was a trick — because Faberge golden eggs could not simply be conjured out of thin air.
He now wished he had been pleasanter to the man. If only he’d been a little politer — if only he’d assigned the English policeman a slightly better room — then it was possible that, instead of blindsiding him, Blackstone might actually have chosen to confide in him.
Yet how could he have been expected to know that he should have treated Blackstone better? The man did not dress like a gentleman, nor did he speak like one. Surely anyone of breeding would have made the same mistake with the Inspector as he had made himself.
The Count heard a discreet cough behind him, and turned to find the Duc de Saint-Cast standing there.
“Yes?” he said irritably.
“I just come to tell you zat I sink the way your so-called guests ‘ave thrown your wonderful ‘ospitality in your face ‘as been little short of a disgrace,” the Duc said.
“What are you talking about?” the Count demanded.
“I tried to persuade zem to stay, but zey simply would not ‘ear of it,” the Duc continued. “I am so ashamed for zem, zat I ask myself what I can do to compensate ze Count for such ill-breeding.”
“Did you, indeed?”
“And almost immediately, ze perfect answer comes to me. Ze others may leave if zey wish, but I will stay ‘ere to keep you company. We will ‘ave a much jollier time wizout zem.”
All the anger and frustration which had been building up inside the Count was suddenly — and fiercely — focused on the figure of the Duc de Saint-Cast. Here, the Count told himself, was a man whom he could hit out at with very little concern for the consequences.
Blackstone and the House of Secrets (The Blackstone Detective series Book 3) Page 19
