EF06 - The State Counsellor (31 page)

But that was only the first strange thing that Fandorin did.

The second was that the State Counsellor did not really take a very thorough approach to his main task for the day - the meeting with Diana; one might even say that he rolled his sleeves back down. After telephoning the collaborator from the vestibule of the bathhouse and arranging to meet her straightaway, Erast Petrovich immediately set off for the inconspicuous town-house on Arbat Street.

In the familiar twilit room, with its scent of musk and dust from the permanently closed curtains, the visitor was greeted rather differently from the previous occasion and the occasion before that. No sooner did Fandorin step across the threshold of the quiet study than a slim shadow darted impetuously across the room towards him in a rustle of silk, pliable arms embraced him round the shoulders and a face concealed by a veil was pressed against his chest.

'My God, my God, how happy I am to see you,' a faltering voice murmured. 'I'm so afraid! I behaved so stupidly the last time - forgive me, in the name of all that's holy. You must pardon the self-assurance of a woman who had become too enamoured of the role of a breaker of hearts. The signs of attention with which Stanislav Filippovich and Pyotr Ivanovich showered me completely turned my head ... Poor, poor Pierre and Stanislas! How could I ever imagine ...' The whisper became a sob, and a perfectly genuine tear fell on the State Counsellor's shirt, then a second, and then more.

However, Erast Petrovich had no thought of exploiting this psychologically advantageous moment in the interests of the investigation. Gently moving aside the weeping collaborator, he walked into the room and sat down, not on the divan, as he had on the previous occasion, but in an armchair beside the writing desk, on which he could make out the dull gleam of the nickel-plated keys of a typewriter.

Diana was not at all disconcerted by her visitor's restraint. The slim, shapely figure followed Fandorin, halted for a moment in front of the armchair, then suddenly folded in half - and the eccentric lady plumped down on to her knees, raising her clasped hands in supplication.

'Oh, do not be so cold and cruel!' It was astonishing that the whisper in no way restricted the dramatic modulation of her voice - she had obviously been very well trained. 'You cannot imagine how much I have suffered. I have been left completely alone, with no protector, no patron. Believe me, I can be useful and... grateful. Do not go. Stay here with me for a little longer! Console me, dry my tears. I can sense a calm, confident strength in you. Only you can restore me to life. With Burlyaev and Sverchinsky I was the mistress, but with you I can be the slave! I will fulfil your every desire!'

'R-really?' Fandorin asked, looking down on the dark figure. 'Then first of all remove your veil and turn on the light.'

'No, anything but that!' Diana cried, leaping to her feet and shrinking away. 'Any other desire, anything at all, but not that.'

The State Counsellor sat there without speaking, even looking off to one side, which was not very considerate.

'Will you stay?' the femme fatale gasped pitifully, pressing her hands to her breast.

'Unfortunately I cannot. A matter of official duty. I can see that you are in an emotional state, and I do not have the time for a long conversation.'

'Then come this evening,' the voice rustled alluringly. 'I shall be waiting for you.'

'I cannot come this evening either,' Fandorin replied and explained in a confidential tone. 'So that you will not take my refusal as an affront, let me explain what I shall be doing. I have an appointment of a quite different kind, far less romantic. At ten o'clock I am meeting Prince Pozharsky, the Deputy Director of the Police Department. And, just imagine, at the Petrosov Bathhouse. Amusing, isn't it? The price of secrecy. But it does guarantee the absolute confidentiality of our tête-a-tête. Room number one, the very best in the whole nobles' section. There, my lady, see in what exotic circumstances the leaders of the investigation are obliged to meet.'

'Then for the time being, just this...' She took one quick step forward, raised her veil slightly and pressed her moist lips against his cheek.

Erast Petrovich shuddered at this touch, gave the collaborator a look of consternation that was almost fright, bowed and walked out.

After that the State Counsellor's behaviour became queerer still.

From Arbat Street he called into the Office of Gendarmes, without any apparent purpose in mind. He drank a cup of coffee with Smolyaninov, who had finally been reduced to the role of telephone operator, for the current state of affairs in the large building on Nikitskaya Street was extremely strange: all the various subsections and services were operating in emergency mode, although in effect there was no one actually in charge.

The temporary boss, Prince Pozharsky, was not sitting at his desk, and if he did drop in, it was only briefly - to listen to a report from the adjutant, to leave some instructions - and then he set out once more for parts unknown.

They remembered the deceased Stanislav Filippovich, spoke about the Lieutenant's wounded arm and the audacity of the terrorists. The Lieutenant was of the opinion that a demonstration of chivalry was called for.

'If I were in Mr Pozharsky's place,' he said fervently, 'I wouldn't send spies and provocateurs to this Green, I would print an appeal in the newspapers: "Stop hunting down us servants of the throne. Stop shooting at us from round corners and throwing bombs that kill innocent people. I am not hiding from you. If you, my dear sir, truly believe that you are right and wish to sacrifice yourself for the good of humankind, then let us meet in an honest duel, for it is also my sacred belief that I am right and I will gladly give my life for Russia. So let us stop spilling Russian blood. Let God or-if you are an atheist-Fate or Destiny decide which of us is right." I'm certain that Green would agree to such terms.'

The State Counsellor listened to the young man's reasoning and asked with a serious expression: 'And what if Green k-kills the prince? Then what?'

'What do you mean?' Smolyaninov exclaimed, wincing in pain as he attempted to wave his wounded arm through the air. Are there more terrorists or defenders of order in Russia? If Pozharsky were to be killed in the duel, then of course Green would have to be allowed to go free - that's a simple matter of honour. But the next day you would challenge him. And if your luck failed, then others would be found.' The young officer blushed. And the revolutionaries would be left with no way out. It would be impossible for them to refuse the challenge, because they would lose their reputation as bold, self-sacrificing heroes in the eyes of society. And soon there would be no terrorists left: all the fanatics would have died in duels, and the others would have been forced to abandon violence.'

'This is the second time just recently that I have had occasion to hear an original idea for the elimination of terrorism. And I'm not sure which of them I prefer,' Fandorin said as he stood up. 'I have enjoyed talking with you, but I must go now. I shall relay your idea to Gleb Georgievich this evening.' He glanced at the empty reception room and lowered his voice. 'For your ears only, in the strictest secrecy: at ten o'clock this evening the prince and I are having a tête-a-tête at which our entire plan of future action will be determined - at the Petrosov Bathhouse, in the nobles' section.'

'Why the bathhouse?' the Lieutenant asked, fluttering his silky eyelashes in astonishment.

'For the sake of secrecy. There are private rooms there, no uninvited guests. We have booked the finest room specially -number two. I shall definitely suggest that Pozharsky try the challenge via the newspapers. But, I repeat again, not a word to anyone about our meeting.'

From the Office, Fandorin went to the Department on Gnezdikovsky Lane, where the role of the connecting link between all the various groups of agents was being played by Titular Counsellor Zubtsov, with whom Erast Petrovich drank not coffee but tea. They spoke of the deceased Pyotr Ivanovich, a hot-tempered individual of coarse sensibilities, but honest and sincerely devoted to the cause. They complained about the irreparable damage done to the old capital city's reputation in the eyes of the sovereign by the recent sad events.

'I'll tell you what I can't understand,' Sergei Vitalievich said cautiously. 'The entire investigative machine is working at full capacity, the men get no sleep at night, they're dead on their feet. We're trailing Lobastov, everyone who's unreliable, suspicious or even slightly dubious, reading their post, eavesdropping, peeping and prying. This is all essential routine activity, of course, but somehow we're not following a single line of inquiry. Naturally, my rank doesn't permit me to intrude into the area of higher tactics - that's your area of competence and Gleb Georgievich's, but even so, if I had some idea at least of the main direction of inquiry, then for my part, within the limits of the abilities I have been granted, I could perhaps also be of some use

'Yes, yes,' said Fandorin, nodding. 'Please don't think that the prince and I are concealing anything from you. We both sincerely hold you in the highest regard, and we will immediately involve you in the analytical work, as soon as certain circumstances have been clarified. As a token of my t-trust, I can tell you, in the very strictest confidence, that at ten o'clock this evening Gleb Georgievich and I are having a private meeting at an agreed rendezvous, where we shall determine the very line of which you spoke. The meeting will be confidential, but you will be informed immediately of the outcome. The reason for the secrecy is that' - the State Counsellor leaned forwards slightly -'there is a traitor among our men and we do not yet know who exacdy it is. Today, though, that might well become clear.'

A traitor?' Zubtsov exclaimed. 'Here in the Okhranka?'

'Sh-sh,' said the State Counsellor, putting one ringer to his lips. 'Who he is and where exactly he works is what the prince . and I shall determine today, after we exchange the information we shall have collected. That is why we have arranged to meet so mysteriously in room number three of the nobles' section in the Petrosov Baths, believe it or not.' Erast Petrovich smiled cheerfully and took a sip of cold tea. 'By the way, where is Evstratii Pavlovich?'

The conversation that Fandorin held with Evstratii Pavlovich Mylnikov, whom the State Counsellor tracked down at the temporary observation post he had set up in a dusty attic close to the Lobastov plant, was in part similar to those that had preceded it, and in part different from them, for in addition to the deceased Pyotr Ivanovich, they also discussed the unsuccessful nocturnal operation, the perfidious millionaire and the question of a gratuity for the families of the agents who had been killed. However, the conversation concluded in exactly the same manner: the State Counsellor told the other man the precise time and place of his meeting with the Deputy Director of Police. Only this time he gave a different room number: number four.

And after his visit to the observation post Fandorin did not go on to do anything else at all. He took a cab home, and on the way he whistled an aria from
Geisha,
a very rare event for Erast Petrovich and a sign of quite uncommon optimism.

In the outhouse on Malaya Nikitskaya Street, Fandorin and his servant held a long, circumstantial conversation in Japanese. In fact Erast Petrovich did most of the talking and Masa listened, constantly repeating: 'Hai, hai.'

Then he replied to a few questions and went off, serenely calm, to sleep, although it was only shortly after two in the afternoon, and nothing of importance had been achieved.

He slept for a long time, until six o'clock. When he arose, he dined with a good appetite, did a little gymnastics and dressed in a light English sports outfit that did not restrict his movements: a short checked jacket, a close-fitting silk waistcoat, narrow trousers with foot straps.

But that was not the end of Erast Petrovich's toilette: he thrust a small stiletto in a light sheath of oiled paper under the elastic suspender of his right sock; he thrust a Velodog -a miniature pistol invented for bicyclists who are pestered by stray dogs - into a holster on his back, and put his main weapon - a seven-round Herstahl-Baillard, the latest invention from the master-gunsmiths of Liege - into another holster, designed for wearing under the arm.

Fandorin's servant tried to attach to his belt a most sinister-looking steel chain with two heavy spheres attached to it, but the State Counsellor resolutely rejected this unconventional weapon, since the spheres clanged against each other as he walked, and that attracted attention.