‘When I first began investigating the death of Mr Martin,’ he began, trying to be as honest as he could with the Tsar, ‘I thought that he had been sent here by the British Government with some proposal or other. A new treaty perhaps, an alliance with the French against Germany, maybe. It was possible, I thought, that he had been killed because somebody didn’t like the proposal or didn’t like your response to it. That all seemed perfectly possible.’
‘But you changed your mind, Lord Powerscourt. Why did you do that?’
‘I spent a lot of time, sir, trying to work out the dynamics of the meeting, who summoned who, that sort of thing. After a while I decided that the most likely sequence of events was rather different. The first event was you sending a message to England, to the King, I think, with a request that he should only discuss it with his Prime Minister. I think the request was in the form if not of a question, then something very like it. You see, sir, I began to think that the meeting had more to do with family than it did with affairs of state. That would explain why the conversation, if you like, began as monarch to monarch rather than minister to minister. And the need for confidentiality, for secrecy, if you will, explains why a man had to come from London rather than going through the British Embassy here.’
‘I was going to ask how you arrived at that conclusion but I shall save my questions for the end of this fascinating piece of investigation, Lord Powerscourt!’ Sherlock Romanov finished his cigarette and immediately lit another. Powerscourt noticed that some of his fingers were deeply stained with nicotine.
‘The second event,’ Powerscourt went on, ‘was Mr Martin arriving here with the answer from London. Again I can only guess at what the answer was. And I can only speculate as to why up until now no action has been taken.’
‘And what was the answer, Lord Powerscourt?’ The Tsar was now surrounded by a penumbra of smoke, his hand emerging from time to time to knock off the ash at the end of his cigarette.
‘I think, sir, that the question sent by you or your agents to London went something like this: Would the British royal family, and by extension, the British Government, be happy to welcome the Tsar’s wife and children to England while the present unrest in Russia continues. And,’ Powerscourt was reluctant to divulge this piece of news, ‘were there doctors in London who were experienced in the treatment of haemophilia.’
‘God bless my soul!’ The Tsar had turned pale.
‘And the answer, brought by Mr Martin,’ Powerscourt carried on relentlessly now, ‘was Yes, as long as the Russian royal family were content to live quietly in the country and didn’t expect to be taken round London on a never-ending quadrille of state banquets and ceremonial balls. A suitable place could be found for them in Norfolk, close to the Royal Family establishment at Sandringham.’
The Tsar looked at Powerscourt with considerable pain in his eyes. His question now had a slightly desperate air. ‘There is a flaw, of course, in this theory of yours. Do you see what the flaw is, Lord Powerscourt?’
‘I am not sure it is a flaw, sir. I presume you refer to the fact that your wife and children are still here in Tsarskoe Selo, St Petersburg, not in Norfolk, England. But I do not believe that invalidates any of the rest of the theory, sir. There has been a British frigate on patrol in the waters off the coast here for a number of weeks now. People are beginning to talk. It seems possible to me, sir, that a number of factors could have intervened to modify the situation. The Empress might not have liked the plan. She might have preferred to stay with her husband in his hour of duty and help him fulfil what she saw as his obligations as ruler of Russia. The Tsar’s advisers, if they heard of the plan, might have thought it an unhelpful act to send the Tsar’s family and his heir out of the country. Hostile elements in society, not just the bomb-throwing fraternity, might have branded it cowardice, a vote of no confidence by the Tsar in the Tsar’s own administration. And finally, sir,’ Powerscourt thought he must stop very soon, ‘if security is so bad at present that you cannot attend the funeral of one of your own relations, blown to smithereens by the Kremlin walls, it might also be too bad to permit a party of six with all their attendants to make their way from here to a main-line railway station or to the English frigate.’
The Tsar crossed his legs and stubbed out his cigarette. ‘You will be interested to hear, Lord Powerscourt, that almost all of what you said is true in one sense or another. I congratulate you. But I have two questions for you. How did you know we were thinking of sending the children to England? And how did you know about my son?’
Powerscourt thought fast. He knew that if he mentioned the disappearing toys or the vanished Trans-Siberian Railway egg, Natasha would be in trouble. He did not dare rely on her testimony for the haemophilia either. He decided to take a huge gamble, not with the first question, but with the second.
‘I have a politician friend, sir, who is intimate with members of the British royal family. Forgive me if I do not mention his name. I asked him to inquire among his contacts to see if preparations were being made for the possible reception of a party of Russian royalty. His inquiries revealed that the answer was Yes. He also told me that inquiries were made about whether London had doctors skilled in the treatment of certain diseases. No name was given to the disease but it was clear from the descriptions given that it was haemophilia. The disease is all too well known to London doctors, unfortunately. Queen Victoria was a carrier.’ So far so good, Powerscourt thought, looking at the Tsar closely, now for a diversion. ‘When I considered where the British royals would be likely to accommodate Russian royals, I felt London would be inappropriate. Too public, too many prying eyes from the journalists and members of the public. Windsor Castle? Large enough, certainly, but there’s rather a lot of gloom and not much privacy. Sandringham is where they would send them. And when I asked a colleague to go and make inquiries in the area about any plans that might have been made to receive a group of foreign royalty, the answer was Yes. No nationality was known, but a party of foreign royals including a number of children was expected, had indeed been expected for some time.’ Powerscourt smiled faintly, as if apologizing for knowing too much, for being too well acquainted with the Tsar’s affairs.
‘I see,’ said Nicholas the Second, ‘I see.’ He looked like a man playing for time. Powerscourt remembered de Chassiron saying that the Tsar had plenty of charm but very little in the way of brain. ‘This is all very interesting, Lord Powerscourt, but please enlighten me as to how it helps your investigations with Mr Martin, the dead Mr Martin.’
Powerscourt prayed that Nicholas was not going to look at his watch. That, the Ambassador had told him, in what must, Powerscourt thought, have been the only piece of useful information ever imparted by His Nibs, was a certain sign that the Tsar wished the interview to end.
‘Let me try to explain, sir.’ Don’t patronize the man, for God’s sake, Powerscourt said to himself, don’t let him see I think he’s rather dim. ‘Suppose you have two friends. You know they have met for a conversation. Almost immediately afterwards one of them is killed. Anybody trying to solve the mystery would wish to know what the two men talked about. It might have a bearing on the reasons for their murder. The same thing applies to Mr Martin.’
‘Do you,’ asked the Tsar, possibly returning to the Sherlock Romanov mode, ‘have a list of suspects, as it were, for the killing?’
‘I do, sir, but forgive me if I do not put names to them,’ Powerscourt said. ‘I would not want you to carry round in your head a collection of possible murderers who might be totally innocent. It would be as unfair on you as it might be unjust on them.’