Columbine had mastered very well the lesson in dealing with the tribe of yard keepers and doorkeepers that she had once learned from Genji.
‘No, he won’t,’ she said confidently. ‘He’ll reward you for it. And meanwhile, take this.’
And she handed the attendant a rouble.
Cerberus immediately stopped growling and started wagging his tail. He put the banknote away in his peaked cap and told her: ‘All sorts come to see His Excellency. Even Khitrovka bandit types – not up to Your Grace’s standard. His Excellency is staying in the apartment of his friend Lieutenant-Colonel Smolyaninov. On a temporary basis. His Honour Mr Lieutenant-Colonel is in China at present, but we have orders always to let his friend stay for as long as he likes. And his name is Mr Neimless. Erast Petrovich. That’s him.’
‘Erast Petrovich Neimless?’ Columbine repeated the strange name and then could not resist asking: ‘But why do you call him “His Excellency”?’
‘We have a well-practised eye for a real gentlemen, even if he calls himself Ragamuffinov. Only you’ve wasted your time in coming, young lady, Mr Neimless is out, he hasn’t come back home yet. His valet is home though.’
‘The Japanese?’ Columbine asked, to make sure. ‘Masa?’
‘Masail Mitsuevich,’ the attendant corrected her sternly. ‘A most particular gentleman. Would you like to see him?’
‘I would, Since Erast . . . e-e-er . . . Petrovich is not here.’
‘By all means. My wife will show you how to get there. Fenya! Fenya! Show this young lady the way!’ the doorman shouted, turning towards the open door of the porter’s lodge. There was no answer.
‘She must have gone out. And I didn’t even notice,’ Blackbeard said in surprise. ‘Well, never mind, you won’t go astray. Walk along the wall, and when you turn the corner, the steps and porch are right there.’
The porch was quickly found, but when she knocked no one answered. Eventually Columbine’s patience ran out – after all, every minute was vital – and she angrily smashed her open palm against the door, which opened with a creak; it hadn’t been locked after all. A moment later the visitor was already in the small, spartan hallway, where the coat stand was hung with military greatcoats and civilian coats, as well as various belts, whips, bridles and other assorted horse tackle.
‘Masa, where are you?’ Columbine called. ‘I’ve come on urgent business. Will Mr Neimless be back soon?’
She heard rustling sounds and whispering behind a door decorated with a poster of French cancan dancers. Angry now, Columbine moved resolutely towards the sound, jerked the door open and froze.
The Japanese was standing there in his shirt front and cuffs, but with no trousers, helping a lady of ample dimensions who was much taller than him squeeze into a calico skirt. The effect produced by the unexpected visitor’s appearance was dramatic. The well-endowed lady squealed and squatted down, covering her impressive breasts with her hands, but Mr Neimless’s amazing valet set his plump hands against his thighs and bowed in ceremonial fashion.
‘What business, Corumbine-san?’ he asked on straightening up. ‘Urgen’-urgen’ or simpry urgen’?’
‘Urgent-urgent,’ she replied, trying not to look at the fat woman with no clothes on or the hairless legs of the Japanese, although this was not the moment for conventional propriety. ‘We need to go and rescue someone immediately, or something dreadful will happen. Where is your master?’
Masa knitted his sparse eyebrows, thought for a moment and declared decisively: ‘Masta not here. And terephone not ring. I rescue zis someone.’ He bowed to his lady love, who had not yet recovered from her state of shock, and pushed her towards the door. ‘Vewy gratefuw, Fenya-san, prease remember us kindry.’
Fenya (evidently the same woman who had not responded to the doorman’s call) grabbed her shoes, blouse and stockings and shot out of the door. Columbine turned away so that the Oriental could finish getting dressed.
A minute later they were already hurrying towards the gates, with Masa working his short legs so briskly that his companion could hardly keep up with him.
They rode in a cab for a long time, then they had to search for the Kleinfeld apartments in the dark, until eventually they found the grey, three-storey house opposite the Petrovsky Park. As befitted a poet, Gdlevsky rented a room on the attic floor.
As they walked up the stairs (the Japanese leading and Columbine following) she kept repeating: ‘If only we’re in time, if only we’re in time.’
The door was locked and no one opened it when they knocked.
‘Shall I go down to get the yard keeper?’ Columbine asked in a trembling voice.
‘No need. Stand aside a rittur, Corumbine-san.’
She stepped back. The Japanese uttered a peculiar abdominal sound, leapt up in the air and struck the door a terrifyingly powerful blow with his foot, sending it flying off its hinges with a crash.
They dashed to the room, their shoulders colliding in the narrow corridor.
The first thing that Columbine noticed in the twilight was the rectangle of the wide-open window. And she caught a pungent, strangely familiar smell. It was the smell the butchers’ stalls had when she was still a child and the cook Frosya used to take her to the market to buy offal and intestines for the home-made sausage.
‘Yes, was very urgen’, absorutery urgen’,’ Masa sighed. He struck a match and lit a kerosene lamp.
Columbine cried out.
The poet was lying on his front, with his face in a large, gleaming puddle. She saw the light-brown hair on the back of his head, soaked in blood, the arms flung out impotently.
They were too late!
What a terrible hurry he was in, Columbine thought.
She turned away with a shudder and saw a sheet of paper on the table, beside the lamp. Walking across to it on leaden legs, she read the lines of regular, even writing, without a single slip of the pen.
‘Oh God,’ she groaned. ‘Why was he in such a great hurry?’
‘To get away quickry, before he noticed,’ Masa replied, with his face almost touching the dead man. Then he stuck his head out of the window. ‘He did job and wen back ou’.’
‘Who went?’ Columbine sobbed. ‘Where did he go? What are you talking about?’
Masa’s answer came as a shock.
‘Ze kirrer. Came in by fire radder, broke his skull and crimb back ou’.’