A middle-aged man, all grizzled beard and velveteen coat, poked his head suspiciously through the empty door frame as they were making their survey. ‘And who might you be?’ he asked unceremoniously, pointing the stem of his smoking pipe at Porfiry, as if it were a rifle he was intending to discharge.
‘Friends of the deceased,’ said Porfiry. ‘Come to pay our respects.’
‘Strange I never saw your face when he was alive.’
‘Do you see every visitor who comes to every one of the residents in this building?’
‘I like to keep my eyes open.’ His eyes, in fact, narrowed warily.
‘You are the yardkeeper?’
‘That’s right.’ The yardkeeper shifted impatiently. ‘You’ll have to go. This place is unsafe.’
‘I should inform you that we are magistrates. We are here also in an official capacity.’
‘Make your mind up. Magistrates or friends. Which is it to be?’
‘Cannot we be both?’
‘Demyan Antonovich was not the sort to make friends with magistrates.’
‘Are you suggesting he engaged in illegal activities?’
‘Just that he did not much care for the authorities.’
‘Did you see the man who visited him shortly before the outbreak of the fire?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who was he?’
‘He did not show me his passport.’
‘Was he the sort of person you are wont to admit to the building? A respectable gentleman?’
‘If I admitted only respectable folk, the place’d be empty.’
‘Had you seen him around here before?’
‘Mebbe. Mebbe not. Hard to say.’
‘Did you hear their argument?’
‘I did not eavesdrop if that’s what you’re suggesting.’
‘Of course not. It’s just that I assume you keep your ears as well as your eyes open.’
The yardkeeper thought for a moment. ‘I couldn’t tell you what it was about.’ His expression became closed off. ‘You’ll have to go now.’
‘Who is your contact at the Third Section?’ asked Porfiry, abruptly.
‘What’s this?’
‘Ours is Major Verkhotsev. You will have heard of Major Verkhotsev, of course?’
‘No one told me any magistrates were coming.’
‘Forgive me for saying so, but it is not felt necessary to inform you of everything.’
‘I should have been told.’
‘I hope I shall not be obliged to report to Major Verkhotsev that you obstructed us in our enquiries?’
‘Your Excellencies will understand that I have to be careful. I cannot let just anybody wander in and out. That would not do.’
‘Of course.’
‘You will report that I was diligent?’
‘We will tell him you were an exemplary spy.’
The yardkeeper nodded uneasily and backed out of the room, his pipe now clamped securely between his teeth.
‘We will have to be quick,’ said Porfiry. ‘I suspect he will be back.’
‘Quick?’ wondered Virginsky, casting a disparaging gaze about. ‘I see nothing to detain us further.’
‘The gendarmes have undoubtedly picked the room clean. Even so, they may have missed something.’
Virginsky gave Porfiry a sceptical look.
Porfiry began in the bedroom, peering into the glistening black remains of the mattress, his nostrils twitching all the time. ‘The worst of the fire damage is concentrated in this room.’ He glanced up at the ceiling. ‘In fact, the intensity of charring here is such that it would not be unreasonable to suspect the employment of an accelerant.’
‘The earthenware flagon,’ remarked Virginsky.
Porfiry nodded. ‘By the time the accelerant had burnt out, the fire would have taken hold enough to spread to the adjoining room, but with less intensity.’
‘It would be interesting to see the medical examiner’s report on the body found in the bed,’ said Virginsky.
‘Indeed it would, Pavel Pavlovich.’ Porfiry acknowledged Virginsky’s train of thought with a smile. ‘And what question would you most like the medical examination to answer?’
‘Whether he died from the effects of the fire, or whether. .’ Virginsky looked down at the remains of the mattress.
‘Go on.’
‘Or whether he was dead before the fire started.’
‘An interesting question. Though I must say it is an exceedingly difficult issue for a pathologist to settle. So perhaps we should not be too disappointed that we will never see the report.’ Porfiry cast his gaze upwards again, and kept it focused on the ceiling.
‘Heat rises, does it not, Pavel Pavlovich?’
‘Of course.’
‘And with it, specks of soot and other by-products of combustion?’
Virginsky gave his mouth a non-committal tightening.
‘Please, help me move the bed into this corner. The damage here is less. .’ Porfiry broke off, squinting into an area of the ceiling that seemed to have been furthest from the heart of the fire. Virginsky tried to see what had caught the other man’s eye. Porfiry began to push the bed, but it snagged on the damaged boards. ‘If you please, Pavel Pavlovich.’
The two men together manoeuvred the bed to Porfiry’s satisfaction. He kept looking up to compare its position to some point on the ceiling.
‘Your hand please.’ Porfiry held out an arm, and with Virginsky’s assistance climbed onto the metal frame. His quivering legs set off a deafening rattle. The bed seemed to be trying to jump out from beneath him. His torso swayed from side to side wildly. Virginsky pushed manfully against the latent force of Porfiry’s inevitable descent. Porfiry’s free hand flashed up towards the very corner of the room, his fingers snatching desperately. The rash movement hastened the end. Gravity prevailed. The short, plump magistrate toppled onto the taller, thinner one. The two men somehow found themselves sprawled uncomfortably across exposed beams, opposite one another.
‘Got it!’ cried Porfiry triumphantly.
‘What?’
Porfiry opened his palm to reveal a tiny fragment of blackness, smaller than the nail of his little finger, a ragged semicircle, although with one precisely straight side. ‘I don’t know.’ He smiled foolishly at Virginsky. ‘I saw something standing slightly proud on the ceiling. That straight edge seemed peculiar and worthy of investigation.’ Porfiry turned his find over. ‘It appears to be a scrap of paper. Completely charred on one side. But it appears that something is printed on this side. Can you make it out, Pavel Pavlovich? My eyes are not up to it.’
Virginsky hauled himself over and peered into his superior’s hand. ‘It’s just letters.’
‘Yes, but what letters?’ demanded Porfiry roughly.
Virginsky reached out and turned the fragment.
‘Be careful! It’s very fragile,’ warned Porfiry.
The paper was indeed flimsy to the touch. ‘It is this way up, I think,’ said Virginsky. ‘Four rows of letters. G-o. O-f, space m. S-t-i-t. N-o. Go, Of m, Stit, No. It’s obviously a remnant from a larger sheet.’
‘The rest of which was no doubt destroyed in the conflagration.’ Porfiry looked up to the ceiling again. ‘Or recovered by the gendarmes. Which amounts to the same thing, as far as we are concerned.’ With a strenuous grunt, Porfiry heaved himself to his feet. He squinted into his palm, as if he were intent on reading his own fortune. ‘This tiny scrap alone drifted up to adhere to the ceiling.’
‘Surely there’s not enough there to constitute a meaningful clue?’ objected Virginsky. And yet even as he dismissed it, he felt that the wisp of paper might contain the significance Porfiry wished to impart to it. Perhaps it was something to do with the miraculous way Porfiry had plucked it out of the ravages of the fire. Or perhaps it was because the letters that he could make out were so tantalisingly close to meaning something that he could not accept their essential randomness. There had to be a message contained there. It was simply a question of decoding it. And if there was a message, it had to have a bearing on the case. He knew of course that this final piece of reasoning was flawed. Even so, it was hard to resist. Something about those few letters resonated deep within him.