Tolya drew himself up. The years since his last encounter with Salytov seemed to have emboldened him. ‘You are a difficult man to help, Lieutenant Salytov. I was going to say, there were rumours.’
Salytov glared at him, as if outraged at his impertinence. ‘What rumours?’ His tone was suddenly less abrasive.
‘Rumours that he engaged in illegal activities.’
‘Pamphlets? I remember we found pamphlets at your lodgings.’
‘Pamphlets, yes. But also. . counterfeiting.’
‘I see. And when was the last time you saw him?’
‘I haven’t seen him for years, I swear. Not since I left Ballet’s.’
‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘I need not have told you about the counterfeiting,’ cried Tolya in outrage.
‘Oh, but you know that it would have been worse for you if you had not.’
‘I swear, I have seen neither him nor Rakitin since that time.’
‘Rakitin?’
‘The one who was always by his side.’
‘I remember him. Grubby individual. Where is he now, this Rakitin?’
‘He used to live in the Petersburg Quarter. I don’t know if he lives there still.’
‘Give me a pie,’ demanded Salytov.
Tolya angled his head warily. ‘What sort of pie would you like?’
‘I don’t care.’
Tolya selected a pastry and wrapped it in a napkin. His movements were constrained by suspicion. Reluctantly, he held it out to Salytov. ‘That will be five kopeks.’
Salytov stared blankly at Tolya, as if he had not heard. He did not take the pie.
Tolya started to withdraw the pie.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Salytov touched Tolya’s wrist with his cane, halting the withdrawal.
‘Do you want it or not?’ demanded Tolya.
‘That’s very kind of you.’ Salytov snatched the pie. He held it for a moment and then tipped his hand so that it fell onto the floor. A moment later, he raised his foot and stamped it down on the pie, squashing it into the ground. ‘Give me another one.’
‘Are you going to pay me for that one?’
‘You gave it to me. A gift. Remember.’
‘This is my livelihood. I cannot afford to have you-’
‘My livelihood,’ cut in Salytov, ‘is tracking down criminals. When you withhold information, it is just the same as me treading on your pies.’
‘I’m not withholding information. You didn’t give me a chance. You don’t have to do all this. I would have told you everything I know anyhow. I have told you everything I know. I haven’t seen Rakitin for years. All I can say is he used to live in a house in the Petersburg Quarter. I did go there once. If you wish, I can tell you where to find it. But I cannot promise that he still lives there. He may do, but if not, someone there may know where to find him.’
‘Are you telling me how to do my job, lad?’
‘No.’ Tolya closed his eyes, his face trembling in exasperation.
‘Because I would not presume to tell you how to sell pies.’
Tolya clamped his lips together.
‘Right. Let’s get going.’
‘Where?’
‘To this house in the Petersburg Quarter, of course. You’re going to take me there.’
Tolya looked down in despair at his cart.
‘You won’t be needing that.’ Salytov made a sharp gesture with his cane to hurry the pastry vendor along.
A friend of the family
‘How extraordinary,’ murmured Porfiry Petrovich, as he closed the door to his chambers.
‘What is it?’ asked Virginsky.
Porfiry handed over the slip of paper that he had received from his clerk Zamyotov only a moment before.
Virginsky read: The Dolgoruky Residence, Liteiny Prospect, 10. ‘What is so extraordinary? That is the correct address, I believe.’
‘I asked Alexander Grigorevich to make enquiries about Lebezyatnikov’s address. This is what he discovered.’
‘Lebezyatnikov lives with the Dolgorukys?’
‘That would seem to be the case,’ said Porfiry. ‘I wonder what his connection with the family is. Princess Dolgorukaya does not seem to be the sort to take in paying lodgers. Still, appearances can be deceptive. When necessity speaks, and all that.’
‘Perhaps his relationship with the ageing princess is not that of a landlady and tenant. Perhaps he lives there on entirely different terms.’
‘What are you suggesting, Pavel Pavlovich?’
Virginsky shrugged. ‘He may be a friend of the family.’ He handed the address back to Porfiry with an ironic ripple of his brows.
*
Porfiry detected no hint of surprise on the elderly butler’s face as he opened the door. Years of serving an aristocratic Russian family had no doubt habituated him to the suppression of that emotion, to the extent that he now seemed incapable of feeling it. His tone was impatient and weary: ‘I shall tell the Princess that you are here.’
‘There is no need to disturb your mistress, Alexey Yegorovich. We have come to speak to Vissarion Stepanovich.’ Porfiry enjoyed a moment of satisfaction as a tremor of elusive surprise did at last cause a small convulsion in the butler’s face.
Alexey Yegorovich recovered himself quickly. ‘Vissarion Stepanovich is out of sorts today.’
‘I am sorry to hear that. However, I am afraid that we must insist on talking to that gentleman.’
The butler bowed and showed them into a drawing room, furnished and decorated in impeccable European style.
Some moments later, Princess Dolgorukaya herself burst into the room, a tiny purple tornado of agitation. ‘It is out of the question. You cannot talk to Vissarion Stepanovich. I will not allow it.’
‘With all respect, dear lady, you cannot prevent it.’
‘He is an old man. An old fool. It will do you no good to talk to him.’
‘Allow me to be the judge of that.’
Princess Dolgorukaya scowled severely at Porfiry. ‘I insist on being present while you interview him.’
‘That will not be necessary.’
‘Do you suspect him of some misdeed? Vissarion Stepanovich is a confused and silly old man, but he is not a criminal. You have my word on that.’
‘Really, Madame, this is a matter between ourselves and Vissarion Stepanovich. We are not at liberty to discuss it with a third party.’
‘How dare you! I am not a third party. I am that man’s sole benefactor and friend. You will have me to answer to if Vissarion Stepanovich is upset.’
‘Please, be assured, it is not our intention to upset him. We merely wish to ask him some questions.’
‘Oh, but you don’t understand. That’s the very thing that will upset him. He finds it very, very difficult to answer questions. It is simply the cruellest thing you can do to him.’
‘Nevertheless, we must speak to him.’ Porfiry watched the elderly princess closely. Remembering the cool demeanour she had shown yesterday, with her chilling denial of maternity, it was hard to believe that this was the same individual in front of him now. What was consistent — he saw now — was her wilful obstruction. In neither case had he interpreted her behaviour as obstruction. She was simply the disappointed mother and the anxiously solicitous friend. But for the first time he began to suspect that there might be an element of pretence to her conduct. She was presenting personas.
The Princess seemed to detect something she did not like in Porfiry’s attention. ‘Very well, speak to him if you wish. He is not a child. I am not his mother. He must answer for himself, and pay the consequences. I have done all I can to protect him.’ She was withdrawing from the fray, certainly, but only because she saw that it was necessary to do so. She had sensed Porfiry’s suspicion, and chose to nip it in the bud. However, she had missed the right psychological moment to do so.
At any rate, she left the room abruptly, possibly to take herself out of the range of Porfiry’s consideration.
The door opened one more time and a gentleman entered the room with such force that it seemed he had been propelled into it. This could only be Vissarion Stepanovich Lebezyatnikov.