‘Ah! I see! Literature for the masses! In my youth, I used to enjoy reading lubki. I do not have time now for such entertainments, I am afraid. My reading matter is largely professional. And woefully lacking in pictures, unlike lubok stories. But I would be interested in reading one of your. .’ Porfiry’s inability to produce the appropriate word could perhaps be seen as insulting. He overcompensated with ‘oeuvres.’
‘You can buy them at the usual places.’
‘And do you write under your own name?
‘I do. I’m not ashamed of my writings. On the contrary, I am proud of them. I know what my readers want. And I know how to give it to them.’
‘And so, you are a literary gentleman. Do you mix in literary circles then? Do you, for example, know a journalist by the name of Kozodavlev?’
‘They look down on us.’
‘Us?’
‘Lubok hacks like me.’
‘Ah, I see. There is a table of ranks within the literary world.’
Rakitin shrugged.
‘So you have never encountered Kozodavlev? Perhaps at one of the name days or birthday parties you mentioned? Such events bring together individuals from every level of society. They are very democratic in that way.’
‘I don’t know any Kozodavlev.’ The stress on the first-person pronoun was barely perceptible. But it was all that Porfiry needed.
‘Did Pseldonimov ever mention a man called Kozodavlev to you?’
Rakitin avoided Porfiry’s eyes, as if by so doing he could make the question go away.
‘Think very carefully. Your friend, your dead friend, urges you to answer honestly, for his sake.’
‘You speak for the dead now, do you?’
‘Of course. That is my job. You have described my job very succinctly. I can see you have a gift for the well-polished phrase. I speak for the dead. I ask my questions on their behalf — on his behalf, Pseldonimov’s. And I do not stop until I have the answers that will satisfy them. They have no one else to speak for them.’
‘Kozodavlev, yes. I heard him mention a fellow called Kozodavlev once or twice.’
‘Kozodavlev is dead too, you know.’
‘No!’
‘We believe so. His apartment was burnt out. A body was found. There is another name I wish to ask you about. Prince Dolgoruky. Do you know him? He operates on the fringes of the literary world, as some kind of go-between. He certainly worked in that capacity for Kozodavlev. Perhaps you have had dealings with him? Perhaps he even attended one of the gatherings you went to?’
‘You are determined to turn me into an informer!’
‘Not at all. We know that Prince Dolgoruky arranged to have something of a personal nature printed up. There is a chance he gave the commission to Pseldonimov.’
‘He wasn’t the only printer in Petersburg.’
Porfiry smiled. ‘Ah, so the workshop is in St Petersburg. And did Prince Dolgoruky ever visit it, I wonder?’
‘Why don’t you ask this Prince Dolgoruky of yours?’
‘I am sure we will, when we next have an opportunity to speak to him. However, in the meantime, I am asking you. Did Pseldonimov ever mention Prince Dolgoruky?’
Rakitin opened his mouth as if to answer. But instead of words, the action seemed to produce a volley of urgent hammering. Porfiry bowed in apology to Rakitin, although it was clear he was relieved at the intrusion.
The cell door opened. The clerk Zamyotov peered in. His demeanour was unusually diffident. ‘Porfiry Petrovich. There is someone who insists on seeing you, right now. I am to say that he is your old friend, Major Verkhotsev.’
‘Verkhotsev? Here? Now?’
‘Yes.’
Porfiry looked down pityingly at Rakitin. ‘Please forgive me. I must talk to this person. I will be back to continue our conversation. Pavel Pavlovich, a word please.’ He drew Virginsky over to one corner of the cell. ‘Stay with him,’ he hissed into Virginsky’s ear. ‘Get him to tell you about the workshop.’ Porfiry gave a confirmatory nod and then looked once more, almost regretfully, at Rakitin, before stepping out.
Major Verkhotsev was waiting for him outside the cell, dressed in his sky-blue gendarme’s uniform and accompanied by two of his junior officers, similarly attired.
So, this was an official visit.
‘My dear, dear friend!’ Verkhotsev held open both arms. Porfiry allowed himself to be embraced, and kissed several times on each cheek.
When he was at last released, he wagged a finger at Verkhotsev. ‘This is not a friendly visit. One does not visit old friends with one’s henchmen in tow.’
‘Henchmen? What an awful word! But you’re right. This is not entirely a social call.’ Verkhotsev produced a sealed warrant and handed it to Porfiry. ‘I have come for the witness.’
‘The witness?’
‘My witness, whom you have kidnapped.’
‘I have kidnapped no one.’
‘Now now, Porfiry Petrovich, don’t play games with me. I think we know one another too well for games. And that reminds me, I hear you have been broadcasting my name, putting it about that I am some kind of contact of yours at the Third Section. That was very naughty of you.’
‘We needed to look at the apartment.’
‘No need at all. I’m sure you have enough cases of your own without poking your nose into other people’s.’
‘But I was working on my own case. That was what led me there.’
‘You were investigating the death of Pseldonimov.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘You know the identity of the body we found? But that has only just come to light.’
‘We have known its identity for some time.’
‘And you did not think to share your information with us?’
‘We do not operate like that, my friend. It is not the way of the Third Section to share information. Although we do insist that others share their information with us.’ Verkhotsev broke off to twirl one of his long waxed moustaches as he smiled at Porfiry. ‘I sometimes think it must be very tiresome for the departments who are forced to co-operate with us.’
‘You cannot force someone to co-operate, my friend. Co-operation is by definition given willingly. When force is involved, it is coercion.’
‘Let us not split hairs. We will take Rakitin off your hands now. We had been watching him for some time and were about to bring him in when your Lieutenant Salytov pre-empted us. Ah, good old Lieutenant Salytov! I remember him well. Of course, how could one forget Lieutenant Salytov? Is he still trading in dead bodies?’
Porfiry ignored the question. ‘I have not yet finished interviewing Rakitin.’
‘No matter.’
‘No matter?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ expanded Verkhotsev with a wink. ‘To me.’
‘Please don’t start winking at me.’
‘You cannot criticise me for winking!’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘Come now, Porfiry Petrovich, let us not argue about such nonsense. The time has come to hand over Rakitin. You will see that the necessary documentation is all in order, signed and countersigned by the appropriate authorities.’
‘Of course the paperwork will be in order. The Third Section is always scrupulous about its paperwork.’
Verkhotsev beamed delightedly. ‘Ah! A savage attack disguised as a compliment! We are scrupulous in paperwork, but not in other matters. The barb was not lost on me, Porfiry Petrovich.’
‘Tell me, how is your daughter, Maria Petrovna?’
‘She is very well. Busy with her school, as always. And shows no sign of marrying. I shall tell her that you asked after her.’
‘Do more than that. Convey to her my deepest affection. Please let her know that I wish her every happiness. And I hope to hear news of a betrothal before too long.’
‘With pleasure. Now, is there anything else you wish to say to me before we take away the witness?’
‘What do you mean?’