‘I know what you’re doing. You’re seeking to delay me while your man — what’s his name? Virginsky, isn’t it? — continues to question the witness in there. You know, I could have just burst in and snatched him away.’
‘That is effectively what you are doing.’
‘Enough, Porfiry Petrovich. Deliver up Rakitin.’
‘And what is to become of my case? Pseldonimov.’
‘Consider yourself relieved of it. I have already supplied your clerk with instructions concerning the files, which will be delivered to Fontanka, 16 forthwith.’
‘Very well. I wasn’t getting anywhere with it anyhow. I will be glad to be rid of it.’
‘That’s a blatant lie, Porfiry Petrovich. If I know you, you were very close to solving it. It is not as difficult a case as some you have successfully concluded.’
‘Ah, but as I have had occasion to say to you before, Pyotr Afanasevich, the moment the Third Section becomes interested in a case is the moment it ceases to interest me.’
‘Then you will not object to me taking your witness?’
‘Finally, you admit that he is my witness! But only when you sense that there is no danger of my contesting your appropriation of him. No matter, you may have him.’ Porfiry gestured to the open cell door.
Verkhotsev gave one last contemplative twirl of his waxed moustache as he bowed to Porfiry. ‘Might I suggest that you go in first and explain to him what is happening? We don’t want to alarm him, do we?’
Porfiry blinked in ironic astonishment at Verkhotsev’s apparent solicitude.
The rings around Rakitin’s eyes were darker than ever: it looked as though he had rubbed them with inky knuckles.
Porfiry sighed despondently. ‘I’m afraid matters have been taken out of my hands. You are to be handed over to another department.’
‘What other department?’
‘You have heard of the Third Section of His Imperial Majesty’s Chancellery?’
Rakitin shifted back on the bench. He reminded Porfiry of a nervous animal scuttling for safety. ‘No! Please! Don’t let them take me!’
‘There is nothing I can do to prevent it.’
‘You said I could go, once I’d told you what I know. I’ll tell you everything.’
‘You mean there is something you have held back?’
‘Call off the Third Section and I will tell you everything.’
‘I’m afraid that’s impossible. Besides which, I don’t have any use for your information. I myself am no longer investigating Pseldonimov’s murder.’
‘But what about the dead? You speak for the dead, that’s what you said. You ask questions on their behalf. And don’t stop until you have the answers that will satisfy them. That’s what you said,’ insisted Rakitin.
‘Yes, but I have been removed from the case. There are some men outside. They have come to take you with them.’
‘Don’t let them take me. I’ll stay here with you. I’ll tell you everything!’
‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.’
‘Do you know what they will do to me?’
Porfiry held a clenched fist over his mouth, as if to prevent an answer inadvertently escaping.
The cell door creaked. The two officers Verkhotsev had brought with him came in.
‘You must go with them,’ said Porfiry quietly.
‘No! No-o! I would rather die! Kill me! Kill me now!’ Rakitin leapt to his feet but did not try to escape. Instead, he began fumbling with the belt of his trousers.
It took Porfiry a moment to realise what he was doing. In that moment, Rakitin had drawn his belt through the air, looped its tongue through the buckle and thrown this improvised halter around his own neck. He now pulled the belt tight. The two gendarmes rushed forwards and wrestled his hands away from the belt. Rakitin sagged forwards. The gendarmes caught him under the armpits and dragged him towards the door. For the most part, Rakitin was passive in their hands, defeated.
Just as they got him to the door, his torso shook violently and he managed to turn himself enough to face Porfiry. His eyes seemed, briefly, brilliantly white.
The secret agent
Zamyotov intercepted Porfiry just outside his chambers. The clerk’s expression was unusually contrite. ‘I really didn’t know what to do for the best, Porfiry Petrovich.’
‘That’s quite alright, Alexander Grigorevich. You did what you had to do. You have sent off the file, I trust?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’
‘You’re not angry?’
Porfiry shrugged and shook his head. He laid a hand reassuringly on Zamyotov’s arm.
‘Porfiry Petrovich, they threatened me, those men.’
‘What’s this?’
‘They took me into your chambers and threatened me. They said they knew all about me. About my. . inclinations.’
‘Alexander Grigorevich, I — !’
‘I have tried to fight them, Porfiry Petrovich, but sometimes it is too much. I have to give in. I know I am vile and worthless. But the Third Section — they must have been spying on me. Or they have spoken to. . my friends. They said they would expose me and prosecute me unless I co-operated.’
‘This is an outrage!’
‘So I had to tell them, Porfiry Petrovich.’
‘My dear Alexander Grigorevich, what did you have to tell them?’
‘The name of the victim. Pseldonimov. That’s right, isn’t it? I overheard Lieutenant Salytov tell you. I was not eavesdropping but you were standing right in front of me at the time.’
‘You mean, they didn’t know?’
‘They didn’t seem to know. Indeed they were most eager to find out.’
‘I see.’ Porfiry stood for a moment, giving himself over entirely to the act of blinking. ‘The sly old fox.’ He suddenly roused himself and bowed to Zamyotov. ‘Thank you, Alexander Grigorevich. There is no need to worry. I shall see to it that nothing comes of this.’
‘Thank you, Porfiry Petrovich.’ Zamyotov gave a broad smile of relief. Then suddenly remembering something, he rushed back to his desk. ‘Oh, and there is one more thing. This just came in. I didn’t know what to do with it now that the file is closed. Should I send it on to Major Verkhotsev?’
Porfiry glanced down at the official slip. ‘No need,’ he said cheerfully.
*
‘A long and eventful day,’ sighed Porfiry, staring down at his empty desk. ‘I suggest we hasten its end. There is nothing more for us to do, after all.’
‘You are content to surrender the case to those. . vipers?’
‘I have no choice, Pavel Pavlovich.’
‘I am surprised to find you so. . passive. You are no Oblomov, after all.’
‘You once, not so long ago, took great delight in comparing me to that exemplar of lethargy.’
‘You remember that?’
‘It wounded me.’ Porfiry gave a pout.
‘Well, I was wrong.’ Virginsky’s brows drew together in thought. ‘He told me the address, you know. Rakitin. Of the workshop.’
‘Oh, Pavel Pavlovich. What are we to do?’
‘Should we not at least go there?’
‘But what would be the point? No. What we should do is forward this information to Major Verkhotsev immediately, so that he can decide what action to take.’
‘You cannot be serious?’
Porfiry considered briefly. ‘You’re right. If it turned out to be a false lead, then we would have merely wasted Major Verkhotsev’s valuable time. It would be better, I think, to look into the matter ourselves, on our own time, and if we find anything we consider pertinent, only then need we trouble the Major. I’m sure he will appreciate our discretion. It can do no harm if you tell me where the print shop is, I suppose. If it is not out of our way, we will pay a visit. If it is too inconvenient, we will not trouble ourselves.’
‘What if Major Verkhotsev finds out you are continuing in the case?’
‘I’m not,’ said Porfiry, ironically insistent. ‘Do you not remember the hash the Imperial State Print Works made of the latest commission with which we entrusted them? It is possibly time for us to investigate other suppliers. Many government departments employ private print shops, I believe.’