‘I’ll give you a law,’ Fandorin hissed, and put his hand inside his jacket.
The robbers instantly pushed me away and took to their heels. But they took with them the livery and my wallet – with forty-five roubles and small change inside it.
I did not know if I could consider myself saved or, on the contrary, I had simply fallen out of the frying pan into the fire, as they say. That wolfish grin distorting Fandorin’s smooth features could hardly bode me any good, and I watched in horror as his hand drew something out of his inside pocket.
‘Here, take that.’
It was not a knife or a pistol, merely a handkerchief.
‘What am I going to do with you, Ziukin?’ Erast Petrovich asked in his normal voice and the appalling grimacewas replaced by a crooked smile which, to my mind, was equally repulsive. ‘Of course, I spotted you back at Neskuchny Park, but I didn’t expect you to stay in Khitrovka – I thought you would take fright and retreat. However, I see you are not a man who frightens easily.’
I did not know what to say to that, so I said nothing.
‘I ought to leave you here wandering around naked. It would be a lesson to you. Explain to me, Ziukin, what on earth made you come traipsing after us?’
The fact that he was no longer speaking like a bandit but in his usual gentleman’s voice made me feel a bit calmer.
‘What you told me about the boy was not convincing,’ I replied. I took out my own handkerchief, threw my head back and squeezed my bloodied nose. ‘I decided to check on you.’
Fandorin grinned.
‘Bravo, Ziukin, b-bravo. I had not expected such perspicacity from you. You are quite right. Senka Kovalchuk told me everything he knew, and he’s an observant boy – it’s part of his p-profession. And he’s bright – he realised that I wouldn’t let him go otherwise.’
‘And he told you how to find the “bold face” who hired him?’
‘Not exactly, for that of course is something that our young acquaintance does not know, but he gave an exhaustive description of his employer. Judge for yourself: a bold face, slit eyes, clean-shaven, thick lips, a “general’s” cap with a lacquer peak, a red silk shirt, boots with a loud squeak and lacquer galoshes . . .’
I looked at Fandorin’s own attire and exclaimed: ‘That’s amazing, you’re dressed in exactly the sameway. There are plenty of young fellows like that around in Moscow.’
‘By no means,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You certainly won’t see them around Moscow very often, but in Khitrovka you can meet them, although not in such v-very large numbers. It’s not just a matter of clothes, this is the supreme Khitrovka chic – the red silk and the lacquer galoshes. Only the toffs, that is bandits at the very top of the hierarchy, can presume to wear this outfit. To make it easier for you to understand, Ziukin, to them it is something like a gentleman-in-waiting’s uniform. Did you see the way those d-dogs scarpered at the sight of me?’
‘Scarpered’, ‘dogs’ – what sort of way is that to talk? I could see that there was very little of the state counsellor left in Fandorin. This man rather reminded me of cheap gilded tableware from which the upper layer has peeled away, exposing the vulgar tin.
‘What “dogs” do you mean?’ I asked, to make it clear that I would not agree to converse in criminal argot.
‘“Dogs”, Ziukin, are petty thieves and ruffians. For them, toffs like me are b-big bosses. But you interrupted me before I could tell you the bold face’s most important characteristic.’ He paused and then, with a pompous air, as if he were saying something very important, he said: ‘All the time he was talking to Senka – and he spoke to him for at least half an hour – this individual never took his right hand out of his pocket and kept jingling his small change.’
‘You believe that this habit is enough for you to find him?’
‘No,’ Fandorin sighed. ‘I believe something quite different. But anyway it will soon become clear whether my assumption is correct or not. Masa has to establish that. And if I am right, we intend to look for Mr Bold Face while Doctor Lind is playing cat and mouse with the police.’
‘And where is Mr Masa?’
Erast Petrovich waved his hand vaguely.
‘Not far from here, in a basement, a secret Chinese opium den. It moved from Sukharevka to Khitrovka after a police raid the year before last. Those people know all sorts of things.’
‘You mean that Mr Masa can speak Chinese?’
‘A little. There are many Chinese in his home town of Yokahama.’
Just then we heard an intricate bandit-style whistle from around the corner and I cringed.
‘There he is now,’ Fandorin said with a satisfied nod. He folded his fingers together in some special manner and whistled in exactly the same way, only even more piercingly – it actually left me deaf in one ear.
We walked on along the narrow side street and very soon met the Japanese. He was not at all surprised to see me and merely bowed ceremonially. I nodded, feeling extremely stupid without my livery and with blood spattered on my shirt.
They babbled away to each other in some incomprehensible language – I don’t know whether it was Japanese or Chinese – and all I could make out was the constant repetition of the word stump, which failed to make anything clearer to me.
‘I was right,’ Fandorin eventually condescended to explain. ‘It really is Stump – he has lost one hand and is in the habit of holding the stump in his pocket. He is a very serious bandit, the head of one of the new and most dangerous gangs in Khitrovka. The Chinese say their hideout is on Podkopaevka Street, in an old wine warehouse. It won’t be easy to get in there – they post sentries as if it was an army barracks, and they have even introduced a “scrip”, that is a password . . . That’s all very well, but what am I going to do with you, Ziukin? You’ve made yourself a real problem now. I can’t let you go wandering round Khitrovka on your own. You never know, you could get your throat cut.’
I was greatly piqued by these words and was on the point of saying that I would manage very well without anyone else looking after me – although, I must admit, I did not find the thought of a solitary stroll through the Khitrovka evening very attractive – when he asked: ‘Tell me, Ziukin, are you a physically robust man?’
I straightened my shoulders and replied with dignity: ‘I have served at court as a footman and postilion and on excursions. I do French gymnastics every morning.’
‘All right then, we’ll s-see,’ said Fandorin, with an insulting note of doubt in his voice. ‘You’ll come with us. Only on one condition: don’t take any action on your own; you must obey Masa and myself unquestioningly. Do you give me your word?’
What else could I do? Go back with nothing, as they say, for all my pains? And would I be able to get out of this cursed place on my own? And then it would be verymuch to the point to find this Stump. What if Fandorin was right, and the police operation on Arbat Street failed to produce any results?
I nodded.
‘Only your appearance isn’t really suitable for Khitrovka, Ziukin. You could compromise Masa and myself. Who can we turn you into? Well, at least a servant from a good house who has taken to drink.’
And, so saying, Fandorin leaned down, scooped up a handful of dust and poured it on the crown of my head, then wiped his dirty hand on my shirt, which was already stained with red blotches.
‘Ye-es,’ he drawled in satisfaction. ‘That’s a bit better.’
He squatted down and tore the gold buckles off my shoes, then suddenly took hold of my culottes and jerked hard, so that the seam at the back split and parted.
‘What are you doing?’ I cried in panic, jumping back.
‘Well, how’s that, Masa?’ the crazed state counsellor asked the Japanese, who inclined his head, looked me over and remarked: ‘Stockings white.’