‘What do you look like, Ziukin? Where have you been? What was Fandorin up to? It’s most opportune that he should have taken you into his confidence. Come on, tell me; you and I are from the same department.’
‘It was all pointless, Your Honour,’ I said, without knowing why. ‘We just wasted our time. Who is serving His Majesty and Their Highnesses?’
‘The sovereign’s valet and Simeon Alexandrovich’s butler.’
Oh, how shameful!
Never before had I washed and changed with such speed. Just ten minutes later, after putting myself in order, I quietly entered the drawing room and thanked Foma Anikeevich and Dormidont with a bow.
There were no drinks or hors d’œuvres on the table – only ashtrays and a rather small brown paper package that had already been opened. Just to be on the safe side I took a tray from the side table and started setting out glasses on it, and in the meantime I stole a quick glance at the faces of those present, trying to guess what had happened.
The sovereign was nervously smoking a papyrosa. Kirill Alexandrovich was wearily rubbing his eyelids. The governor general was drumming his fingers on the table. Georgii Alexandrovich was gazing fixedly at the package. Pavel Georgievich looked unwell – his lips were trembling and there were tears in his eyes. But I found Mademoiselle Declique’s appearance most frightening of all. She was sitting with her face in her hands, her shoulders were trembling, and there were convulsive sobs escaping through her fingers. I had never seen her cry before, in fact I had never even imagined that it was possible.
The high police master was sitting apart from the other men, beside the impassive Karnovich, and constantly mopping his forehead and bald temples with a handkerchief. He suddenly hiccuped, flushed bright crimson and muttered: ‘I beg your pardon.’
Then he immediately hiccuped again. In the total silence the indecorous sound was distinctly audible.
I suddenly felt very afraid. So afraid that I swayed on my feet. Oh Lord, surely not?
‘May I take a look?’ Fandorin asked, breaking the silence.
Erast Petrovich had evidently entered the drawing room a minute or two before me. He had changed into a severe English frock coat and even found time to put on a tie.
What was it that he wanted to look at? The latest letter from Lind?
‘Yes,’ Kirill Alexandrovich said morosely. He had evidently taken on the role of chairman out of force of habit. ‘Feast your eyes on it.’
Fandorin took a small bundle, about the size of a fruit drop, out of the package. He unwrapped it, and I saw some small object, pink andwhite, inside it. Erast Petrovich quickly extracted a magnifying glass from his inside pocket and bent down over the table. The expression on his face was as sour as if he had bitten a lemon.
‘Is this d-definitely His Highness’s finger?’
The silver tray slipped out of my hands, the glasses were smashed to smithereens. Everybody started and looked round at me, but I didn’t even apologise – I barely managed to grab hold of the corner of the table in order to stop myself falling.
‘What kind of stupid question is that?’ Simeon Alexandrovich growled angrily. ‘Of course it’s Mika’s little finger! Who else’s could it be?’
Foma Anikeevich walked silently across to me and supported me by the elbow. I nodded to him gratefully, trying to indicate that it would soon pass.
‘Listen to what it says in the letter,’ said Kirill Alexandrovich, and I noticed that there was a sheet of paper lying in front of him.
The grand duke put on his pince-nez and read out the message which, like the previous ones, was written in French.
Gentlemen, you still do not seem to have realised that I am not joking.
I hope that this little parcel will convince you of the seriousness of my intentions. The severed finger is the punishment for your people’s repeated violation of our agreement. The next time there is any foul play, the boy’s ear will be cut off.
Now concerning our business. For the next payment I am expecting you to deliver the diamond bouquet with a spinel from the collection of the empress. The governess must be at mass in the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour from three o’clock in the afternoon. Alone, naturally.
If she is shadowed, you have only yourselves to blame for the consequences.
Yours sincerely,
Doctor Lind
What astounded me most of all was how well-informed the villain was about Her Majesty’s coffret. The small diamond bouquet with a spinel was one of the genuine masterpieces of the imperial collection. It had become the property of the crown as part of the dowry of the bride of Pavel Petrovich, the future Emperor Paul I. This great masterpiece of eighteenth-century jewellery work was valued not so much for the size and purity of the stones of which it was composed as for its sheer elegance. To my mind there was no more beautiful jewel in the entire Diamond Room collection.
‘Oh Lord, poor Alice,’ the emperor said miserably. ‘She is suffering so badly over the loss of the neckband—’
One ought perhaps to have sympathised with His Majesty, especially bearing in mind the the temperament of the tsarina, but at that moment I was quite unable to feel pity for anyone apart from poor little Mikhail Georgievich.
‘We have all had our say, Fandorin,’ said Kirill Alexandrovich, rather brusquely interrupting the sovereign. ‘What do you think? It’s clear now that you were right. Lind is an absolute monster: he will not stop at anything. What are we to do?’
‘Ah, poor little Mika,’ said the tsar, hanging his head disconsolately.
‘We all feel sorry for Mika, of course,’ said Simeon Alexandrovich, striking his fist on the table, ‘but you, Nicky, ought to be feeling sorry for yourself. If the world finds out that some crook has kidnapped your nephew during the coronation of the Russian tsar and is slicing him up like salami—’
‘Sam, for heaven’s sake!’ Georgii Alexandrovich roared in a voice like thunder. ‘You’re talking about the fate of my son!’
‘I’m talking about the fate of our dynasty!’ the governor general answered in kind.
‘Uncle Sam! Uncle Georgie!’ His Majesty cried, raising his hands to heaven in a gesture of conciliation. ‘Let us listen towhat Mr Fandorin has to say.’
Erast Petrovich picked the package up off the table and turned it this way and that.
‘How was it delivered?’
‘Like the previous messages,’ said Kirill Alexandrovich. ‘By ordinary post.’
‘And again there is no stamp,’ Fandorin said pensively. ‘Has the postman been questioned?’
Colonel Karnovich replied: ‘Not only has he been questioned, but all three postmen who deliver the municipal mail to the Hermitage by turns have been under surveillance since yesterday afternoon. They have not been seen doing anything suspicious. Furthermore, the mailbags with the post sent from the Central PostOffice to this postal district are constantly under observation by plain-clothes police. Nooutsiders came close to the bag during the journey from Myasnitskaya Street to Kaluzhskaya Street or later, after the postman set out on his round. We don’t know where Lind’s messages come from. It’s a real mystery.’
‘Well then, until we can solve it, this is what we must do,’ Erast Petrovich said morosely. ‘Give him the bouquet. That is one. No attempts to follow Lind’s people. That is two. Our only hope lies in Mademoiselle Declique’s powers of observation – fortunately, they are very keen. That is three. I have no other recommendations to make. The slightest indiscretion by the police now, and you will not receive the boy’s ear but a corpse and an international scandal. Lind is furious, that much is obvious.’