He gave a sudden jerk and strange sparks lit up in his eyes, completely transforming his ordinary appearance. His face no longer seemed pitiful to Glyceria Romanovna – oh no! Black and red shadows ran across his face; he looked like Vrubel’s Demon now.
‘Oh God, my darling, my darling, I love you…’ Lidina babbled, stunned by the realisation. ‘How could I… You are the dearest thing that I have!’
She reached out to him with her arms, her face, her entire body, trembling in anticipation of his movement in response.
But the former staff captain made a sound like a snarl and shrank back.
‘Leave,’ he said in a hoarse voice. ‘Leave immediately.’
Lidina could never remember running out into the street.
Rybnikov stood there for a while in the entrance hall, absolutely motionless, gazing at the little flames of the candles with his face set in a stiff, lifeless mask.
Then there was a quiet knock at the door.
He leapt across in a single bound and wrenched the door open.
The countess was standing on the porch.
‘I’m sorry for bothering you,’ she said, peering into the semi-darkness. ‘It’s noisy in the house tonight, so I came to ask whether our guests are bothering you. I could tell them that a string has broken in the piano and set up the gramophone in the small drawing room. That would be quieter…’
Sensing something strange in her lodger’s behaviour, Countess Bovada stopped in mid-phrase.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
Without speaking, Vasilii Alexandrovich took hold of her hand and pulled her towards him.
The countess was a hard-headed woman and extremely experienced, but she was bewildered by the suddenness of this.
‘Come on,’ said the transformed Rybnikov, jerking her in after him.
She followed him, smiling mistrustfully.
But when Vasilii Alexandrovich forced his lips against hers with a dull moan and clasped her in his strong arms, the smile on the plump, beautiful face of the Spanish grandee’s widow changed first to an expression of amazement and, later, to a grimace of passion.
Half an hour later Beatrice was unrecognisable, weeping on her lover’s shoulder and whispering words that she had not spoken for many years, since her early girlhood.
‘If you only knew, if you only knew,’ she kept repeating as she wiped away the tears, but what exactly he ought to know, she was unable to explain.
Rybnikov barely managed to bundle her out.
When he was finally left alone, he sat down on the floor in an awkward, complicated pose. He stayed like that for exactly eight minutes. Then he got up, shook himself like a dog and made a telephone call – exactly half an hour before midnight, as arranged.
And at the same time, at the far side of the boulevard ring, Lidina, who had not yet removed her evening wrap and her hat, was standing in front of the mirror in her hallway, weeping bitterly.
‘It’s finished… My life is finished,’ she whispered. ‘Nobody, nobody needs me…’
She swayed, caught her foot on something that rustled and cried out. The entire floor of the hallway was covered with a living carpet of scarlet roses. If poor Glyceria Romanovna’s nose had not been blocked by her sobbing, she would have caught the intoxicating scent on the stairway.
From out of the dark depths of the apartment came entrancing sounds, creeping stealthily at first, then flowing in a burgeoning flood. The magical voice sang Count Almaviva’s serenade.
‘Ecco, ridente in cielo spunta la bella aurora…’
The tears gushed out of Glyceria Romanovna’s lovely eyes faster than ever.
The fourth syllable, in which the name of the Japanese God is taken in vain
The very moment that Evstratii Pavlovich finished reading the urgent message from the senior member of the squad that had arrived from St Petersburg to replace the agents slain by the metal stars, he jumped up from his desk and dashed to the door – he even forgot about his bowler hat.
The duty carriages were standing ready at the entrance to the Okhrana building, and the drive from Gnezdnikovsky Lane to Chistoprudnaya Street was about ten minutes, if you drove like the wind.
‘Heigh-ho, heigh-ho,’ the court counsellor kept repeating to himself, trying to read the note once again – it was not easy: the carriage was bouncing over the cobbled street, there was not enough light from the street lamps, and Smurov had scrawled the note like a chicken scribbling with its foot. It was quite obvious that the highly experienced agent who had been charged with following Fandorin’s movements was seriously agitated – the letters jumped and skipped, the lines were lopsided.
I took over the watch at 8 from sen. agent Zhuchenko, at the house of General Charme. Silver Fox emerged from the entranceway at three minutes to 9, accompanied by a little lady who has been given the code name Bimbo. They took a cab to Ostozhenka Street, the Bomze House. Silver Fox emerged at 9.37 and five minutes later Bimbo came running out. I sent two men to follow Silver Fox, Kroshkin and I followed Bimbo – I was quite impressed by how agitated she seemed. She drove to Chistoprudny Boulevard and let her carriage go at the Saint-Saëns Boarding House. She walked up on to the porch of the wing. She knocked and rang the bell, but the door was not opened for a long time. From the position I had taken up, I observed a man peep out of the window, look at her and hide. There is a bright lantern outside the building just there and I got a good look at his face. It seemed familiar to me. After a while I remembered where I had seen it: in Peter, on Nadezhdinskaya Street (code name Kalmyk). And then I realised that his description fitted the Acrobat, as described in the briefing circular. It’s him, Evstratii Pavlovich, I swear it’s him!
Sen. agent Smurov
The way the report was written violated the regulations, and the manner of its conclusion was entirely impermissible, but the court counsellor was not annoyed with Smurov about that.
‘Well, what’s he up to? Still there?’ Mylnikov snapped at the senior agent as soon as he jumped down from the carriage.
Smurov was sitting in the bushes, behind the fence of the small park in the square, from where there was an excellent view of the yard of the Saint-Saëns, flooded with the bright light of coloured lanterns.
‘Yes, sir. Have no doubt, Evstratii Pavlovich, I’ve got Kroshkin watching round the other side. If the Kalmyk had climbed out of the window, Kroshkin would have whistled.’
‘All right, tell me what’s happened.’
‘Right, then,’ said Smurov, raising his notebook to his eyes. ‘Bimbo didn’t stay long with Kalmyk, only five minutes. She ran out at 10.38, wiping away her tears with a handkerchief. At 10.42 a woman emerged from the main entrance, we called her Peahen. She walked up on to the porch and went inside. Peahen stayed until 11.20. She emerged sobbing and slightly unsteady on her feet. That’s all there is.’
‘What does this slit-eyed fiend get up to, to upset all the women like that?’ asked Mylnikov, astonished. ‘Well, never mind, now we’ll upset him a little bit too. So, Smurov, I’ve brought six men along with me. I’ll leave one with you. You three are on the windows. And I’ll take the others and get the Jap. He’s tricky all right, but we weren’t exactly born yesterday either. And then, it’s dark in there. He must have gone to bed. Worn out from all those women.’
They doubled over and ran across the yard. Before walking up on to the porch, they took off their boots – they didn’t want any clattering now.
The court counsellor’s men were hand picked. Pure gold, not men. He didn’t have to explain anything to them, gestures were enough.
He snapped his fingers at Sapliukin, and Sapliukin immediately leaned down over the lock. He fiddled about a bit with his picklock, putting in a drop of oil where it was needed. In less than a minute, the door was opened soundlessly.