A-a-a,' Esfir heard her own voice reply, trembling in shock. She turned towards Fandorin and grabbed his shoulder so that he would wake up and then wake her as quickly as possible in order to free her from this evil apparition.
But Erast Petrovich was apparently already awake.
'Morning, Masa, morning. I'll be right there,' he said and explained: 'This is my valet, Masa. He's Japanese. Yesterday he hid - that's why you didn't see him. He's c-come now because he and I always do our g-gymnastic exercises in the morning, and it's already very late, eleven o'clock. The exercises will take forty-five minutes. I'm going to get up now,' he warned her, apparently expecting Esfir to avert her eyes delicately.
Esfir didn't. On the contrary, she sat up a little and propped her cheek on one arm bent at the elbow in order to give herself a better view.
The State Counsellor hesitated for a moment, then emerged from under the blankets and got dressed very quickly in the same kind of white overalls as his Japanese valet.
On calmer consideration, she could clearly see that it wasn't a shroud at all, but a loose white jacket, with pants in the same style. It looked rather like underwear, except that the material was denser and there were no ties on the trouser legs.
Master and servant walked out through the door and a moment later Esfir heard an appalling crash from the next room (which she thought was the drawing room). She jumped up, looking round for something to throw on quickly, but couldn't see anything. Fandorin's clothes were lying neatly on a chair, but Esfir's dress and other elements of her attire were scattered about chaotically on the floor. As a progressive young woman, she despised the corset, but even the other items of harness - brassiere, drawers and stockings - took too long to put on, and she was simply dying to see what those two were doing in there.
She opened the massive wardrobe, rummaged about and took out a man's dressing gown with velvet trimming and tassels. It was almost a perfect fit, except that it trailed along the floor a little bit.
Esfir cast a quick glance at the mirror and ran one hand through her short-cropped black hair. She didn't look too bad at all - which was surprising really, since she hadn't had very much sleep. A short hairstyle was a wonderful thing. Not only was it progressive, it made life so much simpler.
The goings-on in the drawing room were as follows (Esfir had half-opened the door, slipped in without making a sound and stood by the wall): Fandorin and the Japanese were fighting, uttering wild yells as they flung their feet through the air at each other. Once the master landed a resounding kick on his half-pint servant's chest and the poor fellow was sent flying back against the wall; but he didn't pass out, just gave an angry squawk and threw himself at his assailant yet again.
Fandorin shouted something unintelligible and the fighting stopped. The valet lay down on the floor, the State Counsellor took hold of his belt with one hand and his neck with the other and began lifting him up to chest height and lowering him down again without any visible effort. The Japanese hung there calmly, as straight as a ramrod.
'Not only an oprichnik, but a loony as well,' Esfir declared out loud, expressing her opinion of what she had seen. She went off to perform her toilette.
Breakfast brought the necessary explanations, for which there had been too little time during the night.
'What happened changes nothing in principle,' Esfir declared sternly. 'I'm not made of wood, and of course you are rather attractive in your own way. But you and I are still on opposite sides of the barricades. If it's of any interest, I'm risking my reputation by getting involved with you. When my friends find out—'
'Perhaps they don't n-necessarily have to know about it?' Erast Petrovich interrupted her cautiously, holding a piece of omelette suspended halfway to his mouth. 'After all, it is your own personal business.'
'Oh no, I'm not having any secret assignations with an oprichnik. I don't want them to think I'm an informer! And don't you dare address me in such a formal tone.'
'All right,' Fandorin agreed meekly. 'I understand about the barricades. But you won't shoot at me again, will you?'
Esfir spread jam (excellent raspberry jam, from Sanders) on a bread roll - she had a simply ferocious appetite today.
'We'll see about that.' And she went on with her mouth fulclass="underline" ‘I’ll come here to see you. But don't you come to my place. You'll frighten off all my friends. And then, dear Papchen and Mamchen will imagine that I've picked up a desirable fiance.'
They were unable to clarify the situation completely because just at that moment the telephone rang. As he listened to his invisible interlocutor, Fandorin frowned in concern.
'Very well, Stanislav Filippovich. Call round in five minutes. I'll b-be ready.'
He apologised, saying it was urgent business, and went to put on his frock coat.
Five minutes later a sleigh with two gendarmes in blue greatcoats (Esfir saw them through the window) stopped at the gates. One gendarme remained seated. The other, an erect and dashing figure, came running towards the outhouse, holding down his sword.
When Esfir peeped out into the hallway, the dashing young gendarme was standing beside Fandorin, who was putting on his coat. The pretty boy officer, with an idiotic curled moustache and features ruddy from the frost, bowed and gave her a keen, curious glance. Esfir nodded coolly in farewell to Fandorin and turned away.
'... with quite incredible speed,' Sverchinsky exclaimed excitedly. He was concluding his story as they rode along. 'I know about yesterday's arrest and your part in it. My congratulations. But for Pozharsky himself to arrive from St Petersburg on the twelve o'clock train! The deputy director of the Police Department, in charge of all political investigations! A man on his way to the top! He's been made an aide-de-camp. Anyway, he must have set out as soon as he got the telegram from the Department of Security. See what importance they attach to this investigation at the very highest level!'
'How did you f-find out that he had arrived?'
'What do you mean?' Stanislav Filippovich asked resentfully. 'I have twenty men on duty at each main station. Do you think they don't know Pozharsky? They were watching him when he took a cab and told the driver to go to Gnezdnikovsky Lane. They telephoned me and I telephoned you straight away. He wants to steal your laurels, absolutely no doubt about it. See what a rush he was in to get here!'
Erast Petrovich shook his head sceptically. In the first place, he had seen brighter stars from the capital than this one and, in the second place, to judge from the prisoner's behaviour of the previous day, the aide-de camp was hardly likely to win any easy laurels there.
The journey from Malaya Nikitskaya Street to Bolshoi Gnezdnikovsky Lane was much shorter than from the Nikolaevsky Station, and so they arrived ahead of their exalted visitor.
They even beat Burlyaev there, since the Lieutenant Colonel still hadn't heard about his superior's arrival from St Petersburg.
However, no sooner did the five of them - Erast Petrovich, Burlyaev, Sverchinsky, Zubtsov and Smolyaninov - sit down to determine their general position, than the Deputy Director of Police put in an appearance.
A tall, slim gentleman, still by no means old, walked into the room. An astrakhan peaked cap, an English coat, a tan briefcase in his hand. But it was the face that immediately attracted and held their attention: an elongated skull, narrowed at the temples, a hawk-like nose, a receding chin, light-coloured hair, lively black eyes. Not a handsome face, perhaps even ugly, but it possessed the rare quality of initially provoking dislike and then improving greatly on protracted examination.
They all examined the new arrival at length. Sverchinsky, Burlyaev, Smolyaninov and Zubtsov jumped to their feet. As the man of senior state rank, Erast Petrovich remained seated.