The man with the interesting face halted in the doorway, pausing to return the Muscovites' curious gaze, and then suddenly spoke in a loud, solemn voice: 'The official who has arrived from St Petersburg on special instructions himself requires your presence in his room immediately' Then he laughed at the reference to Gogol, and corrected himself. 'Or, rather, he is glad to see you and requires only one thing: a cup of strong coffee. You know, gentlemen, I am quite unable to sleep in a train. The shaking of the carriage sets my brain fidgeting inside my head and prevents the thought process from closing down. You, of course, are Mr Fandorin' - the visitor bowed lightly to the State Counsellor. 'I've heard a lot about you. Glad to be working together. You are Sverchinsky. You are Burlyaev. And you?' he asked, glancing inquiringly at Smolyaninov and Zubtsov.
They introduced themselves, and the new arrival looked at Zubtsov with especial interest.
'Yes, of course, Sergei Vitalievich, I know. I've read your reports. Competent.'
Zubtsov turned pink.
'Judging from the considerate attention that you have accorded my person, you have agents at the station and I was recognised. Nonetheless, I hope you will give a warm welcome to Prince Gleb Georgievich Pozharsky. For three hundred years the eldest sons of our clan have all been either Gleb or Georgii -in honour of our patron saints, Gleb of Murom and George the Victorious. A tradition hallowed by the centuries, so to speak. So, the minister has personally instructed me to head the investigation into the case of the murder of Adjutant General Khrapov. From us, gentlemen, rapid results are expected. Exceptional zeal will be required, and especially from you.' Pozharsky pronounced these final words with significant emphasis and paused for the Muscovites to take his meaning. 'Time, gen-tlemen - time is precious. Fortunately last night, when your telegram arrived, I was in my office. I packed this little briefcase here and grabbed my suitcase -I always keep one ready in case I need to leave at short notice - and caught the train. Now I'll take ten minutes to drink coffee and at the same time listen to your ideas. Then we'll have a talk with the prisoner.'
Erast Petrovich had not seen an interrogation like this one before.
'Why's he sitting there all trussed up, as if he was in the electric chair?' Prince Pozharsky exclaimed in surprise when they entered the interrogation room. 'Have you heard about the latest American invention? They connect electrodes here and here' -he jabbed a finger at the seated man's wrist and the back of his head - 'and switch on the current. Simple and effective.'
'Would you be trying to frighten me?' the bound man asked with an insolent smile that exposed the gap in his teeth. 'Don't bother. I'm not afraid of torture.'
'Oh, come now,' Pozharsky exclaimed in surprise. 'What torture? This is Russia, not China. Do tell them to untie him, Pyotr Ivanovich. This Asiatic barbarity really is too much.'
'He's a violent individual,' Burlyaev warned him. 'He could attack you.'
The prince shrugged: 'There are six of us, all exceptionally well built. Let him attack.'
While the straps were being unfastened, the man from St Petersburg examined the captured terrorist with keen interest. Then suddenly he spoke with intense feeling: 'My God, Nikolai Iosifovich, you have no idea just how glad I am to see you. Let me introduce you, gentlemen. You see before you Nikolai Seleznyov, a fearless hero of the revolution. The very man who shot Colonel von Bock last summer, and then escaped from a prison carriage with guns blazing and bombs exploding all around. I recognised him immediately from your description. So I grabbed the file and set off. For such a dear friend six hundred versts is no distance.'
It would be hard to say on whom this announcement produced the greatest effect - the dumbfounded Muscovites or the prisoner, who froze with an extremely stupid expression on his face: his lips extended in a smile, but his eyebrows already raised in surprise.
'And I am Colonel Pozharsky, deputy director of the Police Department. You, Nikolai Iosifovich, are a member of the Combat Group these days, which means we have already met, on Aptekarsky Island. A quite unforgettable encounter.'
Maintaining his energetic tempo, he continued: And you, my darling, have been sent to me by God himself. I was almost thinking of retiring, but now you've turned up. I could just kiss you.' He even made a move towards the prisoner as if he were about to embrace him, and the fearless terrorist involuntarily shrank back into his chair.
'On my way here in the train, I composed a little article,' the dashing aide-de-camp told Rahmet in a confidential tone, extracting a piece of paper covered in writing from his briefcase. 'It is entitled "The End of the Combat Group is Nigh". With a subheading: 'A triumph for the Police Department". Listen to this: "The fiendish murder of the fondly remembered Ivan Fyodorovich Khrapov has not gone unavenged for long. The martyr's body has not yet been committed to the ground, but the investigative agencies of Moscow have already arrested the extremely dangerous terrorist N.S., who has provided detailed testimony concerning the activities of the Combat Group of which he is a member." The style's a little bit untidy, but never mind, the editor will fix that. I won't read any more - you get the gist.'
The prisoner, whose name was apparently Nikolai Iosifovich Seleznyov, chuckled: 'It's clear enough. So you're threatening to compromise me in the eyes of my comrades?'
'And for you that will be more terrible than the gallows,' the prince assured him. 'In the jails and labour camps, not a single political prisoner will offer you his hand. Why should the state take an unnecessary sin on its soul by executing you? You'll put the noose round your own neck.'
'Oh no I won't. They'll believe me before you. My comrades know all about the Okhranka's little tricks.'
Pozharsky did not try to deny that. 'Of course, who's going to believe that the immaculate hero of terror broke down and told all? It's psychologically unconvincing, I realise that. Only is he ... Oh, Lord, where are they ...?' He rummaged in his tan briefcase and drew out a pile of small rectangular cards. 'There now. I gave myself a fright - thought I must have left them behind on my desk. Only, as I was saying, is he really so immaculate? I know you have very strict morals in your party. You'd do better to join the anarchists, Nikolai Iosifovich; their morals are a bit more - you know, lively. Especially with your curious nature. Just take a look at these photographs, gentlemen. Taken through a secret aperture in one of the most depraved establishments on the Ligovka. It's our Nikolai Iosifovich here - there he is at the back. And he's with Lubochka, an eleven-year-old child. That is, of course, a child in terms of her age and physique, but in terms of experience and habit, very far indeed from a child. But if you don't know her personal history, it looks quite iniquitous. Here, Pyotr Ivanovich, take a look at this one. You can see Nikolai Iosifovich quite clearly here.'
The policemen crowded round Pozharsky, examining the photographs with keen interest.
'Look, Erast Petrovich, it's disgusting!' Smolyaninov exclaimed indignantly, holding out one of the photographs to Fandorin.
Fandorin glanced at it briefly and said nothing.
The prisoner sat there pale-faced, biting his lips.
'You take a good look too,' said the prince, beckoning him with his finger. 'You'll find it interesting as well. Sergei Vitalievich, my dear fellow, give them to him. It doesn't matter if he tears them up, we'll print more. When these photos are taken into account, Mr Seleznyov's psychological profile acquires a quite different emphasis. I understand, you know, Nikolai Iosifovich,' he said, turning back to the terrorist, who was gaping in stupefaction at one of the photographs; 'it's not that you're an out-and-out pervert, you simply felt curious. A dangerous quality, excessive curiosity'