Erast Fandorin 04 - The Death of Achilles
Page 35
The bell sounded for a third time and the locomotive gave a cheerful, exuberant hoot of its whistle.
That oversized baby had better not have strayed too far. Fandorin stuck his head out the window, concerned.
There he was, tearing along the platform, clutching a prodigious paper bag. He had two white bandages in different places on his head: The bump at the back was still there and now he had a bad bruise on his temple as well.
But who was that with him?
Erast Petrovich shaded his eyes against the sun with his hand. A tall, thin man with luxuriant sideburns, wearing livery.
Frol Grigorich Vedishchev, Prince Dolgorukoi’s personal valet! What was he doing here? Ah, how very inopportune!
Vedishchev spotted him and waved: “Mr. Fandorin, Your Honor! I’ve come to fetch you!”
Erast Petrovich started back from the window, but immediately felt ashamed. It was stupid. And senseless. And he ought to find out what was behind this incredible coincidence.
He went out onto the platform, holding the briefcase under his arm.
“Oof, I was only just in time…”
Vedishchev puffed and panted, mopping at his bald patch with a loudly colored handkerchief.
“Let’s go, sir, His Excellency is waiting.”
“But how did you find me?”
The young man glanced around as the carriage slowly started to move.
Let it go. What point was there in trying to escape by railway if the authorities already knew which way he was going? They would send a telegram and have him arrested at the next station.
He would have to find some other way to get out of Moscow.
“I can’t go to His Excellency, Frol Grigorich; my circumstances now are such that I am obliged to resign the state service. I… I have to leave as soon as possible. But I will send the prince a letter explaining everything.”
Yes, yes! He could write to Dolgorukoi and tell him everything. Then at least someone would know the full background to this appalling and sordid story.
“Why waste the paper?” Vedishchev asked with a good-natured shrug. “His Excellency is perfectly well aware of your circumstances. Let’s go, you can tell him all the details yourself. All about that murderer, may he rot in hell, and how that Judas of a police chief deceived you.”
Erast Petrovich choked.
“But… but, how on earth? How do you know everything?”
“We have our ways and means,” the valet replied vaguely. “We learned about today’s business in good time. I even sent one of my men along to see what would happen. Didn’t you spot him there? Wearing a cap and pretending to be drunk. In fact he’s an extremely sober individual, never touches a drop, not even after Lent. That’s why I use him. He was the one who told me you ordered the cab to go to the Bryansk Station. Oh, the effort it cost me to get to you in time! And I’d never have found you without the Providence of God — I just happened to spot your Japanese servant here in the buffet. Could you see me running along all these carriages? I’m not a fit young man like you, sir.”
“But is His Excellency aware that this is a matter of… exceptional delicacy?”
“There’s no delicacy involved here; it’s a simple matter, one for the police,” Vedishchev snapped. “You arranged with the chief of police to arrest a suspicious character, a swindler who was passing himself off as a merchant from Ryazan. A highly respectable gentleman, they say, the genuine Klonov — seven poods, he weighs. That addle-headed Karachentsev got the time confused and you had to risk your life. It’s a pity you didn’t manage to take the scoundrel alive. Now we’ll never know what his intentions were. But at least you’re safe and unharmed, dear fellow. His Excellency described the entire business in a letter to St. Petersburg, to the sovereign himself. It’s clear enough what’s going to happen: They’ll throw the chief of police out on his ear, appoint a new one, and there’ll be a decoration for Your Honor. It’s all very simple.”
“Very s-simple?” Erast Petrovich asked, staring curiously into the old man’s colorless eyes.
“Couldn’t be simpler. Or was there something else?”
“No, there wasn’t anything else,” Fandorin replied after a moment’s thought.
“There, you see? Oh, just look at that briefcase you have there. A really fine piece of work. Foreign, I suppose.”
“It’s not my briefcase,” declared the collegiate assessor (no longer former, but quite current once again). “I’m going to send it to the Municipal Duma. It’s a large contribution from an anonymous benefactor, for the completion of the cathedral.”
“Quite large, is it?” the valet asked, with a keen glance at the young man.
“Almost a million rubles.”
Vedishchev nodded approvingly.
“That’s certainly good news for Vladimir Andreevich. We’ll finally get that cathedral off our hands, damn the thing; it’s swallowed more than enough money from the city’s coffers.” He began crossing himself fervently. “Oh, there are still generous people left in Russia, God grant them good health, and when they die may they rest in peace.”
But halfway through crossing himself, Frol Grigorich suddenly remembered something and threw his arms up in the air.
“Let’s go, Erast Petrovich, let’s go, dear fellow. His Excellency said he won’t sit down to his breakfast if you’re not there. And he has a regime to follow — he must take his porridge at half past eight. The governor’s carriage is waiting out on the square; we’ll be there as quick as a flash. Don’t you worry about your oriental here. I’ll take him with me; I haven’t had any breakfast yet, either. I’ve got a potful of yesterday’s cabbage soup with chitterlings — really good. And we’ll throw these bagels away — it’s not good to stuff yourself full of dough. Just swells up the stomach.”
Fandorin looked pityingly at Masa, who was flaring his nostrils and sniffing blissfully at the aroma coming from his paper bag. The poor fellow was in for a terrible ordeal.
THE END
Table of Contents
The Death of Achilles
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
PART TWO
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
EVGENIA
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
MAITRE LICOLLE
ONE
TWO
THREE
’THE TRINITY’
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
PART THREE
WHITE AND BLACK
THE FINAL CHAPTER