HOW SENKA TRIED TO KEEP UP
Agh, he was so sick of this damned Yerokha – this rotten musty cellar smell, this pitch-black darkness, those muffled sounds coming from behind the doors of the ‘apertiments’ – even in the dead of night the people living underground were still squabbling, or fighting, or singing in their ugly voices, or crying. But as he went farther and farther along the damp corridors, into the bowels of the Yerokha, it got quieter and quieter, as if the earth itself had swallowed up all the sounds of human living, or existence, to use the scholarly term. And then the memories came flooding back, a hundred times worse than the stench of the basement and the raucous drunken bawling.
This was where the unknown killer had attacked Senka from behind, pulling his hair and almost breaking his neck – Senka’s hand reached up of its own accord to make the sign of the cross.
The Siniukhin family had lived behind that door there – he suddenly thought he could see them staring out of the darkness with their crimson holes of eyes. Brrrr . . .
Two more turns, and there was the hall with the columns, curse the godforsaken place. This was where all the trouble started.
This was the spot where Prokha had lain dead on the ground. Now he’d step out of the darkness, with his fingers spread wide, ready to grab. Ah-a-ah, he’d say, Speedy, you scum, I’ve been waiting for you for ages. It was your fault I met my death.
Senka dashed on quick to get as far away as he could from that bad place, glancing behind him – just to be on the safe side – and ready to cross himself if he saw a phantasmagoria.
He should have looked where he was going instead.
He ran straight into something, only it wasn’t a column, because the supports holding up the ceiling were hard, made of bricks, and this thing he’d run into was springy and it grabbed Senka round the throat with its hands. Then it hissed: ‘Here at last, are you? Now, where’s this Yiddish treasure of yours?’
The Ghoul! He was here already, waiting in the darkness!
Senka bleated in fright.
‘Ah, yes, you’re dumb, aren’t you?’ The terrifying man breathed the words right into Senka’s face then let go of his throat. ‘Come on then, show me the way.’
He really had come alone! He didn’t want to share the riches with his comrades. Now that was real greed for you.
Senka bleated and gurgled a bit more, then led the milker to the corner behind the last column. He pulled out the stones, slipped through the hole and waved his hand: Follow me!
He walked as slowly as he could, even though the Ghoul had lit a lamp and he could have got to the treasure in five minutes. But what was the hurry? He’d only have to spend fifteen minutes billing and cooing with this villainous malefactor, until Death brought her own monsters, the Prince and Deadeye. And then . . . but it was better not to think about what would happen then.
Despite all Senka’s efforts to go slow and put the moment off, the passage finally led them to that exit lined with white stone. Another three steps, and they were at the secret chamber.
‘Gu, gu,’ said Senka, pointing to a heap of silver billets.
The Ghoul shoved him aside and went rushing forward. He darted this way and that across the cellar, holding the lamp up high. Shadows leapt across the walls and vaulted ceiling. The milker stopped by the door blocked with a heap of broken bricks and stones.
This way, is it?’
Senka was still skulking by the way in. He even wondered whether he ought to turn back, leg it and see what happened. But what was the point? He’d probably just run into the Prince.
‘Where’s the treasure?’ the monster asked, stepping right up close to Senka. ‘Eh? Treasure? Understand? Where’s the silver?’
‘Bu, bu,’ the boy Motya replied, shaking his head and waving his arms. To gain time, he said a whole speech like he was talking in tongues: ‘Ulyulyu, ga-ga khryaps, ardi-burdi gulyumba, surdikgurdik ogo! Ashma li bunugu? Karmanda! Shikos-vikos shimpopo, duru-buru goplyalya . . .’
The Ghoul listened to this gibberish then grabbed the halfwit by the shoulders and shook him. ‘Where’s the silver?’ he yelled. ‘There’s nothing here but trash and scrap iron! Have you pulled a fast one? I’ll slice off your ringlets and carve you into little pieces!’
Senka’s head bobbed back and forth and he didn’t like it one little bit. Just imagine – Senka being so impatient for the Prince to arrive! Where had they all got to, had they fallen asleep in that passage?
Maybe he should reveal the secret of the rods to the Ghoul? Erast Petrovich had said: ‘If things look like turning nasty, the boy Motya can recover the gift of speech.’ How much nastier could things get? Senka’s eyes were almost falling out of his head!
Senka opened his mouth to say something meaningful instead of goobledegook, but suddenly the Ghoul stopped shaking him, jerked his hands away and pricked up his ears. He must have heard something.
Soon Senka heard it too: footsteps and voices.
The milker kicked his lamp, which fell over and went out. Suddenly it was very dark.
But not for long.
‘. . . don’t you say anything?’ a muffled voice said from inside the narrow entrance, and then a bright, narrow ray of light came snaking out, fumbling its way across the vaults and along the walls. The Ghoul and Senka froze, but the light didn’t pick them out straight away.
Three people came in. The first, wearing a long frock coat, was holding an electric torch in his hand. The second was a woman. It was the third one, the last to set foot in the chamber, who was doing the talking.
‘Fine, don’t say anything, then,’ the Prince said bitterly. ‘You swap me for a black-face and you’ve got nothing to say? You’re a shameless bitch, that’s what you are, not Death.’
A match scraped as one of the new arrivals lit a kerosene lamp.
The chamber was suddenly bright.
‘Oo-la-la!’ the Jack exclaimed under his breath. He quickly put the lamp down on the floor, turned off the torch and put it in his pocket. ‘Well, fancy seeing you here!’
‘Ghoul!’ the Prince yelled. ‘Is that you?’
The milker didn’t say a word. He just whispered in Senka’s ear: ‘Well, you Yids really are cunning bastards. Get ready to die, you little shit.’
But the Prince seemed to think he was the one who’d been ambushed. He turned to Death: ‘Have you sold me out to this scum, you little slag?’
He raised his fist to hit her, and he was wearing a knuckleduster too. Death didn’t flinch or back away, she just smiled, but Senka howled in terror. A fine operation this was! Now they’d do them both in!
‘Wait, Prince!’ called Deadeye, turning his head this way and that. ‘It’s not an ambush. He’s here alone, the kid doesn’t count.’
The Jack set off across the cellar with his springy stride, muttering: ‘There’s something wrong here, something wrong. And there’s no silver . . .’
Suddenly he turned towards the milker. ‘Monsieur Ghoul, you are not here on our account, are you? Otherwise, you would not have come alone, right?’
‘Stands to reason,’ the Ghoul answered warily, letting go of Senka and sticking both hands in his pockets. Oh Lord, now he was going to start shooting through his pants!
‘Then why?’ Deadeye asked with a glint of his specs. ‘Could it perhaps be on account of a certain treasure?’
The Ghoul’s eyes shifted rapidly to and fro, from one enemy to the other. ‘So?’
‘“So?” – I’ll take that as a yes. And who tipped you off?’ Deadeye stopped talking and signalled to the Prince not to do anything yet. ‘Not a Caucasian gentleman by the name of Kazbek, by any chance?’
‘No,’ said the Ghoul, knitting his sparse eyebrows. ‘An old Yid gave me the nod. And he gave me a guide, this little kike here.’
Deadeye snapped his fingers and rubbed his forehead. ‘Right, right. So what does this strange coincidence signify? A chasm opened wide, replete with stars ...’
‘What are you playing at?’ the Prince yelled, dashing at Death, but he lowered the hand with the knuckleduster. ‘What did you bring us here for?’
‘Just a moment, stop babbling,’ the Jack said, pulling him up short again. ‘She won’t tell you anything.’ He nodded in Senka’s direction. ‘Why don’t we sound out our little betrayer of Christ first?’
The betrayer sunk his head into his chest, wondering whether he ought to shout out about the treasure now or wait a bit longer.
The Ghoul twitched his chin. ‘He’s a loony, all he does is bleat. And when he starts flapping his tongue, you can’t understand a thing.’
‘He doesn’t look like a total loony,’ said Deadeye sauntering towards Senka. ‘Come on now, little gentleman of Jerusalem, talk to me, and I’ll listen.’
Senka started back from the crazy maniac. That made the Jack laugh.
‘Where to in such great haste, young Yiddish maid?’
He was right, there was nowhere to go. After just three steps Senka’s back hit the wall.
Deadeye took out his torch, shone it into Senka’s face and laughed. ‘The hair appears to be false,’ he said, and jerked the wig off Senka’s head. The red side locks and the skullcap slid over to one side. ‘Prince, look who we have here. Oh, how many wonderful discoveries—’
‘You whore!’ howled the Prince. ‘So you and your snot-nosed little lover-boy set the whole thing up! Right, Speedy, you tapeworm, this time you’re really done for!’
Now was just the right time, Senka realised. If things turned any nastier than this, he wouldn’t get another chance.
‘Don’t kill me!’ he shouted as loud as he could. ‘You’ll never find the treasure without me!’
The Jack grabbed the Prince by the shoulders. ‘Wait, we’re in no rush!’
But the Ghoul went flying at Senka instead. ‘So you’re in disguise?’ he yelled, and thumped Senka on the ear with his fist.
It was a good thing the crooked wig cushioned the blow, or it would have knocked the life clean out of Senka.
But it still sent him flying anyway. So before they could carry on beating him, he pointed to the nearest heap and shouted: ‘That’s it, there, the silver! Look!’
The milker followed the direction of the finger. He picked up one of the rods and twirled it in his hands. Then Deadeye walked over, picked up another rod and scraped it with his knife. There was a dull white gleam, and the Ghoul gasped: ‘Silver! Well, I’ll be damned, it’s silver!’
He took out his pen and tried another rod, then another, and another. ‘Why, there must be a ton of the stuff in here!’
The Prince and Deadeye forgot all about Senka and also started grabbing too, setting the metal rods clattering.
Senka crept slowly along the wall, moving closer and closer to Death. He whispered: ‘Let’s clear out of here!’
She whispered back: ‘We can’t.’
‘You what? Any moment now they’ll come to their senses and finish me off!’
But Death wouldn’t listen: ‘Erast Petrovich said not to.’
Senka wondered whether maybe he ought to leave her there, seeing as she was so stubborn. Maybe he would have done too (though that’s not very likely) only just then, speak of the devil, who should arrive but Mr Nameless!
They must have been creeping through the passage on tiptoe, because no one had heard them coming.
Three people stepped into the chamber, one after another: Erast Petrovich, Superintendent Solntsev and Boxman. The engineer was holding a torch (which, as it happens, he put out straight away – it was light enough already); the superintendent was holding a revolver in each hand, and Boxman just held up his massive great fists.
‘Reach for the sky!’ the superintendent cried in dashing style. ‘Or I’ll drop you where you stand!’
Mr Nameless stood on his left, and the constable on his right.
The two bandits and the milker froze. The Ghoul was the first to drop his silver rod. He turned round slowly and raised his hands. The Prince and Deadeye followed.
‘That’s my boys!’ Solntsev exclaimed cheerfully. ‘All my sweethearts are here! All my little darlings! And you too, mademoiselle! What are you doing in a place like this! I warned you to be a bit choosier with your acquaintances! Now you have only yourself to blame!’ He glanced quickly at Erast Petrovich and Boxman. ‘Get your revolvers out, what do you think you’re doing? With this treacherous lot, you never know what might happen.’
‘I don’t have a f-firearm on my person today,’ the engineer replied calmly. ‘It will not be n-necessary.’
The constable boomed: ‘And I don’t need one. I’ll lay them out with my fists if need be.’
The superintendent was nobody’s fool, thought Senka. He’d chosen the right man for his assistant.
‘Madam, and you, S-Senya, stand behind me,’ Erast Petrovich said in a voice that couldn’t be argued with.
But it didn’t cross Senka’s mind to object – he ran behind the engineer in a trice and stood right beside the way out. Even headstrong Death didn’t dare argue and she stood beside him.
‘Innokentii Romanovich, p-permit me to address everyone b-briefly,’ Mr Nameless said to the superintendent. ‘I have to explain the t-true significance of this gathering to all p-present here.’
‘The true significance?’ Solntsev exclaimed in surprise. ‘But that’s obvious – the arrest of these villains. The only thing I’d like to know is how you managed to lure them all in here. And who is that picturesque character?’
Those last words were aimed at Senka, who stepped back into the mouth of the passage, just in case.
‘That is m-my assistant,’ Erast Petrovich explained, ‘but my address will not be c-concerned with that.’ He cleared his throat and spoke more loudly, so everyone could hear. ‘Gentlemen, I have very little t-time. I have gathered you here in order to p-put an end to everything at once. Tomorrow – or, rather, t-today –I am departing from the c-city of Moscow, and I must conclude all my b-business here tonight.’
The superintendent interrupted him anxiously. ‘Departing? But on the way here you told me we would wipe out all these lowlifes together, and that would open up tremendous prospects for me . . .’
‘There are s-some things that I find more interesting than your c-career,’ the engineer snapped. ‘Sport, for instance.’
‘What damned sport?’
The superintendent was so surprised that he shifted his gaze from the prisoners to Erast Petrovich. Deadeye didn’t miss a beat, he slipped his hand into his sleeve, but Boxman bounded forward and raised his huge fist. ‘I’ll clobber you!’
The Jack instantly held up his empty palms.
‘Interrupt m-me once again, and I’ll t-take away your Colts!’ Mr Nameless shouted angrily at the superintendent. ‘In your hands they’re not much use in any case!’
Solntsev just nodded: All right, all right, I’ll hold my tongue.
Now that he’d shown everyone who was cock of the walk (at least, that was how Senka interpreted the engineer’s behaviour), Erast Petrovich addressed the arrested men: ‘And so, gentlemen, I d-decided to gather you here for two reasons. The first is that you were all suspects in the c-case of the Khitrovka murders. I already know who the true culprit is, but n-nonetheless I shall explain briefly how each of you attracted my s-suspicion. The Prince knew of the existence of the t-treasure, that is one. He was s-searching for it, that is two. In addition, in recent m-months he has been transformed from an ordinary hold-up artist into a ruthless k-killer, that is three. You, Mr D-Deadeye, also knew about the treasure, that is one. You are m-monstrously cruel, that is two. And finally, you are p-playing a double game behind your patron’s b-back: you despise him, steal from his t-table and sleep in his bed. That is three.’
‘What?’ the Prince roared, turning towards his adjutant. ‘What’s that he said about my bed?’
The Jack smirked, but it was a look that gave Senka goose pimples all over.
But meanwhile Mr Nameless had already turned to the Ghoul: ‘As f-for you, Mr Milker, you have been obsessed b-by the Prince’s rapid ascent. As a vulture who preys on the spoils of others’ efforts, you are always attempting to g-grab a chunk of your rival’s good f-fortune: loot, g-glory, a woman. That is one. You do not stop short at m-murder, but you only resort to this extreme measure after having t-taken all possible precautions. Like the Khitrovka Treasure Hunter, who is d-distinguished by his positively maniacal c-caution. That is two . . .’
‘A woman?’ the Prince interrupted – he was listening intently to the case for the prosecution. ‘What woman? Death, is that who he means? Don’t tell me the Ghoul got his dirty paws on you as well?’
Senka looked at Death and saw she was as pale as death (no, better to say ‘pale as a sheet’, or ‘white as snow’, or else it will be confusing). But she just laughed.
‘Yes, he did, and your friend Deadeye too. You’re all as good as each other – spiders!’
The Prince swung round and launched a punch at the side of the Jack’s head, but Deadeye seemed to be expecting it – he leapt back nimbly and pulled a knife out of his sleeve. The Ghoul dug one hand into his pocket too.
‘Stop that!’ the superintendent yelled. ‘Or you’ll go down where you stand! All three of you!’
They froze, staring daggers at each other. Deadeye didn’t put the knife away, the Ghoul didn’t take his hand out of his pocket, and the steel knuckleduster glinted on the Prince’s clenched fist.
‘Put your weapons away immediately,’ the engineer told them all. ‘That includes you t-too, Innokentii Romanovich. You m-might shoot by accident. And in any case, this is n-not cowboys and Indians, or c-cops and robbers, but a different g-game altogether, in which all of you are all equal.’
‘Wha-at?’ the superintendent gasped.
‘Oh yes. You were also one of my suspects. Would you l-like to know my reasons? Very well, I’ll proceed. You are as ruthless and c-cruel as the other guests here. And you will stoop to any base v-villainy, even murder, to further your own ambition. This is q-quite evident from your entire service record, which is very well kn-known to me. It is to your advantage for the n-new ripper from Khitrovka to become the latest s-sensation in Moscow. It is therefore no accident that you are s-so hospitable to the n-newspaper reporters. First create a bogeyman to set the p-public trembling with fear, then heroically defeat your own c-creation – that is your method. That is exactly how you acted a year ago in the c-case of the famous “Khamovniki Gang” – you c-controlled the gang yourself, through your agent.’
‘Nonsense! Wild conjecture!’ the superintendent cried. ‘You have no proof! You weren’t even in Moscow at the time!’
‘But do not f-forget that I have many old friends in M-Moscow, including many among the police. Not all of them are as b-blind as your superiors. But that has n-nothing to do with the matter at hand. I only wish to say that p-provocation and entrapment with a b-bloody outcome are nothing new to you. You are calculating and c-cold blooded. And therefore I do not b-believe in your wild, uncontrollable passion for the Prince’s l-lady love – you only need the lady as a s-source of information.’
‘What, this one too?’ the Prince groaned in a voice filled with such pain and torment that Senka actually felt sorry for him. ‘You’re the greatest whore on God’s earth! You’ve lifted your skirts for all of them, even a lousy copper would do!’
But Death just laughed – a low, rustling laugh that was almost soundless.
‘Madam,’ Erast Petrovich said, glancing at her briefly, ‘I d-demand that you withdraw immediately. Senya, t-take her away!’
The smart engineer had chosen the right moment all right – after he’d stirred them all up like that, they couldn’t care less about Death now, let alone little Senka.
And little Senka didn’t have to be asked twice. He took hold of Death’s hand and pulled her towards the mouth of the passage. Mr Nameless’s meet was going to end badly, no doubting that. It would be interesting to watch it to the end, of course, only through opera glasses, from a seat in the top circle. But as for being on stage when they started bumping everyone off – thanks for the offer, but maybe some other time.
Death took two small steps, no more, and then she refused to budge and Senka couldn’t shift her. And when he took hold of her sides and tried to pull her, she dug her elbow hard into the pit of his stomach, and it really hurt.
Senka grabbed hold of his belly and started gasping for air, but he carried on peeping out from behind her shoulder, trying to keep up with the action. It was interesting, after all. He saw the superintendent back away to the wall and point one revolver at Erast Petrovich and keep the other trained on the bandits.
‘So it’s a trap?’ he exclaimed, just as flustered as Senka. ‘You picked the wrong man, Fandorin. I’ve got twelve bullets in these cylinders. Enough for everyone! Boxman, come over here!’
The constable walked over to his superior and stood behind him, his eyes glinting menacingly under his grey brows.
‘This is not just one t-trap, Innokentii Romanovich, but two,’ Mr Nameless explained calmly after the superintendent called him that strange word again. ‘As I said, I wish to c-conclude all my business in Moscow tonight. I only stated the b-basis for my suspicions so that you would have the f-full picture. The culprit is here, and he will receive the p-punishment he deserves. I invited the rest of you here for a d-different purpose: to f-free a certain lady from dangerous liaisons and even m-more dangerous delusions. She is a quite exceptional lady, g-gentlemen. She has suffered a great deal and d-deserves compassion. And by the way, in c-calling you all spiders, she has suggested an excellent name for this operation. A most p-precise image. You are spiders, and while f-four of you belong to the species of c-common spider, the fifth is a g-genuine tarantula. So, welcome to Operation Spiders in a Jar. The n-narrow confines of this treasure chamber render the title even m-more fitting.’
The engineer paused, as if inviting the others to appreciate his wit.
‘The fifth?’ asked Solntsev. ‘Where do you see a fifth?’
‘Right behind you.’
The superintendent swung round in fright and stared at Boxman, who glared down at his superior from his great height.
‘Constable Boxman is my g-guest of honour here today,’ said Erast Petrovich. ‘A spider of t-truly rare dimensions.’
Boxman barked so loudly, he brought the dust sprinkling down from the ceiling.
‘Your Honour must have lost his mind! Why, I—’
‘No, B-Boxman,’ the engineer retorted sharply. It wasn’t very loud, but the constable stopped talking. ‘You’re the one who has l-lost his mind in his old age. But we’ll t-talk about the reason for your mental derangement later. First let us d-deal with the essence of the matter. You were the prime suspect from the very b-beginning, in spite of all your c-caution. Let me explain why. The vicious m-murders in Khitrovka started about two months ago. A d-drunken reveller was killed and robbed, and then a reporter intending to write an article about the s-slums. Nothing unusual for Khitrovka, if n-not for one certain detail: their eyes were g-gouged out. Then the m-murderer gouged out the eyes of everyone in the Siniukhin family, in exactly the s-same way. There are two circumstances of n-note here. Firstly, it is impossible to imagine any of these exceptional c-crimes occurring on your beat without you f-finding out who committed them. You are the true master of Khitrovka! Superintendents come and g-go, the top dogs in the criminal underworld change, b-but Boxman is eternal. He has eyes and ears everywhere, every d-door is open to him, he knows the s-secrets of the police and the Council. More murders took p-place and the entire city started t-talking about them, but the ubiquitous Boxman d-didn’t know a thing. From this I concluded that you were c-connected with the mysterious Treasure Hunter, and m-must be his accomplice. My suspicions were corroborated by the fact that in s-subsequent murders the victims’ eyes were not put out. I recalled t-telling you that the theory of images being retained on the retina after death had been d-disproved by science . . . But I was still n-not certain that you were the killer and not s-simply an accomplice. Until yesterday n-night, that is, when you killed a young m-man, one of your informers. That was when I finally excluded all the other spiders f-from my list of suspects and focused on you . . .’
‘And how exactly, if I might enquire, did I give myself away?’ Boxman asked, looking at the engineer curiously. Senka couldn’t see a trace of fear or even alarm in the constable’s face.
But then he had to turn his head to look at the superintendent: Are you admitting it, Boxman?’ Solntsev exclaimed in fright, recoiling from his subordinate. ‘But he hasn’t proved anything yet!’
‘He will,’ Boxman said with a good-natured wave, still looking at Mr Nameless. ‘There’s no wriggling out of it with him. And you keep your mouth shut, Your Honour. This has nothing to do with you.’
Solntsev opened his mouth, but he didn’t make a peep. That was what the books called ‘to be struck dumb’.
‘You want t-to know how you gave yourself away?’ Erast Petrovich asked with a smirk. ‘Why, it’s very s-simple. There is only one way to twist someone’s n-neck through a hundred and eighty degrees in a s-single moment, so fast that he doesn’t even have time to m-make a sound: take a firm grasp of the c-crown of the head and turn it sharply, b-breaking the vertebrae and tearing the m-muscles. This requires truly phenomenal physical strength – a strength th-that you alone, of all the suspects, possess. Neither the Prince, nor Deadeye, n-nor the superintendent could have done that. There are not many people in the world c-capable of such a feat. And that’s all there is t-to it. The Khitrovka m-murders are not a very complex case. If I had not been involved in another investigation at the s-same time, I would have got to you m-much sooner . . .’
‘Well, no one’s perfect,’ Boxman said with a shrug. ‘I thought I was being so careful, but I slipped up there. I should have smashed Prokha’s head in.’
‘Indeed,’ Mr Nameless agreed. ‘But that would n-not have saved you from participating in Operation Spiders in a J-Jar. The outcome would still have b-been the same in any case.’
As he peeped over Death’s shoulder, Senka tried to figure out what that outcome was. What was going to happen when the talking stopped? The bandits had already lowered their hands on the sly, and the superintendent’s lips were trembling. If he started blasting away with those revolvers, that would be a fine outcome for everyone.
But the engineer carried on talking to the constable as if he was sitting by the samovar in a tea-house. ‘I c-can understand everything,’ said Erast Petrovich. ‘You didn’t want to l-leave any witnesses, you didn’t even take p-pity on a three-year-old child. But why kill the d-dog and the parrot? That is more than mere c-caution, it is insanity.’
‘Oh no, Your Honour,’ said Boxman, stroking his drooping moustache. ‘That bird could talk. When I went in, the Armenian woman said to me: “Good day, Constable.” And the parrot piped up: “Good day, Constable!” too. What if it had said that in front of the investigator? And that puppy at the mamselle’s place was altogether too fond of sniffing at things. I read in the Police Gazette how a dog attacked the man who killed its master, and that put him under suspicion. You can read a lot of useful things in the newspapers.
Only you can’t read the most important things.’ He sighed wistfully. ‘Like how you can suddenly feel like a young man again, when you’re the wrong side of fifty . . .’
‘You mean there’s no f-fool like an old fool?’ Erast Petrovich asked with an understanding nod. ‘No, they don’t write m-much about that in the newspapers. You should have read p-poetry, Boxman, or gone to the opera: “Love humbles every age of m-man” and all that. I heard you t-telling Mademoiselle Death about “a st-strong man with immense wealth”. Were you thinking of yourself? In t-twenty years of ruling Khitrovka, you must have s-saved up quite a lot, enough for your old age. For your old age, yes, b-but hardly enough for a Swan Queen. In any c-case, that was what you thought. And your impossible d-dream drove you into a frenzy, you c-craved for that “immense wealth”. You started killing f-for money, something you had never d-done before, and when you heard about the underground treasure t-trove, you lost your m-mind completely . . .’
‘That’s love for you, Your Honour.’ Boxman sighed. ‘It asks no questions. Turns some into angels and others into devils. And I’d play the part of Satan himself to make her mine . . .’
‘You scoundrel!’ the superintendent exclaimed furiously. ‘You arrogant brute! Talking about love! Carrying on like this, behind my back! You’ll be doing hard labour!’
Boxman said sternly: ‘Shut up, you little shrimp! Haven’t you realised what Erast Petrovich is driving at?’
The superintendent choked. ‘Shrimp?’ Then he changed tack. ‘Driving at? What do you mean by that?’
‘Erast Petrovich has fallen for Death too, head over heels,’ Boxman explained as if he was talking to a simpleton. ‘And he’s decided that only one man’s going to leave this place alive, and that’s him. His Honour’s decided right, too, because he’s a clever man. I agree with him. There’ll be five dead men left in here, and only one will get out, with these incredible riches. And he’ll get Death too. Only we still have to see who it’s going to be.’
As Senka listened he thought: He’s right, the snake, he’s right! That’s why Mr Nameless rounded them all up here, to rid the earth of these monsters. And to free a certain person who wasn’t supposed to hear all this –just look at the way her chest’s heaving now.
He touched Death on the shoulder: Come on, let’s clear off while the going’s good.
But then things began moving so fast, it set Senka’s head spinning.
At the words ‘who it’s going to be’, Boxman hit the superintendent on the wrists with his fists and the revolvers went clattering to the stone floor.
In a single moment Deadeye pulled a knife out of his sleeve, the Ghoul and the Prince pulled out their revolvers, and the constable bent down and picked up one of the revolvers Solntsev had dropped – and trained the barrel on Erast Petrovich.