The Diamond Chariot

The third syllable, in which Rybnikov gives free rein to his passion

On 25 May, Glyceria Romanovna drove along the boulevard in vain – Vasya did not come. This upset her, but not too badly. First, she knew where to find him now, and secondly, she had something to do.

Lidina drove straight from the boulevard to see Konstantin Fyodorovich Charme at his place of work. The old man was absolutely delighted. He threw some officers or other with documents out of his office, ordered hot chocolate to be served and was generally very sweet with his old-fashioned gallantry.

It was not at all difficult to turn the conversation to Fandorin. After idle chat about their common acquaintances in St Petersburg, Glyceria Romanovna told him how she had nearly been caught up in the appalling crash on the bridge, with graphic descriptions of what she had seen and what she had been through. She dwelt in detail on the mysterious gentleman with grey temples who was in charge of the investigation.

Just as Lidina had calculated, this emphatic epithet had its effect.

‘He may be mysterious to you, but not to me,’ the general said with a condescending smile. ‘That’s Fandorin from the Petersburg Railway Gendarmerie. Highly intelligent man, cosmopolitan, a great original. He’s handling a very important case in Moscow at present. I have been warned that my collaboration might be required at any moment.’

Glyceria Romanovna’s heart sank: ‘an important case’. Poor Vasya!

But she gave no sign of her dismay. Instead, she pretended to be curious:

‘Cosmopolitan? A great original? Ah, dear Konstantin Fyodorovich, introduce me to him! I know nothing is impossible for you!’

‘No, no, don’t even ask. Erast Petrovich has a reputation as a heartbreaker. Could it be that even you have not remained indifferent to his marble features? Take care, I shall become jealous and have you put under secret surveillance,’ the general threatened her jokingly.

But, of course, his stubbornness did not last long – he promised to invite the Petersburgian to dinner that very evening.

Glyceria Romanovna put on her silvery dress, the one which, in her own mind, she called ‘fatale’, scented herself with sensuous perfume and even made up her eyes a little, something that she usually did not do. She looked so fine that for five minutes she simply couldn’t go out on to the stairs – she carried on admiring herself in the mirror.

But the odious Fandorin did not come. Lidina sat there all evening, listening to the flowery compliments of her host and the conversations of his boring guests.

As they were saying goodnight, Konstantin Fyodorovich spread his hands and shrugged.

‘Your mystery man didn’t come. He didn’t even condescend to answer my note.’

She tried to persuade the general not to be angry – perhaps Fandorin was on an important investigation. And she said:

‘You have such a lovely home! And your guests are all so wonderful. I tell you what, arrange another dinner tomorrow, with the same set. And write a bit more determinedly to Fandorin, so that he will definitely come. Do you promise?’

‘For the pleasure of seeing you in my home again, I would do anything. But why are you so interested in Fandorin?’

‘It’s not a matter of him,’ said Lidina, lowering her voice confidentially. ‘It’s just idle curiosity. A caprice, if you like. It’s simply that I’m very solitary now, I need to be out in society more. I didn’t tell you. I’m leaving Georges.’

The general appreciated being taken into her confidence. Glancing round at his tedious wife, he immediately suggested lunch out of town the next day, but Glyceria Romanovna quickly scotched that. And in point of fact, the general was quite content with a little moderate flirtation with the attractive young woman; he had brought up the subject of lunch at the Yar restaurant only out of habit, like an old, retired hussar steed champing at the bit when he hears the distant sound of the bugle.

The next day Fandorin did come, although he was late. And in effect, nothing more was required of him – Lidina had no doubts about how charming she was. Today she looked every bit as fine as yesterday. Even finer, because she’d had the idea of putting on an embroidered Mauritanian cap and lowering a transparent, absolutely ethereal veil from it across her face.

The strategy she chose was the simplest, but it was certain.

At first she did not look at him at all, but she was amiable with the most handsome of the guests – a horse guardsman who was the governor-general’s adjutant.

Later she reluctantly acceded to her host’s repeated requests to perform Mr Poigin’s audacious romance ‘Do not go, stay a while with me’, accompanying herself on the piano. Glyceria Romanovna’s voice was not very strong, but it had a very pleasant timbre and its effect on men was infallible. As she sang the passionate promise to ‘quench languorous love with caresses of fire’, she looked by turn at all the men, apart from Fandorin.

When she calculated that the subject should be in the required state of readiness – that is, he should by now be sufficiently intrigued and piqued – Lidina gathered herself to strike the final blow and even set off towards the causeuse on which Fandorin was sitting, but their host spoiled her plan.

He walked over to the guest and struck up an idiotic conversation about work, praising some railway gendarmes captain called Lisitsky, who had come to him recently with a very interesting proposal – to set up a permanent station at the municipal telephone exchange.

‘An excellent idea your subordinate had,’ the general rumbled. ‘That’s the gendarme spirit for you. It wasn’t the civilians in the Department who came up with it, but one of our own! I’ve already given instructions to allocate the apparatus required and a special room. Lisitsky said that the idea of eavesdropping on conversations was yours.’

‘Not “eavesdropping”, but “listening in”. And the staff captain is also being too modest. I had nothing to do with it.’

‘Perhaps you could lend him to me to get things started? A competent officer.’

Lidina sighed, realising that the assault would have to be postponed to a more convenient moment.

That moment arrived when the gentlemen followed the new-fangled custom of withdrawing to the smoking room before the meal. By that time Glyceria Romanovna had conclusively established herself as the queen of the evening, and the subject, of course, was not in the slightest doubt that he was the least attractive of all the squires in the present company. The fact that Fandorin kept glancing stealthily at his watch suggested that he was no longer anticipating any pleasure from the soirée, but was calculating when it would be acceptable for him to beat a retreat.

It was time!

She walked briskly (there was no point in delaying any further) up to the man with the greying dark hair, who was puffing on a small, aromatic cigar, and declared:

‘I remember! I remember where I’ve seen you before! At the bridge that was blown up. It’s not easy to forget such an unusual face.’

The investigator (or whatever it was he was called in his own department) started and fixed Lidina with the gaze of his slightly narrowed blue eyes – she had to confess that they went very well with his silver-shot hair. Anybody would have started at a compliment like that, especially when it was entirely unexpected.

‘Yes indeed,’ he said slowly, getting to his feet. ‘I recall that t-too. I think you were not alone, but with some army man …’

Glyceria Romanovna gestured carelessly.

‘He’s a friend of mine.’

It was too soon to start talking about Vasya. Not that she had any plan of action worked out in advance – she followed only her inspiration – but you should never, under any circumstances, let a man see that you wanted something from him. He should remain convinced that he was the one who wanted something and it lay in your will to give that precious something or not give it. You first had to arouse the hope, then take it away, then titillate his nostrils once again with that magical fragrance.

A clever woman who wished to bind a man to her could always sense to which type he belonged: those who sooner or later will have to be fed, or those who should remain eternally hungry – so that they will be more tractable.

On examining Fandorin more closely, Lidina immediately realised that he was not the Platonic admirer type. If he was led a dance for too long, he would simply shrug his shoulders and walk away.

Which meant that the problem shifted automatically from the tactical phase to the moral or, in unequivocal terms (and Lidina always tried to be supremely honest with herself), it could be formulated thus: could she carry her flirtation with this man all the way through – in order to save Vasya?

Yes, she was prepared for this sacrifice. Having realised that, Glyceria Romanovna experienced a strangely tender feeling and immediately set about justifying such a step.

First, it would not be debauchery, but the very purest self-sacrifice – and not even out of passionate infatuation, but out of selfless, sublimely exalted friendship.

Secondly, it would serve Astralov right – he deserved it.

Of course, if Fandorin had been fat, with warts and bad breath, there could have been no question of any such sacrifice, but although the anglicised investigator was no longer young, he was perfectly good-looking. In fact, more than merely good-looking …

This entire maelstrom of thoughts swept through Lidina’s mind in a single second, so there was no perceptible pause in the conversation.

‘I noticed that you haven’t taken your eyes off me all evening,’ she said in a low, vibrant voice, and touched his arm.

Of course he hadn’t! She had done everything to make sure that the guests could not forget her for a single moment.

The dark-haired man did not protest, but inclined his head honestly.

‘But I didn’t look at you. Not at all.’

‘So I n-noticed.’

‘Because I was afraid … I had the feeling that you didn’t turn up here purely by chance. That fate had brought us together. And that made me feel afraid.’

‘F-fate?’ he asked, with that barely perceptible stammer of his.

He had the right expression in his eyes – attentive and also, she thought, bewildered.

Lidina decided not to waste any time on pointless talk. There was no avoiding what had to be. And she plunged recklessly, head first, into the whirlpool.

‘You know what? Let’s leave. Damn the dinner. Let them talk, I don’t care.’

If Fandorin hesitated, then it was only for an instant. His eyes flashed with a metallic glint and his voice sounded stifled.

‘Why not, let’s go.’

On the way to Ostozhenka Street he behaved very oddly. He didn’t squeeze her arm or try to kiss her or even make conversation.

Glyceria Romanovna remained silent too, trying to work out the best way to behave with this strange man.

And why was he so tense? With his lips clenched firmly together and his eyes fixed on the driver.

Oh, these still waters must definitely run deep! She felt a sweet swooning sensation somewhere inside and rebuked herself angrily: Don’t be such a woman, this is not a romantic adventure, you have to save Vasya!

At the entrance Fandorin behaved even more surprisingly.

He let the lady go ahead, but didn’t walk in straight away himself; he paused, and then entered very rapidly, almost leaping in.

He ran up the stairway first, keeping his hand in his coat pocket all the time.

‘Maybe he’s gaga,’ Lidina suddenly thought in fright. ‘Cock-a-doodle in the head, as they say nowadays.’

But it was too late to back out now.

Fandorin moved her aside and bounded forward. He swung round and pressed his back against the wall of the hallway. He rapidly turned his gaze left, right, upwards.

A little black pistol had appeared in his hand out of nowhere.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Glyceria Romanovna exclaimed, seriously frightened.

The insane investigator asked:

‘Well, where is he?’

‘Who?’

‘Your lover. Or superior. I really don’t know yet what your relationship with him is.’

‘Who are you talking about?’ Lidina babbled in a panic. ‘I don’t under—’

‘The one who set you this assignment,’ Fandorin interrupted impatiently, listening very carefully. ‘The staff captain, your travelling companion. It was him who ordered you to entice me here, wasn’t it? But he’s not in the apartment, I would sense it. Where is he?’

She threw her hands up to her chest. He knew, he knew everything! But how?’

‘Vasya’s not my lover,’ she gabbled, realising through intuition rather than reason that now was the time to tell the truth. ‘He’s my friend, and I really want to help him. Don’t ask me where he is, I won’t tell you. Erast Petrovich, dear man, I want to ask you for clemency.’

‘For what?’

‘For clemency! A man committed a foolish error. From your military point of view it might be considered a crime, but it’s nothing more than absentmindedness! Surely absentmindedness ought not to be punished so severely!’

The man with dark hair wrinkled up his forehead and put the pistol away in his pocket.

‘I don’t q-quite understand … Who are you talking about?’

‘Why about him, about him! Vasya Rybnikov! Yes, I know, he lost that drawing of yours, but now do you have to destroy a good man? Why, it’s monstrous! The war will be over in a month, or maybe six, and he has to serve hard labour? Or even worse? It’s not human, it’s not Christian, you must agree!’ And this all flooded out so sincerely and soulfully that the tears sprang to her own eyes.

Even this cold fish Fandorin was touched – he gazed at her in surprise bordering on utter amazement.

‘How could you think I was trying to save my lover!’ Glyceria Romanovna declared bitterly, following up quickly on her advantage. ‘If I loved one man, how could I entice another? Yes, at first I intended to enchant you, in order to help Vasya, but … but you really have turned my head. I confess, I even forgot why I wanted to lead you on … You know, I felt a kind of twinge here …’ She set her hand slightly below her bodice in order to emphasise the line of her bust, which was quite lovely enough already.

Glyceria Romanovna uttered several more phrases in the same vain in a voice muffled with passion, without worrying too much about their plausibility – everyone knew how gullible and susceptible men were to that kind of talk, especially when the prey was so close and so accessible.

‘I’m not asking you for anything. And I won’t ask. Let’s forget about everything …’

She threw her head back and turned it slightly to one side. First, this was her best angle. And secondly, the position made it very convenient to kiss her.

A second passed, then another, and another.

But no kiss came.

Opening her eyes and squinting sideways, Lidina saw that Fandorin was not looking at her, but off to one side. But there was nothing of any interest there, just the telephone apparatus hanging on the wall.

‘He lost a drawing? Is that what Rybnikov told you?’ the investigator said thoughtfully. ‘He lied to you, madam. That man is a Japanese spy. If you don’t want to tell me where he is, you do not have to. I shall find out today in any case. G-goodbye.’

He swung round and walked out of the apartment.

Glyceria Romanovna’s legs almost buckled under her. A spy? What monstrous suspicion! She had to warn him immediately. It turned out that the danger was even more serious than he thought! And then, Fandorin had said that he would find out today where Vasya was hiding!

She grabbed the telephone earpiece, but suddenly felt afraid that the investigator might be listening from the stairway. She opened the door – no one there, nothing but rapid footsteps on the stairs.

She went back in and telephoned.

‘Saint-Saëns Boarding House,’ a woman’s voice cooed in the earpiece. She could hear the sounds of a piano playing a jolly polka.

‘I need to talk to Vasilii Alexandrovich urgently!’

‘He’s not here.’

‘Will he be back soon?’

‘He doesn’t report to us.’

What an ill-mannered maid! Lidina stamped her foot in frustration.

There was only one answer: she must go there and wait for him.

The doorman gaped at the visitor as if it was some devil with horns on his head who had arrived, not an elegantly dressed, highly respectable lady, and he blocked the entrance with his chest.

‘Who do you want?’ he asked suspiciously.

The same sounds of rollicking music she had heard on the telephone came out through the doorway. In a respectable boarding house, after ten o’clock in the evening?

Ah yes, today was 26 May, wasn’t it, the end of the school year, Glyceria Romanovna recalled. There must be a graduation party in the boarding house, that was why there were so many carriages in the courtyard – the parents had come. It was hardly surprising that the doorman did not wish to admit an outsider.

‘I’m not here for the party,’ Lidina explained to him. ‘I need to wait for Vasilii Alexandrovich. He will probably arrive soon.’

‘He’s already come back. Only this isn’t the way to his rooms, you need to go in over there,’ said the doorman, pointing to the small wing.

‘Ah, how stupid of me! Naturally, Vasya can’t live with the girl boarders!’

She ran up the steps with a rustle of silk. She rang the bell hastily and then started knocking as well.

The windows of the apartment were dark. Not a shadow stirring, not a sound.

Tired of waiting, Lidina shouted:

‘Vasilii Alexandrovich! It’s me! I have something urgent and terribly important to tell you!’

And the door opened immediately, that very second.

Rybnikov stood in the doorway, staring silently at his unexpected visitor.

‘Why is it dark in your rooms?’ she asked – in a whisper for some reason.

‘I think the electrical transformer has burnt out. What’s happened?’

‘But you have candles, don’t you?’ she asked, walking in, and immediately, still on the threshold, stumbling over the words in her agitation, she started telling him the bad news: how she had met the official dealing with his case by chance, at someone’s home, and this man thought Vasilii Alexandrovich was a spy.

‘We have to explain to him that the drawing was stolen from you! I’ll be a witness, I’ll tell them about that nasty specimen on the train. You can’t imagine the kind of man Fandorin is. A very serious gentleman, eyes like ice! He should be looking for that swarthy character, not you! Let me explain everything to him myself!’

Rybnikov listened to her incoherent story without speaking as he lit the candles in the candelabra one after another. In the trembling light Glyceria Romanovna thought his face seemed so tired, unhappy and haunted that she choked on her pity.

‘I’ll do anything for you! I won’t leave you!’ Lidina exclaimed, clutching impetuously at his hands.

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.

Mylnikov entered the dark hallway first, holding at the ready a most convenient little doodad – a rubber club with a lead core. The Jappo had to be taken alive, so Fandorin wouldn’t cut up nasty afterwards.

After he clicked a little button on his secret torch, Evstratii Pavlovich picked out three white doors with the beam: one straight ahead, one on the left, one on the right.

He pointed with his finger: you go straight on, you go this way, you go that way, only shshhhh.

He stayed in the hallway with Lepinsh and Sapliukin, ready to dash through the door from behind which they heard the agreed signal: the squeaking of a mouse.

They stood there, huddled up in their tension, waiting.

A minute went by, then two, and three, and five.

Vague nocturnal rustlings came from the apartment; somewhere behind the wall a gramophone was wailing. A clock started striking midnight – so loudly and suddenly that Mylnikov’s heart almost jumped out of his chest.

What were they mucking about at in there? It only took a moment, just glance in and turn your head this way and that. Had they just disappeared into thin air, or what?

The court counsellor suddenly realised that he wasn’t feeling the thrill of the hunt any longer. And his passionate eagerness had evaporated without a trace – in fact, he felt repulsive, chilly shudders running down his spine. ‘Those damn nerves. I’ll just nab this Jappo, and then I’ll go on the mineral water treatment,’ Evstratii Pavlovich promised himself.

He gestured to his agents to stay put and cautiously stuck his nose inside the door on the left.

It was absolutely quiet in there. And empty, as Mylnikov soon convinced himself by shining his torch about. So there had to be a way through into the next room.

Stepping soundlessly across the parquet, he walked out into the middle of the floor.

What the devil! A table, chairs. A window. A mirror on the wall facing the window. There wasn’t any other door. And agent Mandrykin wasn’t there.

He tried to cross himself, but the club grasped in his hand got in the way.

Feeling the cold sweat breaking out on his forehead, Evstratii Pavlovich went back to the hallway.

‘Well?’ Sapliukin asked with just his lips

The court counsellor just gestured irritably at him. He glanced into the room on the right.

It was exactly like the one on the left – the furniture, the mirror and the window.

Not a soul, empty!

Mylnikov went down on his hands and knees and shone his torch under the table, although it was impossible to imagine that an agent could have decided to play hide-and-seek.

Evstratii Pavlovich tumbled back into the hallway, muttering: ‘Oh, our Lord, and the Blessed Virgin.’

He pushed the agents aside and rushed through the door leading straight ahead – clutching his revolver this time, not his club.

It was the bedroom. A washbasin in the corner, with a bath, a toilet bowl and some other white porcelain contraption screwed to the floor behind a curtain.

No one! The chipped moon squinted in derisively at Mylnikov through the window.

He menaced it with his revolver and started flinging open the cupboard doors with a crash. He glanced under the bed, even under the bath.

The Japanese had disappeared. And he had taken with him three of Mylnikov’s best agents.

Evstratii Pavlovich felt afraid that he might have lost his reason. He shouted hysterically:

‘Sapliukin! Lepinsh!’

When the agents failed to reply, he dashed back to the hallway.

Only there was no one there any longer.

‘Oh, Lord Jesus!’ the court counsellor wailed beseechingly, dropping his revolver and crossing himself with broad gestures. ‘Dispel the sorcery of the Japanese devil!’

When the thrice-repeated sign of the cross failed to help, Evstratii Pavlovich finally realised that the Japanese God was stronger than the Russian one and fell to his knees before His Squintyness.

He rested his forehead on the floor and crawled towards the door, howling loudly: ‘Banzai, banzai, banzai.’