But they never even started on theory number two.
‘I know that Whistle!’ put in Nonarikin, who had been listening avidly. ‘And I know Tsarkov. Who doesn’t know them? Mr Tsarkov is a very polite and personable individual, the actors always receive bouquets and gifts from him after a successful show. As a sign of gratitude, so to speak. He usually thanks the director and the leading artistes in person, and he sends Mr Whistle to the others. But you’re mistaken, Erast Petrovich, Whistle isn’t a criminal at all, quite the contrary. Isn’t that right, Mr Policeman?’
‘Well, it’s like this,’ said Subbotin, happy to go back to the first theory – he found it interesting. ‘He used to be the inspector of the Myasnitsky district. And his departure wasn’t entirely voluntary. Something to do with bribes, but there were no judicial consequences. You know our people don’t like to hang the dirty linen outside in public view.’
‘I know. But g-go on.’
‘Gentlemen,’ Nonarikin butted in, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other. ‘If you don’t need me any more… What if the automobile didn’t wait for Madam Altairsky? She can’t walk home through the city at night alone – in a costume like that, and in such a distressed state! I’ll check and, if necessary, I can catch up with her. She can’t have got far in those Japanese sandals of hers.’
And he ran off, without waiting for permission. Erast Petrovich watched the assistant director go with an envious gaze.
‘…And Mr Whistle’s real name,’ the investigator continued, ‘is Sila Yegorovich Lipkov…’
He stopped short with his mouth hanging open. His light eyelashes started fluttering.
‘There, you see,’ Fandorin said in a slow, soft voice, instantly forgetting all about Eliza and her faithful paladin. ‘“Liza” has nothing to do with the case. So it’s Lipkov, then? Ye-es, let’s wait a while before moving on to theory number two.’
He took a chair, set it in front of himself and straddled it, facing the back.
‘You sit down as well. The real discussion is only just beginning. We have the scent now.’
Subbotin sat down too – beside him, in exactly the same manner. The investigators were like two mounted knights at a crossroads.
‘Where do you want to start?’
‘From th-the head. That is, from Tsarkov. And to add to the fun, I’ll throw a little more k-kerosene onto the flames for you. Do you remember that at the beginning of the season someone slipped a snake into Madam Lointaine’s flowers?’
‘I read something in the newspapers. What does that have to do with this?’
‘This is what.’ Erast Petrovich smiled sweetly. ‘I recall – and, as you know, I have a good memory – a certain phrase that Tsarkov spoke to his adjutant general. What he said was more or less: “Find out who did it and punish them”. That is one. Before that he ordered Whistle to take half a dozen bottles of expensive Bordeaux to the leading man as a gift. That is two. And the third thing is that Emeraldov did not poison himself as the newspapers reported. He was poisoned, and with wine. A pity I didn’t think of analysing it to see exactly what kind. In any c-case, that is three. And the fourth thing is that, bearing in mind the character of the deceased leading man and his rivalry with Madam Lointaine, it is entirely possible that Emeraldov played that vile trick himself.’
‘A second murder in the same theatre!’ Subbotin jumped to his feet and sat back down again. ‘Whistle could have poisoned the artiste Emeraldov! But isn’t that too harsh a punishment for such a petty piece of nastiness?’
‘Not so very petty. A viper’s bite, together with the shock, could quite easily have dispatched the l-lady to the next world. And furthermore, as I recall, Tsarkov held a very low opinion of the Ark’s leading lover. He could have flown into a violent fury if he discovered that Emeraldov was responsible for the vile trick with the snake. But tell me more about Tsarkov, so that I can understand how dangerous his rage is. Everything you know.’
‘Oh, I know a lot about him. I collected a bit of material last year and I was thinking of trying to nail him, but there was no way.’ Sergei Nikiforovich gestured dismissively. ‘Too big a fish for me. With protectors in places that are too high. I can tell you straight out that August Ivanovich Tsarkov’s fury and his threats should be taken with the maximum possible seriousness. He’s quite a staid, restrained individual, who rarely gives free rein to his feelings. But once he gets his dander up…’ The investigator ran the edge of his hand across his throat in an eloquent gesture. ‘Speculation in theatre tickets is his favourite activity, but by no means his most important one. The Tsar can guarantee a production’s success. And he can make it fail. Stirring up scandal about a theatre, rumours, hecklers, reviews – he can control all of these. He can make an unknown newcomer a celebrity, but he can also destroy an actor’s career. The boxes that he owns are always at the disposal of the city’s bigwigs, and so they regard August Ivanovich as a delightful and courteous individual, whom riff-raff like Titular Counsellor Subbotin must not dare to bother with his petty little quibbles.’
The policeman smiled bitterly.
‘Can the black market trade in tickets really bring in such large profits?’ Fandorin asked in surprise.
‘Make the calculation for yourself. In order to counter speculation, a municipal council regulation restricts the number of tickets that box offices can issue to any one individual to a maximum of six. But that’s no obstacle for the Tsar. He has about twenty so called “buyers” working for him, and they are always first in line at the box office window – it goes without saying that all the ticket sellers have been bribed. If we take a super-fashionable show like yesterday’s premiere, the Tsar’s net income from reselling tickets will be at least one and half thousand. And then there’s the Art Theatre, which you can’t simply walk into just like that. There’s the Bolshoi. There are shows in the Maly and Korsh theatres for which tickets are also hard to come by. There are high-demand concerts and functions of various kinds. The Tsar got his start in theatrical profiteering and he maintains a keen interest in this area, a profitable one in every possible sense, but his main income is derived from elsewhere. According to my information, he now has all the expensive brothels in Moscow under his control. The Tsar also provides services of an even more delicate nature to certain interested parties: he provides perfectly decent young ladies, not official whores with yellow tickets, to respectable men who wish to avoid publicity. And he provides a similar service to bored ladies – for good money he finds handsome young men to act as their male escorts. As you might expect, everything in Tsarkov’s enterprise in interconnected: dancers, both male and female, from the corps de ballet or the operetta, and sometime even rather well-known actors and actresses, are often not averse to acquiring an influential patron or a generous mistress.’
‘So T-Tsarkov has an entire organisation. How is it set up?’
‘In ideal fashion. It runs like clockwork, with both full-time and part-time employees. At the lowest level, the “buyers” work for a daily rate. Whistle’s assistants hire petty bureaucrats and students who have taken to drink from among the derelicts on Khitrovka Square. They queue at the box offices overnight and buy up all the best places for the fashionable shows. The “buyers” are dressed up for the job – they’re issued with shirtfronts, hats and jackets. Special “foremen” keep an eye out to make sure a Khitrovkan doesn’t just run off with the money and get drunk. There are specially trained “pushers” who create a crush at the box office, forcing their own people through and shoving everyone else out of the way. There are the “touts”, who hang about outside every theatre and peddle the tickets. They’re watched over by “pinschers”, who are responsible for arranging things with policemen on the beat and putting an end to any activity by amateur touts. Oh yes, I forgot about the “informants”. They’re the secret agents, so to speak. The Tsar has someone from the management or the acting company in his pay in every theatre. They report on what’s going to be in the repertoire, changes in productions, internal events, the leading men’s drinking bouts and the leading ladies’ migraines – you name it. Thanks to his “informants” the Tsar never makes a mistake. He has never once bought all the tickets for a show that ended up being cancelled, or for a premiere that turned out to be a flop.’