‘Well, that’s all fairly clear. Now tell me about Mr Whistle, please. What exactly is he in charge of in this hierarchy?’
‘A little bit of everything, but mostly the “pinschers”. They’re a kind of “flying squad”. Whistle has recruited dashing young blades who can give anyone a sound thrashing, or even finish them off if need be. The Tsar didn’t win control of the brothels without offending a few people, he had to take that juicy morsel away from some very serious characters.’
‘I used to know those serious characters,’ Erast Petrovich said with a nod. ‘Levonchik from Grachovsky Park, Acrobat from Sukharev Square. I haven’t heard anything about them for a long time now.’
‘Well, this is why you haven’t. Last spring Levonchik went back home to Baku. In a wheelchair. Just imagine, he accidentally fell out of a window and broke his back. And Acrobat announced that he was retiring from the business. That was just after his house burned down and his two closest deputies disappeared.’
‘Last spring? I was in the Caribbean. I m-missed that.’ Fandorin shook his head. ‘Well, nice going, Mr Whistle. And no trouble with the police?’
‘Zero. My reports don’t count for anything. Official instructions were not to do anything about it. And in a confidential conversation I was told: “We shall be grateful to August Ivanovich for doing our job for us and clearing the city of gangster elements”. And there’s another thing too, Erast Petrovich. Lipkov is very popular with the municipal police, especially the district inspectors. He’s their hero and idol, you could say. Once a year, on his birthday, he organises a special function, by invitation only, at the Bouffe Theatre – it’s actually called “The Police Inspector’s Ball”. They reminisce about that occasion the whole year round in all the police districts. I should think so too: a superb concert with satirical rhymers, a cancan and clowns, swanky food and drink and the company of vivacious young ladies. Mr Whistle gets an opportunity to show off to his former colleagues – there, just look how rich and powerful I’ve become! And at the same time he keeps up useful contacts. Police raids on the racketeers are a waste of time. Whistle’s little friends in the force always warn him in advance. When I was getting close to the Tsar, I thought about raiding his so-called “Office” to obtain evidence and proof of criminal activity. But I had to abandon the idea. My own assistants would have been the first to inform Whistle about the operation, and the Office would have moved to a new address in the twinkling of an eye. It moves constantly from place to place anyway.’
‘What f-for? If the Tsar isn’t afraid of the police?’
‘But he is afraid of the hoodlums, they’ve got it in for him. And in any case, August Ivanovich is obsessively cautious. A week or two is the longest he stays anywhere. He seems like a conspicuous sort of gentleman, his automobiles and carriages can be seen at all the theatres, but just you try finding out where he’s living at the moment – no one knows.’
Erast Petrovich got up and swayed back slightly on his heels, pondering.
‘Mmmm, and what kind of clues were you expecting to find in his Office?’
‘The Tsar follows the American accounting system and keeps scrupulous records. He ordered two large filing cabinets on wheels from Chicago to help him do it. They contain all his records, his accounts… you name it. August Ivanovich respects order, and he’s not afraid of a search. And there’s the fact that there are armed guards protecting all the documents and their owner. The Tsar always resides where his Office is. And Mr Whistle lodges with him. They’re as inseparable as Satan and his tail.’
The investigator pressed his spectacles into the bridge of his nose, giving Fandorin an incredulous look.
‘Surely you’re not going to… Don’t even think about it. It’s far too risky. Especially on your own. You can’t rely on the police. My men will only be a hindrance, I’ve explained that. I could help in a private capacity, of course, but…’
‘No, no, I don’t wish to compromise you in the eyes of your superiors. Especially since they have specifically warned you not to bother Mr Tsarkov. But perhaps you might at least know where the infamous Office is located just at the moment?’
Sergei Nikiforovich shrugged and spread his hands.
‘Unfortunately…’
‘Never mind. That’s no g-great problem.’
BACK TO THE GOOD OLD DAYS
Fandorin thought that he would determine the current location of Mr Tsarkov’s ‘Office’ in elementary fashion: by following Mr Whistle. But it all proved to be a bit more complicated than that.
It was a job he was familiar with and it had its pleasant side. Erast Petrovich justifiably regarded himself as a master when it came to trailing someone. In recent years however, he had only rarely had to play the part of the ‘tail’ himself, which made him all the more keen to shake off the cobwebs.
An automobile was also a very convenient thing – he could take several changes of dress with him, and his make-up materials, and all the tools that he needed, and even tea in a Thermos flask. In the nineteenth century he would have had to conduct the pursuit in less comfortable conditions.
Erast Fandorin didn’t find his mark at Theatre Square, so he moved to Kamergersky Lane, where he spotted the commander of the touts at the entrance to the Art Theatre. As usual, Lipkov was standing there whistling, as if he had nothing much to do, and people occasionally came up to him – no doubt ‘touts’ or ‘pinschers’, or possibly ‘informants’. The conversation was always brief. Sometimes Whistle opened his green briefcase and took something out of it or, on the contrary, put something into it. Basically, he was labouring by the sweat of his brow, without leaving his post.
Fandorin stopped his car about fifty paces away, beside a ladies’ dress shop, where several carriages and automobiles were already parked. He conducted his observation with the assistance of an excellent German innovation: a pair of photo-binoculars, with which he could take instant photos. Just to be on the safe side, Erast Petrovich photographed everyone Mr Whistle talked to – not really for any practical purpose, but simply to check the apparatus.
At half past two the mark moved from his spot – on foot, which indicated that he was not going far. At first Fandorin was going to follow him in the automobile, since Kamergersky Lane was lively, with plenty of pedestrians around, but he realised in time that Whistle had escorts: two substantially built young men were walking fifteen or twenty strides behind him, one on each side of the street. Erast Petrovich had captured both of their images with his camera a little earlier. They were obviously ‘pinschers’, performing the function of bodyguards for their boss.