Glory be to the Most High!” He stuffed a sack full of gold and asked his comrade: “Why are you just standing there?” The third merchant replied: “How much gold can you carry away on one camel?” The second said: “Enough to make me the richest man in our city.” “That is not enough for me,” said the third, “I shall go further and find a mountain of diamonds. And when I return home, I shall be the richest man in the entire world.” He walked on, and his journey lasted another forty days. His camel lay down and rose no more, but the merchant did not stop, for he was stubborn and he believed in the mountain of diamonds, and everyone knows that a single handful of diamonds is more valuable than a mountain of silver or a hill of gold.
Then the third merchant beheld a wondrous sight ahead of him: a man standing there doubled over in the middle of the desert, bearing a throne made of diamonds on his shoulders, and squatting on the throne was a monster with a black face and burning eyes. “Joyous greetings to you, O worthy traveller,” croaked the crooked man. “Allow me to introduce the demon of avarice, Marduf. Now you will bear him on your shoulders until another as avaricious as you and I comes to take your place.
The story was broken off at that point, because once again Mr Fandorin had a full card, so our hostess failed to win the second jackpot too. Five seconds later Mrs Truffo was the only person left at the table - everyone else had disappeared in a flash.
I keep thinking about Mr Fandorin’s story. It is not as simple as it seems.
That third merchant is Sweetchild. Yes, when I heard the end of the story, I suddenly realized that he is a dangerous madman! There is an uncontrollable passion raging in his soul, and if anyone should know what that means, it is me. I have been gliding around after him like an invisible shadow ever since we left Aden.
I have already told you, my precious Emily, that I spent the time we were moored there very profitably. I’m sure you must have thought I meant I had bought a new navigational instrument to replace the one that was stolen. Yes, I do have a new sextant now and I am checking the ship’s course regularly once again, but what I meant was some fixing quite different. I was simply afraid to commit my secret to paper.
What if someone were to read it? After all, I am surrounded by enemies on every side. But I have a resourceful mind, and I have invented a fine stratagem: starting from today I am writing in milk. To the eye of a stranger it will seem like a clean sheet of paper, quite uninteresting, but my quick-witted Emily will warm the sheets on the lampshade to make the writing appear! What a spiffing wheeze, eh?
Well then, about Aden. While I was still on the steamer, before they let us go ashore, I noticed that Sweetchild was nervous, and more than simply nervous, he was positively jumping up and down in excitement.
It began soon after Fandorin announced that the shawl stolen from Lord Littleby was the key to the mythical treasure of the Emerald Rajah. The professor became terribly agitated, started muttering to himself and kept repeating: ‘Ah, 1 must get ashore soon.’ But what for, that was the question!
I decided to find out.
Pulling my black hat with the wide brim well down over my eyes, I set off to follow Sweetchild. Everything could not have gone better at first: he didn’t glance round once and I had no trouble in trailing him to the square located behind the little custom house. But there I was in for an unpleasant surprise. Sweetchild called one of the local cabbies and drove off with him. His barouche was moving rather slowly, but I coidd not go running after it, that would have been unseemly. Of course, there were other barouches on the square, I could easily have got into any of them, but you know, my dearest, how heartily I detest open carriages. They are the devil’s own invention and only reckless fools ride in them. Some people (I have seen it with my own eyes more than once) even take their wives and innocent children with them.
How long can it be before disaster strikes? The two-wheelers which are so popular at home in Britain are especially dangerous. Someone once told me (I can’t recall who it was fust at the moment) that a certain young man from a very decent family, with a good position in society, was rash enough to take his young wife for a ride in one of those two wheelers when she was eight months pregnant. It ended badly, of course: the mad fool lost control of the horses, they bolted and the carriage overturned. The young man was all right, but his wife went into premature labour. They were unable to save her or the child. And all because of his thoughtlessness. They could have gone for a walk, or taken a ride in a boat. If it comes to that, one can take a ride on a train, in a separate carriage. In Venice they take rides in gondolas. We were there, do you remember? Do you recall how the water lapped at the steps of the hotel?
I am finding it hard to concentrate, I am constantly digressing. And so, Sweetchild rode off in a carriage, and I was left standing beside the custom house. But do you think I lost my head? Not a bit of it. I thought of something that calmed my nerves almost instantly. While I was waiting for Sweetchild, I went into a sailors’ shop and bought a new sextant, even better than the old one, and a splendid navigational almanac with astronomical formulae. Now I can calculate the ship’s position much faster and more precisely. See what a cunning customer I am!
I waited for six hours and 38 minutes. I sat on a rock and looked at the sea, thinking about you.
When Sweetchild returned, I pretended to be dozing and he slipped past me, certain that I had not seen him.
The moment he disappeared round the corner of the custom house, I dashed across to his cabby. For sixpence the Bengali told me where our dear professor had been. You must admit, my sweet Emily, that I handled this business most adroitly.
The information I received only served to corroborate my initial suspicions. Sweetchild had asked to be taken from the port directly to the telegraph office. He spent half an hour there, and then went back to the post office building another four times. The cabby said: ‘Sahib very very worried. Run backwards and forwards. Sometimes say: take me to bazaar, then tap me on back: take me back, post office, quick-quick.’
It seems quite clear that Sweetchild first sent off an urgent message to someone and then waited impatiently for an answer. The Bengali said that the last time he came out of the post office he was ‘not like himself, he wave paper’ and told the cabby to drive him back to the ship. The reply must have arrived.
I do not know what was in it, but it is perfectly clear that the professor, or whoever he really is, has accomplices.
That was two days ago. Since then Sweetchild has been a changed man. As I have already told you, he speaks of nothing but precious stones all the time, and sometimes he suddenly sits down on the deck and starts drawing something, either on his cuff or his handkerchief.
This evening there was a ball in the grand saloon. I have already described this majestic hall, which appears to have been transported here from Versailles or Buckingham Palace. There is gilt everywhere and the walls are covered from top to bottom with mirrors. The crystal electric chandeliers tinkle melodically in time to the gentle rolling of the ship. The orchestra (a perfectly decent one, by the way) mostly played Viennese waltzes and, as you know, I regard that dance as indecent, so I stood in the corner, keeping an eye on Sweetchild. He was enjoying himself greatly, inviting one lady after another to dance, skipping about like a goat and trampling on their feet outrageously, but that did not worry him in the least. I was even distracted a little, recalling how we once used to dance and how elegant your arm looked in its white glove as it lay on my shoulder. Suddenly I saw Sweetchild stumble and-almost drop his partner, then without even bothering to apologize, he fairly raced across to the tables with the hors d’oeuvres, leaving his partner standing bewildered in the centre of the hall. I must admit that this sudden attack of uncontrollable hunger struck me as rather strange too.