‘Well, we’ll see about that,’ Fandorin murmured in Russian.
‘I already know you well enough,’ Asagawa went on. ‘You will start thinking about the vice-intendant and you will definitely think of something. When you do – let me know. Only do not come to my station yourself. It is quite possible that one of my men…’ He heaved a sigh, without finishing the phrase. ‘Let us communicate with notes. If we need to meet, then in some quiet place, with no witnesses. For instance, in a hotel or a park. Is it a deal?’
The American phrase ‘Is it a deal’, combined with an outstretched hand, was not Asagawa’s style at all. He must have picked that up from Lockston, the titular counsellor surmised as he sealed the agreement with a handshake.
The inspector gave a low bow, swung round and disappeared through the door without saying another word.
It turned out that the Japanese had studied his Russian associate rather well. Erast Petrovich did indeed immediately start thinking about the vice-intendant of police, who had deliberately and cunningly brought about the death of a great man whom it was his professional duty to protect against his numerous enemies.
Fandorin did not think about how to expose the faithless traitor yet. First of all he had to understand what this individual who went by the name of Suga Kinsukeh was like. The best way to do this was to reconstruct the sequence of his actions, for surely it was actions that defined a personality most vividly and accurately of all.
And so, in order.
Suga had taken part in a conspiracy against the minister, and perhaps even led that conspiracy. The threads from the groups hunting the dictator all led back to him. On the evening of 8 May at Don Tsurumaki’s ball, the vice-intendant learns that the group led by the man with the withered arm has been discovered. He cannot conceal the alarming news from his superior – the deceit would certainly have been discovered. Instead, Suga acts paradoxically: he takes the initiative and tries to get Okubo to accept extremely tight security measures, and the general supervision of the investigation is quite naturally assigned to Suga, and not any other police official. Suga takes advantage of this to order the Yokohama precinct chief Asagawa to report in detail on all the investigative group’s plans – this also appears entirely natural. The vice-intendant tries with consistent obstinacy to protect his associates in the conspiracy from arrest, even taking risks for them. On 9 May he informs No-Face, the master of secret skills, about the evidence that the investigative group is holding. On 10 May he warns the man with the withered arm about the ambush. The situation is completely under control. He only has to hold on for a few more days, until the impatient Okubo rebels and sends his guards and the consular investigation and even the solicitous Suga to hell. Then the conspirators will be able to strike, following their carefully prepared plan, baiting the minister from all sides, like a bear.
Then, however, something unforeseen comes along – in the person of Titular Counsellor Fandorin. On 13 May the man with the withered arm and his group, together with their messenger, the hunchback, are caught in a trap. How does Suga act? Once again, in the face of danger, he seeks to ride the very crest of the wave, by taking personal command of the operation to seize this band of killers, so that not one of the dangerous witnesses will be taken prisoner. Suga’s greatest tour de force is the way in which he reverses the course of the game when it has already been half lost, by using the death of one group of assassins to lure the dictator within reach of the swords of another! A brilliant chess move, worthy of a grandmaster.
And what follows from all this?
That this is a brave and resolute man, with a quick, keen mind. And as far as his goals are concerned, he has probably acted out of conviction, confident that he was in the right.
What else could be added to this from Fandorin’s personal contact with the man? Exceptional administrative talent. And charm.
A positively ideal individual, Fandorin thought with a chuckle. If not for two small points: calculated cruelty and disloyalty. No matter how strongly you might believe that your ideas were right, to stab someone in the back after he had put his trust in you was simply vile.
Having composed a psychological portrait of the akunin, Erast Petrovich moved on to the next phase of his deliberations: how to expose such an enterprising and artful gentleman, who also effectively controlled the entire Japanese police force…
The severed cord of the wooden gag could only serve as proof for Asagawa and Fandorin. What was their testimony worth against the word of General Suga?
The reports that had disappeared from the case file? Also useless. Perhaps they had never been in the file at all? And even if they had, and some trace had been left in an office register somewhere, then how in hell’s name could they prove who had removed them?
Erast Petrovich pondered until midnight, sitting in an armchair and gazing at the red glow of his cigar. But precisely at midnight his servant came into the dark drawing room and handed him a note that had been delivered by the express municipal post.
The message on the sheet of paper was written in large letters in English: ‘Grand Hotel, Room 16. Now!’
Apparently Asagawa had not been wasting his time either. What could he have thought of? Had he found out something?
Fandorin was about to set out to the rendezvous immediately, but an unexpected obstacle arose in the person of Masa.
The Japanese valet was not going to let his master go out alone in the middle of the night. He stuck that idiotic bowler on his head and his umbrella under his arm, and the stubborn line of his jutting chin made it quite clear that he was going to stick close.
Explaining things to him without a common language was difficult, and Fandorin begrudged the time – after all, the note said ‘Now!’ And he couldn’t take this scarecrow with him to the hotel, either. Erast Petrovich was intending to slip into the hotel unnoticed, but with his wooden clogs Masa clattered like an entire squadron of soldiers.
Fandorin was obliged to employ cunning.
He pretended that he had changed his mind about going out. He took off his top hat and cloak and went back into his rooms. He even washed for the night.
But when Masa bowed and withdrew, the titular counsellor climbed on to the windowsill and jumped down into the garden. In the darkness he banged his knee and swore. How absurd to be harassed like this by his own servant!
The Grand Hotel was only a stone’s throw away.
Erast Petrovich walked along the deserted promenade and glanced into the foyer.
Luckily for him, the receptionist was dozing behind his counter.
A few silent steps and the nocturnal visitor was already on the stairs.
He ran up to the first floor.
Aha, there was room number 16. The key was sticking out of the lock – very thoughtful, he could enter without knocking, which could easily have attracted the unwelcome attention of some sleepless guest.
Fandorin half-opened the door and slipped inside.
There was a figure silhouetted against the window – but not Asagawa’s, it was much slimmer than that.
The figure darted towards the dumbstruck vice-consul, moving like a cat.
Long slim fingers clasped his face.
‘I have to be with you!’ sang that unforgettable, slightly husky voice.
The titular counsellor’s nostrils caught a tantalising whiff of the magical aroma of irises.
Sad thoughts fill the mind,
Pain fills the heart, and then comes
That sweet iris scent
LOVE’S CALL