In the evening, I go up to my bedroom. But in the upstairs corridor, I see Axelson going to his room. There’s no one else about.
“Professor – these staff are everywhere in the hotel, observing what we do and say. But I think they are all downstairs now. You and I haven’t yet had a chance to talk openly about what Alexei said under your hypnosis.”
“It’s terrible for him, Miss Agnes. To have made such a grim discovery, aged only eleven. But now, if he can talk about it with his family…”
“I agree, of course. But do you think it sheds any light on the Håkansson case?”
“You showed me Alexei’s letter to Dr Jansons. In terms of actual evidence, his hypnotized account of events on the day of the murder seems to add little to that letter… except, I have a feeling of something, nagging away at me. But I don’t know what it is, Miss Agnes.”
“Alexer never mentioned Mr Bukin while he was hypnotized.”
“Yes – but on the question of whether Bukin had opportunity to kill Svea, neither Alexei’s letter nor his hypnotized testimony help us. After finding Svea’s body, Alexei ran back to the main Dacha. The boy was probably away from his room for no more than ten minutes. His letter fits with that. It says that Bukin came up to his room several minutes after the gun was heard.”
“When we saw Mr Bukin in Moscow, he said he was with the Tsarina when the shot was fired.”
“Bukin claims to have an alibi, involving the Tsarina. But I haven’t yet had opportunity to hear that account of events from her, because I’ve not seen her again. I would very much like to talk to the Tsarina again, if I was given the chance. Which brings us back to Yurovsky.”
“Yes, I suppose so… maybe the hypnosis hasn’t helped the case, Professor.”
“As I say, I feel there is some clue, hidden deeply in the words that Alexei spoke during the session. But whatever it is, we can’t see it – yet.”
I say goodnight and go into my room, but I can’t sleep. I toss and turn, then I look at the clock: it’s just gone midnight. I hear a knock at my door.
I open it, and Rufus steps in.
“I recall you coming to my hotel room once before, long ago, Rufus.”
He smiles ruefully. His eyes, I notice, are less bloodshot, and the smell of alcohol has gone.
“I remember that too, Agnes – with great embarrassment. But now, I’m here to show you something. Look out of the window.”
My window looks down on the garden. I peer outside, then ask him.
“So? It all looks the same as usual to me.”
“No, no, don’t you see? Look at the gate.”
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be looking for. I look out again, but Rufus has to tell me.
“He’s not there. Our guard has gone.”
We go straight to Axelson’s room and tell him. Rufus is emphatic. “This is our chance. If we can creep out of the hotel without being seen, we’re free.”
“We are not free at all, Mr du Pavey. Even if we were to go and catch the first train from Yekaterinburg station – which probably won’t depart until morning – then it would be easy for the Red Guards to find us. The train would simply be stopped at Perm, and we’ll be arrested.”
“What do you suggest, then, Prof?”
“I think that we should take this opportunity to go and speak again to Yurovsky.”
“Why on earth?…”
“Because things may have changed. Guarding us is no longer a priority for Yurovsky; nor are the hypnosis sessions. That may mean we can leave. But it’s better to have that properly authorized, rather than sneaking off in the night.”
“And what if Yurovsky won’t see us again? He’s snubbed you already.”
“If that happens, we can consider options. For example, we could ask the guards at the Ipatiev House for a note, to the effect that Yurovsky is unwilling to see us. Then if we did board a train in the morning, and were later stopped, we could at least show them the note. It would make our behaviour look more reasonable.”
“Nothing’s reasonable any more.”
But Rufus agrees to Axelson’s plan. The three of us leave the hotel, and walk through the quiet streets.
I’m surprised when we approach the Ipatiev House. It’s two o’clock in the morning, but although partly blocked by the painted windows, light is shining out from every upstairs room. A large, industrial-looking lorry is parked just outside the gate: an odd sight for this suburban neighborhood. I whisper “What’s going on?” but the professor simply shakes his head and puts his finger to his lips.
“Leave this to me, Miss Agnes.”
He goes to the gate and knocks. We’re taken aback when it opens immediately. I’m surprised too: I recognise the man who, until an hour ago, was guarding our hotel gate. He stares at us open-mouthed, but he doesn’t speak. Then I hear a voice calling from the courtyard: it’s Yurovsky.
“What the hell is going on out there? Deal with it quickly, man!”
The guard stares at us blankly. I realise that he is pointing a rifle straight at me. The professor speaks to him, calmly but firmly.
“We are pleased that you no longer feel the need to guard our hotel. And the hypnotic sessions are finished. So, we consider that we are free to leave Yekaterinburg. Could you obtain a note from your Commandant to that effect? We can wait here at the gate while you get the note.”
The man stutters at us. “No. No waiting is allowed. Not tonight.”
Axelson sighs in annoyance. “The lights are all on in the house: clearly, everyone is awake. You have a lorry parked here, for some reason. And I’ve just heard Commandant Yurovsky’s voice. All I need is the note—”
Along the street, I see a light switching on in one of the upper windows of a nearby house, and figures appear at the window. People are looking out to see what’s happening. The guard notices the onlookers, and his face turns white, as if with panic. After a few moments of hesitation, he clicks the catch of his gun, and manages a few words.
“All of you – come inside.”
Staring at the rifle, we obey. The man leads us through the yard and into the house, and then through into the guards’ sleeping quarters that we saw before. He points at a door.
“In there, all of you!”
We all go inside. The door shuts, and I hear a key turn in the lock. It’s a tiny storeroom. It is on the side of the house against the road, so it is practically underground: a cell with just one iron-barred window, which opens onto a narrow sunken trench a few feet square, bounded by a brick wall rising to the level of the road. Above that, we can make out, in the dark, the foot of the palisade fence.
We have no idea what is happening. But Rufus is alert: he puts his finger to his lips and speaks quietly.
“Listen.”
We can hear a hum of voices. Most of them are female. Axelson nods at Rufus, looking perplexed.
“It’s the imperial family – all of them. It sounds as if they are in another of these ground-floor rooms, all together.”
Then Yurovsky’s voice cuts through the silence. “All members of the Romanov family, and servants! Your transport will be here shortly. Please wait a few minutes more.”
I hear Alexandra’s voice. “Could you get a chair for Alexei? We’ve been standing and waiting for nearly half an hour. He’s not been feeling well today, and he’s very tired.”
“Very well.” Then I hear someone just outside our door: the clunk of wood. It’s Yurovsky, and he’s clumsily picking up a chair. I hear him speaking to one of the guards.
“You – do something useful. Take that chair into the cellar. If the boy wants to sit in a chair, then let’s give him a chair to sit in, while we shoot him.”
I look at our locked door; a blank rectangle of solid wood. I’m pushing at it; Axelson holds me back.