‘I am aware of that,’ she snapped, ‘having been held at gunpoint, along with my travelling companions and the ship’s crew. I would like to know why they were freed and I was not.’
‘When did you last eat?’
‘Yesterday.’
Draganov pulled the cord. The old servant entered immediately. ‘You,’ he said, ‘bring in bread and cold meats.’
‘But Mr—’
‘His methods and mine differ, madam. Our guest has not eaten today. Pick up your feet.’
The servant, who was used to quite familiar exchanges with her master, screwed her face into an expression of disgust. She walked from the room with her hands in the pockets of her skirt.
The Countess said, ‘Do you want me to thank you?’
‘If you wish.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Your servant, madam.’
Casually, Draganov opened his canvas bag and removed the Countess’s confiscated personal effects. He placed them on the tea table next to his chair. The Countess watched him. Draganov tried to note the object on which her eyes lingered. Was it the dull black band?
‘Now, let us begin at the beginning,’ he said. ‘You boarded the Spring Wanderer at Odessa?’
‘Yes.’
‘What was the purpose of your journey?’
‘To see the sights.’
Draganov leaned forward and indicated a handwritten letter. ‘The captain told us that you were returning home following the death of your fiancé, one Paruyr. What happened to his body?’
‘We buried him beneath a silver birch, sir.’
‘You are not in mourning.’
‘Wives mourn. We were never married.’
Draganov leaned back. They did not speak for a while. He listened to the clocks and birds. At length, the woman crossed her legs.
‘When did the pirates attack the Spring Wanderer?’
‘Two days ago. It was the middle of the night. Later, somebody told me that they had joined the boat earlier and stowed their weaponry beneath felt cloaks. I found them quite gallant, actually.’
‘We’ll come to that,’ said Draganov. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’
‘Not at all.’
Draganov knocked his pipe against the free-standing ashtray beside his chair. He took a pouch of tobacco from his pocket, grimaced at the clumps, which indicated dampness, and set about sprinkling the tobacco into the bowl of the pipe. As he did so, he considered showing the woman a mugshot of a political—perhaps her, perhaps not—that he had obtained in Tiflis.
‘How many of them were there?’
‘Two dozen, I think.’
Draganov nodded and tamped the tobacco with his thumb. He sucked a little on the pipe to test its draw.
‘Are you telling me,’ he said, ‘that two dozen pirates boarded and nobody raised an alarm?’
‘The two dozen includes several of the ship’s crew. They were in on the crime from the beginning.’
‘How would you describe these pirates?’
‘Workers. Intellectuals. It’s difficult to say.’ A smile came and went. ‘They were revolutionaries in style and deed.’
Draganov added more tobacco to his pipe. ‘Do you find the notion of revolution romantic?’
She gave him a hard look. ‘Don’t practise upon me.’
‘It is a plain question. Many women, I hear, find the notion of anarchy romantic.’
‘Anarchy and revolution are not the same.’
‘Really? Tell me the difference.’
She smiled again. ‘I leave that to the intellectuals. But I might say that the revolutionary does not know what he wants, whereas the anarchist does.’
‘I see,’ said Draganov. He looked at the notes made by the Sukham agent. ‘Please describe the head pirate.’
‘He was a tall man—bald and ugly into the bargain. He sounded like someone from the north-west.’
‘Did he, indeed?’ Draganov read once more the description provided by two independent witnesses: short; good looking; freckled complexion; Georgian accent. ‘What did this man say?’
‘Very little. Once, I believe he claimed “I am not a criminal but a revolutionary”.’
‘What happened once you knew the pirates wanted money?’
‘They rounded us up first and made us stand in the middle of the ship. They told us to see nothing. The captain was compelled to show the chief pirate the location of the wage money.’
‘Did the crew put up any resistance as the cash was being stolen?’
‘No. The chief pirate put some officers in the lifeboats as hostages. These officers were later used to row the pirates ashore.’
‘How would you describe the atmosphere?’
‘Businesslike. There was no question that the chief pirate was in control of his men.’
‘Only men? No women?’
‘They were disguised, but I’m sure no women took part.’
‘There are reports that you helped the pirates.’
‘The reports are false and outrageous.’
‘You are a revolutionary, madam.’
‘Never.’
Draganov struck a match and moved it in a circle around the bowl of his pipe, drawing shallow puffs. When the pipe was going, he extinguished the match with a wave and dropped it into the ashtray.
‘You were on the inside. You participated in this expropriation, which was a crime committed by an anarchist gang known as the Outfit. We know that this gang is responsible for several prior robberies around the region. One of their number is a woman known to us only by a codename. She has a peculiar distinguishing feature. Shall I tell you what it is?’
Draganov withdrew his gun. He did not cock it. He laid it crosswise on his leg.
‘Please,’ he said, ‘remove your hands from the bearskin.’
The woman had not moved or shown the smallest sign of alarm.
‘I will not,’ she said.
‘Everything is clear to me, I believe, with the exception of one thing. Why have you not already escaped this house? I have evidence of the range of your skills.’
‘If I’m honest,’ she said, ‘I need the band on the table.’
Draganov cocked the revolver and pointed it at her chest. Carefully, he reached across and pulled the cord for the servant again. ‘So you confess, Countess. Please, show me your hand.’
‘Who betrayed me?’
‘Your so-called fiancé, Paruyr. He should have lain low, consistent with his role of a dead man. Instead, he has been frequenting casinos. We picked him up yesterday.’
‘Who else did he betray?’
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘My travelling companion, Alenya, is dead, isn’t she?’
‘I cannot be specific. However, in general, I can say that interrogation practices in this part of the world are regrettably behind the times.’
The door opened.
Without turning, Draganov said, ‘Tell your employer that he can come in, but not before he’s called the Chief of Gendarmes.’ He was about to add, ‘We have her,’ when a loop of wire was passed over his head. He was a big man but his reflexes were fast. He was able to put his gun against his throat before the garrotte was pulled taut. His breath stopped and his windpipe was almost crushed by the pressing bulk of the gun.
His attacker grunted and pulled Draganov backwards. His chair tipped. The pipe spun from his mouth and his foot kicked the ashtray. Draganov felt that the gun barrel was pointing past his chin, so he discharged it twice to advertise his predicament. The noise was tremendous. Powder burned against his throat.
As he struck the floor, he felt the garrotte slacken. He did not try to touch it. Instead, he used his long reach to put his hand into the hearth. He fumbled for a burning log and felt his hand grip an iron poker instead. Draganov grinned. Luck was with him. He seized the poker and swung it behind his head.
The poker passed through empty air.
Draganov felt that the garrotte was loose. He whipped it from his throat using the gun. Ignoring the pain of his burnt neck, he coughed and staggered to his feet. He forced air into his lungs but his vision darkened abruptly and he slumped against the upturned chair. He raised his gun into this gloom and prepared to fire.