There were at least a dozen servants. Fandorin had seen one of them before – a sinewy, bandy-legged fellow with long arms like a monkey. The vice-consul thought he worked as something like a butler or major-domo.
‘What a disgrace for the Russian Empire,’ said Tsurumaki, clicking his tongue. ‘The vice-consul stealing gold from other people’s safes. Kamata, ju-o toreh.’
The last phrase, spoken in Japanese, was addressed to the man with long arms. Ju was ‘weapon’, toro meant ‘take’, Kamata was his name.
The titular counsellor recovered from his stupor. He flung up his hand and aimed the Herstal at the forehead of the master of the house.
Kamata immediately froze on the spot, as did the other Black Jackets.
‘I have nothing to lose,’ Fandorin warned Tsurumaki. ‘Tell your men to go out. Immediately, otherwise…’
The Don wasn’t smiling any longer, he was looking at the titular counsellor curiously, as if trying to guess whether he was bluffing or might really fire.
‘I’ll fire, have no doubt about that,’ Fandorin assured him. ‘Better death than dishonour. And if I’m going to die anyway, it will be more fun with you. You’re such an interesting specimen. Shirota, stand on my left, you’re blocking my view of Mr Tsurumaki.’
The secretary obeyed but, evidently out of agitation, he stood on the vice-consul’s right instead of the left.
‘You know perfectly well that I didn’t come here for the gold.’
The Don moved and Erast Petrovich clicked the safety catch. ‘Stand still! And get all these men out of here!’
But then something strange happened. Something quite incredible, in fact.
The titular counsellor’s faithful comrade-in-arms, the secretary Shirota, flung himself on Fandorin’s arm with a guttural cry. A shot rang out and the bullet clipped a long splinter off the oak parquet.
‘What are you doing?’ Erast Petrovich shouted, trying to shake off the insane Japanese, but Kamata bounded across to the vice-consul and twisted his arm behind his back, and others came darting after him.
A second later Fandorin, disarmed and helpless, was standing flattened against the walclass="underline" they were holding him by the arms, the legs and the neck.
But Erast Petrovich was not looking at the black-clad servants, only at the traitor, who picked the revolver up off the floor and handed it to the Don with a bow.
‘You Judas!’ the titular counsellor shouted hoarsely. ‘You coward! You scoundrel!’
Shirota asked the master of the house something in Japanese – apparently he was requesting permission to reply. Tsurumaki nodded.
Then the turncoat turned towards Fandorin: his face was a pale, frozen mask, but his voice was firm and steady.
‘I am not a coward or a scoundrel, and even less a traitor. Quite the contrary, I am faithful to my country. I used to think it was possible to serve two countries without any loss of honour. But Mr Lieutenant Captain Bukhartsev opened my eyes. Now I know how Russia regards Japan and what we can expect from the Russians.’
Fandorin couldn’t bear it – he turned his eyes away. He remembered how Bukhartsev had pontificated about the ‘Yellow Peril’ without even thinking it necessary to lower his voice, and Shirota had been standing in the corridor all the time…
‘That’s politics,’ Erast Petrovich interrupted. ‘It can change. But betraying those who trust you is wrong! You are a member of the Russian consular staff!’
‘Not any longer. As you are aware, I handed in my resignation and even wrote exactly why I no longer wish to serve Russia.’
And that was true too!
‘Is it really more honourable to serve this murderer?’ Fandorin asked, nodding at the Don to emphasise this, his final argument.
‘Mr Tsurumaki is a sincere man. He is acting for the good of my Motherland. And he is also a strong man. If the supreme authority and the law damage the interests of our native land, he changes the authority and corrects the laws. I have decided that I shall help him. I never sat on any hill, I went straight to Mr Tsurumaki and told him about your plan. You could have harmed Japan, and I have stopped you.’
The longer Shirota talked, the more confident his voice became and the more brightly his eyes flashed. The modest, unassuming secretary had wound the smart Fandorin round his little finger; he even dared to be proud of the fact. Erast Petrovich, soundly drubbed on all counts, including even the moral issue, was seized by a spiteful desire to spoil the triumph of this champion of ‘sincerity’ in at least some small way.
‘I thought you loved Sophia Diogenovna. But you have betrayed her. You will never see her again.’
The moment he said it, he repented. It really was rather unworthy.
But Shirota was not perturbed.
‘On the contrary. Today I proposed to Sophie and I was accepted. I warned her that if she married me, she would have to become Japanese. She replied: “With you I would live in the jungle.”’ The hateful face of the Russian Empire’s new enemy dissolved into a smile of happiness. ‘It is bitter for me to part from you like this. I have profound respect for you. But nothing bad will happen to you, Mr Tsurumaki has promised me that. The safe was specially filled with gold instead of documents that contain state secrets. Thanks to this, you will not be charged with spying. And Mr Tsurumaki will not sue you for attempted robbery. You will remain alive, you will not go to jail. You will simply be expelled from Japan. You cannot be left here, you are far too dynamic, and you are also embittered because of your friends who have been killed.’
He turned to the Don and bowed to indicate that the conversation in Russian was over.
Tsurumaki added in English:
‘Shirota-san is a genuine Japanese patriot. A man of honour who knows that duty to the Motherland comes above all other things. Go, my friend. You should not be here when the police arrive.’
With a low bow to his new master and a brief nod to Fandorin, Shirota left the room.
The titular counsellor was still being held as tightly as ever, and that could mean only one thing.
‘The police, of course, will arrive t-too late,’ Erast said to the master of the house. ‘The thief will be killed while attempting to escape or resisting capture. That is why you have sent the idealistic Shirota away. I am such a dynamic individual – not only can I not be left in Japan, I cannot even be left alive, right?’
The smile with which Tsurumaki listened to these words was full of jovial surprise, as if the millionaire had not expected to hear such a subtle and witty comment from his prisoner.
The Don turned the Herstal over in his hand and asked:
‘Self-winding? Hammerless?’
‘Yes. Simply press the trigger and all seven bullets will be fired, one after another. That is, six, one round has already been spent,’ replied Fandorin, inwardly feeling proud of his own cool composure.
Tsurumaki weighed the small revolver in his hand and the titular counsellor readied himself: now it would be very painful, then the pain would become duller, and then it would pass off altogether…
But the Herstal was sent flying to the floor. Erast Petrovich was surprised only for a moment. Then he noticed that the Don’s pocket was bulging. Of course: it would be strange if the robber were to be shot with his own revolver.
As if to confirm this guess, the master of the house lowered his hand into that pocket. Events were clearly approaching their conclusion.
Suddenly Kamata, who had been keeping his eyes fixed on the titular counsellor, turned his bony face covered with coarse wrinkles towards the door.
There were shouts and crashing sounds coming from somewhere outside.
Had the police arrived? But then why the noise?
Another Black Jacket came running into the room. He bowed to the master and Kamata and jabbered something.