‘And is it possible for the touch of a finger to leave a burn mark on the neck, through a celluloid collar?’ Fandorin countered. ‘All right, it’s too early to argue about that. Let’s go to the mooring and wait for the samurai. If they don’t come, we’ll work on the owner of the Rakuen. But Mr Asagawa is right – we can’t go at this like a bull at a gate. Tell me, Inspector, do you have agents in civilian dress… that is, I mean, not in uniforms, but in kimonos?’
The Japanese smiled gently.
‘The kimono is formal wear. But I understand your question, Mr Vice-Consul. I have very good agents – in Japanese clothing and in European frock coats. We will put Semushi under secret surveillance.’
‘And from what my servant can tell me, I shall compose a verbal p-portrait of the man who touched Blagolepov’s neck. But let us not get ahead of ourselves. Perhaps the Satsumans will show up after all?’
The deceased Captain Blagolepov’s launch was tied up among fishing boats at a berth a long way from the Settlement.
The ambush was already in place two hours before the dawn. The Japanese police were ensconced under the decking of the jetty, on the launch itself and on the boats beside it. Lockston and his constables were posted on the shore, in a warehouse.
It was very dark and very quiet;, the only sound was the breathing of the bay, and every now and then the moon peeped out for a short while from behind the clouds. Erast Petrovich had found the prospect of sitting in the warehouse with the white policeman uninteresting. He wanted to be with Asagawa and his men in the immediate vicinity of the launch. The titular counsellor and four of the Japanese policemen had taken up a post under the pier, up to their knees in water. After a quarter of an hour Fandorin started feeling cold, and half an hour after that his teeth were chattering wildly, but he had to put up with it in order not to disgrace himself in front of the locals.
When there was moonlight filtering through between the boards of the pier, the young man examined his silent companions. Not one of them had a firearm, or even cold steel – only long staffs. But during the fight at the Rakuen, Erast Petrovich had seen how effective this weapon was in the hands of a master, so he contemplated the Japanese men’s unimpressive equipment with respect.
What surprised the titular counsellor most of all was that four of the ten men brought by Asagawa were wearing spectacles. It was absolutely impossible to imagine a Russian constable in glasses – the very idea was enough to make a cat laugh. But for the Japanese officers it seemed to be in the accepted order of things. Unable to quell his curiosity, Fandorin quietly asked the inspector what was the reason for this phenomenon – was it perhaps a national disposition to short-sightedness?
The inspector replied seriously and comprehensively. He explained that from the day they were born men of the samurai class had a predilection for reading and self-education. And the pursuit of book-learning was particularly well developed in the police – which was good for the job, but bad for the eyesight. Nonetheless, this activity was enthusiastically encouraged by the high command, for now, in these times of progress, the representatives of authority should be educated individuals – otherwise the public would lose all respect for them, and contempt for the representatives of authority was detrimental to society.
So there was Erast Petrovich with his teeth chattering, up to his knees in water, pondering the terrible mistake that the government of his homeland had made by not involving the landed gentry in socially useful activity following the liberation of the peasantry. If only at that point they had disbanded the appalling Russian police – illiterate, corrupt through and through – and started taking young men from the nobility as police constables in the cities and rural districts. What a wonderful idea – a police force that is more educated and more high-minded that its fellow citizens, a police force that is a model for emulation! Russia had so many starry-eyed idlers with a grammar-school education! And now they were living totally useless lives, or else youthful idealism and the energy of unspent passion drove them to join the revolutionaries. What a loss for the state and society!
When he hit his forehead against a rough beam of timber, Erast Petrovich realised that his mind had slipped imperceptibly into the drowsy realm of daydreams. Noble police constables – what an absurd fantasy!
He shook his head to drive sleep away and took his watch out of his pocket. Three minutes after four. The gloom was starting to brighten.
And when the first, hesitant ray of sunlight stretched out across the dark-blue waters of the bay, it finally became clear that the Satsumans would not come.
It seemed like the end,
No hope left. But suddenly -
The first ray of sun.
A MAMUSI’S HEART
While his master was sleeping, Masa managed to do many important jobs. A thoughtful, responsible approach was what was required here – after all, it’s not every day that a man starts a new life.
Masa did not know much about gaijins, and he knew almost nothing at all about his master, and, naturally, that made him feel a bit timid – he didn’t want to make a mess of things, but his spirit was filled with the zeal of devotion, and that was the most important thing.
Shirota-san had explained Masa’s duties to him the day before: do the housekeeping, buy provisions, prepare food, clean clothes – in short, do everything to meet his master’s every need. Masa had been given twenty yen to cover outgoings and also his salary for a month in advance.
The salary was generous, and he spent it as befitted a devoted retainer, that is, on acquiring an appearance worthy of his position.
The Yakuza known as Badger had died with the Chobei-gumi gang. Now the same body was inhabited by a man called Sibata-san – no, better ‘Mister Masa’ – who had to live up to his calling.
The first thing Masa did was pay a visit to the barber and have his lacquered pigtail shaved off. Of course, the result was not very beautiful to see: white on top and black at the sides, like an old gaijin’s bald patch. But Masa’s hair grew with remarkable speed: in two days the back of his head would be covered with stubble and in a month he would have a wonderful stiff brush. It would be clear straight away that the owner of a head like that was a modern individual, a man of European culture. Like in that song everyone was singing in Tokyo:
Tap a lacquer-pigtailed head
For full elucidation.
Hear the dull and obtuse thud
Of musty, crass stagnation.
Tap a trim and tidy head
For full elucidation.
Hear the clear, progressive note
Of bright illumination.
Masa knocked on the freshly trimmed crown of his own head and was pleased with the sound. And while his hair was growing, he could wear a hat – he bought a fine felt bowler, only very slightly frayed, for just thirty sen in a second-hand clothes shop.
He bought his outfit in the same place: jacket, shirt-front and cuffs, check trousers. He tried on a heap of shoes, boots and half-boots, but decided to wait for a while with the gaijin footwear – it was very stupid and uncomfortable, and took such a long time to put on and take off. He kept his wooden geta.
Having transformed himself into a genuine foreigner, he visited one of his former girlfriends, who had taken a job with the family of an American missionary: first, to show off his newly acquired chic and, secondly, to ask about the habits and customs of gaijins. He obtained a great deal of surprising and very useful information, although not without some difficulty, because the brainless girl pestered him with her amorous advances and slobbered all over him. But he had come on serious business, after all, not just to fool about.