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
Don’t give in, don’t give in! his mind signalled desperately to his crazily beating heart. But in defiance of reason, his arms embraced the lithe body of the one who had put the poor vice-consul’s soul through such torment.
O-Yumi tore at his collar – the buttons scattered on to the carpet. Covering his exposed neck with rapid kisses and gasping impatiently in her passion, she tugged Fandorin’s frock coat off his shoulders.
And then something happened that should have been called a genuine triumph of reason over unbridled, elemental passion.
Gathering all his willpower (a quality with which he was well endowed), the titular counsellor took hold of O-Yumi’s wrists and moved them away from him – gently, but uncompromisingly.
There were two reasons for this, both of them weighty.
Erast Petrovich hastily formulated the first of them in this way: What does she take me for, a boy? She disappears when she pleases, whistles for me when she pleases, and I come running? For all its vagueness, this reason was extremely important. In the skirmish between two worlds that is called ‘love’, there is always monarch and subject, victor and vanquished. And that was the crucial question being decided at that very moment.
The second reason lay outside love’s domain. There was a whiff of mystery here, and a very disturbing kind of mystery at that.
‘How did you find out that Asagawa and I had agreed to communicate by notes?’ Erast Petrovich asked sternly, trying to make out the expression on her face in the darkness. ‘And so quickly too. Have you been following us? Eavesdropping on us? Exactly what is your part in this whole business?’
She looked up at him without speaking or moving or trying to free herself, but the touch of her skin scorched the young man’s fingers. He suddenly recalled a definition from the grammar school physics textbook: ‘The electricity contained in a body gives that body a special property, the ability to attract another body…’
Fandorin shook his head and said firmly:
‘Last time you slipped away without explaining anything to me. But today you will have to answer my qu-questions. Speak, will you!’
And O-Yumi did speak.
‘Who is Asagawa?’ she asked, tearing her wrists free of his grasp – the electric circuit was broken. ‘Did you think someone else sent you the note? And you came straight away? All this time I have been thinking of nothing but him, and he… What a fool I am!’