And there was nothing that could be done about it.
Erast Petrovich waved his arm at them and even kicked one of them with the toe of his low boot, but the dratted curs simply wouldn’t leave him alone – they chased after the vice-consul, sticking to his heels and barking even more loudly.
He pressed harder on the pedals, which was not easy, because the street ran uphill, but Fandorin had muscles of steel and, after another couple of minutes in pursuit, the dogs started falling behind.
The young man arrived at house number 129 soaked in sweat. However, he was not feeling tired at all – he cared nothing for any trials or tribulations now.
The right honourable patron of the most precious woman in all the world resided in a two-storey mansion of red brick, constructed in accordance with the canons of the glorious Georgian style. Despite the late hour, the house was not sleeping – the windows were bright both downstairs and upstairs.
As he studied the local terrain, Erast Petrovich was surprised to realise that he had been here before. Nearby he could see tall railings with fancy lacework gates and, beyond them, a familiar white palazzo with columns – Don Tsurumaki’s estate, where Erast Petrovich had seen O-Yumi for the first time.
Bullcox’s domain was both smaller and less grandiose than his neighbour’s – and that was very opportune: to scale the ten-foot-high railings of the nouveau-riche Japanese magnate’s estate would have required a ladder, while hopping over the Englishman’s wooden fence was no problem at all.
Without pausing long for thought, Erast Petrovich hopped over. But he had barely even taken a few steps before he saw three swift shadows hurtling towards him across the lawn – they were huge, silent mastiffs, with eyes that glinted an ominous phosphorus-green in the moonlight.
He was obliged to beat a rapid retreat to the fence, and he only just made it in time.
Perched on the narrow top with his feet pulled up, gazing at those gaping jaws, the titular counsellor instantly conceived the appropriate headline for this scene: HAPLESS LOVER CHASED BY MASTIFFS.
What a disgrace, what puerile tomfoolery, the vice-consul told himself, but he didn’t come to his senses, he merely bit his lip – he was so furious at his own helplessness.
O-Yumi was so very close, behind one of those windows, but what could he do about these damned dogs?
The titular counsellor was fond of dogs, he respected them, but right now he could have shot these accursed English brutes with his trusty Herstal, without the slightest compunction. Ah, why had progress not yet invented silent gunpowder?
The mastiffs didn’t budge from the spot. They gazed upwards, scraping their clawed feet on the wooden boards. They didn’t actually bark – these aristocratic canines had been well trained – but they growled.
Erast Petrovich suddenly heard rollicking plebeian barking from the end of the street. Looking round, he saw his recent acquaintances – the homeless dogs from the Yatobashi Bridge. Surely they couldn’t have followed my scent, he thought to himself, but then he saw that the mongrels were chasing after a running man.
The man was waving his arm about – there was a pitiful yelp. He swung his arm in the other direction – another yelp, and the pack dropped back.
Masa, it was Fandorin’s faithful vassal, Masa! He had a wooden club in his hand, with another, identical, one attached to it by a chain. Fandorin already knew that this unprepossessing but effective weapon was called a nunchaku, and Masa could handle it very well.
The valet ran up and bowed to his master sitting on the fence.
‘How did you find me?’ Erast Petrovich asked, and tried to say the same thing in Japanese: Do-o… vatasi… sagasu?
His Japanese lessons had not been a waste of time – Masa understood! He took a sheet of paper, folded into four, out of his pocket, and opened it out.
Ah yes, the plan of the Settlement, with a pencil line leading from the consulate to house number 129.
‘This is not work. Sigoto iie. Go, go,’ said the titular counsellor, waving his hand at Masa. ‘There’s no danger, do you understand? Kiken – iie. Wakaru?’
‘Wakarimas,’ the servant said with a bow. ‘Mochiron wakarimas. O-Yumisan.’
Erast Petrovich was so surprised that he swayed and almost went crashing down off the fence – on the wrong side. Somehow he recovered his balance. Oh, servants, servants! It was an old truism that they knew more far more about their masters than the masters suspected. But how? Where from?
‘How d-do you know? Do-o wakaru?’
The Japanese folded his short-fingered hands together and pressed them to his cheek – as if he were sleeping. He murmured:
‘O-Yumi, O-Yumi… Darring…’
Darring?
Had he really been repeating her name in his sleep?
The titular counsellor lowered his head, sorely oppressed by a feeling of humiliation. But Masa jumped up and glanced over the fence. Having ascertained the reason for the vice-consul’s strange position, he started turning his head left and right.
‘Hai,’ he said. ‘Shosho o-machi kudasai.’
He ran over to the pack of dogs that was barking feebly at the fence of the next house. He picked up one canine, turned it over, sniffed it and tossed it away. He did the same with another. But he kept hold of the third one, tucked it under his arm and walked back to his master. The mongrels bore this high-handed treatment in silence – they clearly respected strength: only the captive whined pitifully.
‘What do you want the dog for?’
Masa somehow managed to climb up on to the fence – about ten paces away from Fandorin – without releasing his live booty.
He swung his legs over, jumped down and dashed for the gate as fast as his legs would carry him. The mastiffs darted after the little titch, ready to tear him to pieces. But the nimble-footed valet opened the latch and flung the mongrel on the ground. It bolted out into the street with a squeal, and then a genuine miracle took place – instead of mauling the stranger, the guard dogs bolted after the mongrel.
It shot away from them, working its little legs furiously. The mastiffs ran after it in a pack, with their heads in line.
Ah, it’s a bitch in heat, Fandorin realised. Well done, Masa, brilliant!
The pack also set off at a rush after the terrifying suitors, but maintained a respectful distance. Five seconds later there wasn’t a single quadruped left in the street.
Masa walked out through the gate and bowed ceremoniously, gesturing to invite Erast Petrovich through on to the lawn. The vice-consul tossed his cloak into his servant’s arms, handed him the hat and went in – not over the fence, but in the conventional manner – through the gate.
In the distance he could hear the loud barking and lingering lovesick howls of the local canine community.
All things forgotten,
Careering along pell-mell,
Answering love’s call
THE GARDEN GATE
Erast Petrovich ran across the broad lawn, brightly illuminated by the moonlight. He walked round the house – if he was going to climb in through a window, it would be best to do it at the back, so that he would not be seen by some chance passer-by.
Behind the house he found a garden wrapped in dense shade – just what he needed.
Going up on tiptoe, the adventurer glanced into the first window after the corner. He saw a spacious room – a dining room or drawing room. A white tablecloth, candles burning out, the remains of a supper served for two.