Special Assignments (8 page)

Anisii held his breath as he watched his chief casually reach into the drum, take hold of the first pink ticket he came across between his finger and thumb, pull it out and unfold it.

'It's not empty, surely?' the young lady asked in dismay. Ah, I was quite certain that you were sure to win! The last gentleman who took a pink ticket won a genuine palazzo in Venice! With its own mooring for gondolas and a front porch for carriages! Perhaps you would like to try again, sir?'

With a porch for carriages. My, my' said Fandorin, clicking his tongue as he examined the little picture on the ticket: a winged angel with its hands folded in prayer and covered with a piece of cloth that was obviously intended to symbolise a shroud.

Erast Petrovich turned to face the queue of customers, doffed his top hat respectfully and declared in a loud, resolute voice: 'Ladies and gentlemen, I am Erast Petrovich Fandorin, His Excellency the Governor-General's Deputy for Special Assignments. This lottery is hereby declared under arrest on suspicion of fraud. Constable, clear the premises immediately and do not admit anyone else!'

'Yes, Your Honour!' the constable with the ginger moustaches barked, without the slightest thought of doubting the resolute gentleman's authority.

The constable proved to be an efficient fellow. He flapped his arms as if he were herding geese and drove the agitated, clamouring customers out through the door with great alacrity. No sooner had he rumbled 'If you please, if you please, you can see what's happened for yourselves' than the room cleared and the guardian of order drew himself erect at the entrance, ready to carry out the next order.

The Court Counsellor nodded in satisfaction and turned towards Anisii, who was standing there with his mouth hanging open at this unexpected turn of events.

The elderly gentleman - the pastor or whoever he was - also seemed to be quite perturbed. He stood up, leaned over the counter and froze, blinking goggle-eyed.

But the modest young lady reacted in an absolutely amazing manner. She suddenly winked one blue eye at Anisii from behind her pince-nez, ran across the room and leapt up on to the broad window sill with a cry of 'Hup-la!' Then she clicked open the catch and pushed the window open, letting in the fresh, frosty smell from the street outside.

'Hold her!' Erast Petrovich shouted in a despairing voice.

With a sudden start, Anisii went dashing after the agile maiden. He reached out a hand to grab her skirt, but his fingers simply slid across the smooth, resilient silk. The young lady jumped out of the window and Tulipov slumped across the window sill, just in time to see her skirts expand gracefully as she glided downwards.

The first floor was high above the ground, but the dare-devil jumper landed in the snow with the agility of a cat, without even falling. She turned round and waved to Anisii, then lifted her skirt high to reveal a pair of shapely legs in high galoshes and black stockings, and went dashing off along the pavement. A moment later, and the fugitive had slipped out of the circle of light cast by the street lamp and disappeared into the rapidly gathering twilight.

'Oh, my gosh!' said Anisii, crossing himself as he scrambled up on to the window sill. He knew as a matter of absolute certainty that he was about to hurt himself, and he would be lucky just to break a leg, but it could easily be his back. He and Sonya would make a fine pair then: the paralysed brother and the idiot sister - a wonderful couple.

He squeezed his eyes shut, preparing to jump, but the Chief's firm hand grabbed hold of him by the coat-tails.

'Let her go,' saidFandorin, watching the young lady's receding figure with amused bewilderment. 'We have the main culprit here.'

The Court Counsellor walked unhurriedly across to the chairman of the lottery, who threw up his arms as if in surrender and without waiting for any questions, started jabbering: 'Your, Your Excell— I just accepted a small emolument ... I have no idea what is going on, I just do what they tell me ... There's the gentleman over there - ask him ... the one pretending to be a constable.'

Erast Petrovich and Tulipov turned in the direction indicated by the trembling hand, but the constable was not there. There was just his uniform cap, swaying gently to and fro on a hook.

The Chief dashed towards the door, with Anisii following him. Once they saw the dense, agitated crowd on the stairs, they knew there was no way they could force their way through it. Fandorin grimaced violently, rapped himself on the forehead with his knuckles and slammed the door shut.

Meanwhile Anisii was examining the astrakhan cap that the fake constable had left behind. It was just an ordinary cap, except that that there was a playing card attached to its lining: a coyly smiling page-boy wearing a plumed hat, under the sign of the suit of spades.

'But how on earth -? How did you -?' Anisii babbled, gazing in amazement at his infuriated chief. 'How did you guess? Chief, you're an absolute genius!'

'I'm not a genius, I'm a blockhead!' Erast Petrovich retorted angrily. 'I fell for it, hook, line and sinker! I went for the puppet and let the leader get away. He's cunning, the rogue, oh, he's cunning ... You ask me how I guessed? I didn't have to guess. I told you I never lose at any game, especially if it's a matter of luck. When the ticket didn't win, I knew straight away it was a swindle.' He paused for a moment and added: And anyway, who ever heard of a Venetian palazzo with a porch for carriages? There aren't any carriages in Venice, only boats ...'

Anisii was about to ask how the Chief had known that the

Jack of Spades was behind everything, but before he could, the Court Counsellor roared in fury: 'Why are you still examining that damned cap? What's so interesting about it?'

CHAPTER
4

One Good Turn Deserves Another

If there was one thing he simply could not stand, it was the mysterious and inexplicable. Every event, even the sudden appearance of a pimple on your nose, had its own prehistory and immediate cause. Nothing in the world ever happened just like that, entirely out of the blue. But suddenly here, by your leave, an excellently planned, elegant and - why indulge in false modesty? -
brilliant
operation had simply collapsed for no obvious reason whatever.

One half of the study door swung open slightly with a repulsive squeak and Mimi's cute little face appeared in the crack. Momos grabbed a leather slipper off one foot and flung it furiously, aiming at that golden fringe - keep out; don't interrupt when I'm thinking. The door hastily slammed shut. He ruffled up his hair furiously, sending curling papers flying in all directions, clamped his teeth on his chibouk and started scraping the copper nib of his pen across a sheet of paper.

The accounts looked abominable.

At an approximate calculation, the earnings from the lottery at the end of the first day came to seven or eight thousand. The till had been confiscated, so that was a complete loss.

Over the week, the lottery ought to have gathered speed at an increasing rate, bringing in sixty thousand at the most conservative estimate. It couldn't have been dragged out any longer than that - some impatient owner of a villa in Paris would have gone to admire his winnings and seen that the object concealed beneath the 'flaming heart' drawers - that is, under the shroud - was not at all what he had thought it was. But they could have gone on gathering honey for a week at least.

So their unearned profit came to sixty thousand, and that was the
minimum minimorum.

And what about the non-recoverable expenditure on the preparations? It was a mere trifle, of course. Renting the first floor, printing the tickets, equipment. But this was a matter of principle - Momos had been left with a loss!

Then, they'd arrested the stooge. Admittedly he didn't know a thing, but that was bad; it was untidy. And he felt sorry for the old fool, an actor from the Maly Theatre who had taken to drink. He'd be feeding the fleas in the lock-up now for his miserable thirty roubles advance.

But he felt sorriest of all for his magnificent idea. A monumental lottery - it was so delightful! What was the worst thing about those overplayed swindles called lotteries? First the client paid his money, and then he had to wait for the draw. A draw, note, that he himself wouldn't see. Why should he take anyone's word that everything was honest and above board? And how many people actually liked to wait? People were impatient -everybody knew that.

This had been different, however: pick out your own beautiful, crisp little ticket to heaven with your own fair hand. The little angel entices you, seduces you: have no doubts, dear Mr Blockhead Idiotovich. What could there possibly be behind this alluring little picture but absolute delight for you? Unlucky? Well, never mind; why don't you try again?

The details had been important, of course - so that it wouldn't be just an ordinary charitable lottery but a European, evangelical lottery. The Orthodox believers weren't over-fond of members of other creeds, but where money was concerned they trusted them more than their own - that was a well-known fact. And organising it not just anywhere, but at the Tutelary Council for the Care of Orphans! And advertising it in the
Police Gazette!
In the first place, it was a paper the people of Moscow loved and enjoyed reading, and in the second, who would ever suspect anything crooked there? And then there was the constable at the entrance!

Momos tore off his curling papers and tugged a lock of hair down from his forehead to his eyes - the ginger colour was almost gone. He only had to wash it once more and it would be fine. It was a pity that the ends of his hair had faded and split -that was from dying it so often. There was nothing to be done about that; it was part of his profession.

The door squeaked again and Mimi said quickly: 'Pussy cat, don't throw anything. A man's brought what you told him to.'

Momos roused himself. 'Who? Sliunkov?'

'I don't know; he's repulsive, hair slicked over a bald patch. The one you cleaned out at whist at Christmas.'

'Send him in!'

The first thing Momos always did when he was preparing to conquer new territory was acquire a few useful people. It was like going hunting. When you came to a rich hunting ground, you took a look around, checked the forest paths, spied out convenient hidey-holes, studied the habits of the game; and in Moscow Momos had his own informants in various key positions. Take this Sliunkov, for instance: a man with a lowly position, a clerk from the secret section of the Governor's chancellery, but he could be so useful. He'd come in handy in that business with the Englishman, and he was just what was needed now. Reeling in the clerk couldn't possibly have been any easier: Sliunkov had lost three and a half thousand at cards and now he was bending over backwards to get his IOUs back.

The man who came in had sleeked-down hair and flat feet, with a document folder under his arm. He spoke in a half-whisper, constantly glancing round at the door: Antoine Bonifatievich' - he knew Momos as a French citizen - 'in the name of Christ the Lord, this is a hard-labour offence. Be quick, don't ruin me. I'm shaking in my shoes.'

Momos pointed without speaking: Put the folder on the desk, his gesture said. Then he waved his hand, still without speaking: Now wait outside the door.

The folder bore the following heading:

Deputy for Special Assignments

ERAST PETROVICH FANDORIN

At the top left there was a stamp:

Office of the

Governor-General of Moscow. Secret records

And then, written by hand:
'Top secret'.
There was a list of documents pasted inside the cardboard cover:

Service record Confidential references Personal information

Well now, let's take a look at this Fandorin who's appeared to taunt us.

Half an hour later the clerk left on tiptoe with the secret file and a cancelled IOU for five hundred roubles. For a good turn like that, Momos could have handed back all his IOUs, but he might still come in useful again.

Momos strolled thoughtfully round the study, toying absent-mindedly with the tassel of his dressing gown. So that was him: an unmasker of conspiracies and master of secret investigations? He had more orders and medals than a bottle of champagne. A Knight of the Japanese Orders of the Chrysathemums - that was remarkable. And he'd distinguished himself in Turkey, and Japan, and travelled on special assignments to Europe. Yes indeed, a serious gentleman.

What had it said there in the references? - 'Exceptional abilities in the conduct of delicate and secret matters, especially those requiring skills of investigative deduction.' Hmm. He would like to know how the gentleman had deduced the nature of the lottery on the very first day.

Well never mind, my scary Japanese wolf; it still remains to be seen whose tail will end up in the trap, Momos warned his invisible opponent. But he shouldn't put his entire trust in official documents, no matter how secret they might be. The information on Mr Fandorin needed to be supplemented and 'fleshed out'.

The fleshing-out of the information took three days. During that time Momos undertook the following actions.

Having transformed himself into a manservant looking for a position, he befriended Prokop Kuzmich, the yard-keeper of Fandorin's landlord at the estate. They took a drop of vodka together, with pickled mushrooms, and had a chat about this and that.

He visited Korsh's Theatre and observed the box where Fandorin was sitting with his lady-love, the fugitive wife of the St Petersburg Usher of the Chamber, Opraksin. He did not look at the stage, on which, as chance would have it, they were performing Mr Nikolaev's play
Special Assignment,
but only at the Court Counsellor and his current flame. He made excellent use of his Zeiss binoculars, which looked like opera glasses, but had a magnification factor of 10. The Countess was, of course, a perfect beauty, but not to Momos's taste. He knew her kind very well and preferred to admire their beauty from a distance.