Murder on the Leviathan (16 page)

'Well, did she agree?' chuckled the lieutenant. 'Yes, for two bagfuls.'

'And what became of the Indian chief?' asked Fandorin with a smile. He had a quite wonderful smile, except that it was too boyish, thought Clarissa. As they said in Suffolk: a grand pie, but not for your mouth.

'Cleopatra Frankenstein took the Indian chief with her,' Gauche replied with a serious expression. 'For purposes of scientific research. They say he got his throat cut during a drunken brawl in a Denver bordello.'

'This Marie Sanfon really is a very interesting character,' mused Fandorin. 'Tell us more about her. It's a long way from all these clever frauds to cold-blooded mass murder.'

'Oh, please, that's more than enough,' protested Mrs Truffo, turning to her husband. 'My darling, it must be awfully tiresome for you to translate all this nonsense.'

'You are not obliged to stay, madam,' said Commissioner Gauche, offended by the word 'nonsense'.

Mrs Truffo batted her eyelids indignantly, but she had no intention of leaving.

'M. le cosaque is right,' Gauche acknowledged. 'Let me try to dig out a more vicious example.'

Mme Kleber laughed and cast a glance at Fandorin and, nervous as she was, even Clarissa was unable to restrain a smile - the diplomat was so very unlike a wild son of the steppe.

'Here we are, listen to this story about the black baby. It's a recent case, from the year before last, and we have a detailed report of the outcome.' The detective glanced through several sheets of paper clipped together, evidently to refresh his memory of the event. He chuckled. 'This is something of a masterpiece. I have all sorts of things in my little file, ladies and gentlemen.' He stroked the black calico binding lovingly with the stumpy fingers of his plebeian hand. 'Papa Gauche made thorough preparations for his journey, he didn't forget a single piece of paper that might come in useful. The embarrassing events I am about to relate to you never reached the newspapers, and what I have here is the police report. All right. In a certain German principality (I won't say which, because this is a delicate matter), a family of great note was expecting an addition to its number. It was a long and difficult birth. The receiving physician was a certain highly respected Dr Vogel. Eventually the bedroom was filled with the sound of an infant's squalling. The grand duchess lost consciousness for several minutes because she had suffered so much, and then she opened her eyes and said to the doctor: "Ah, Herr Professor, show me my little child." With an expression of extreme embarrassment, Dr Vogel handed her Highness the charming baby that was bawling so loudly. Its skin was a light coffee colour. When the grand duchess fainted again, the doctor glanced out of the door and beckoned with his finger to the grand duke, which, of course, was a gross violation of court etiquette.'

It was obvious that the commissioner was taking great pleasure in telling this story to the prim and proper Windsorites. A police report was unlikely to contain such details - Gauche was clearly allowing himself to fantasise at will. He lisped when he spoke the countess's part and deliberately selected words that sounded pompous: he obviously thought that made the story sound funnier. Clarissa did not consider herself an aristocrat, but even she winced at the bad taste of his scoffing at royalty. Sir Reginald, a baronet and the scion of an ancient line, also knitted his brows in a scowl, but this reaction only seemed to inspire the commissioner to greater efforts.

'His highness, however, did not take offence at his physician in ordinary, because this was a moment of tremendous pathos. Positively overwhelmed by a rising tide of paternal and conjugal feelings, he went dashing into the bedroom . . . You can imagine for yourselves the scene that followed: the crowned monarch swearing like a trooper, the grand duchess sobbing and making excuses and swooning by turns, the little negro child bawling his lungs out and the court physician frozen in reverential horror. Eventually his Highness got a grip on himself and decided to postpone the investigation into her Highness's behaviour until later. In the meantime the business had to be hushed up. But how? Flush the child down the toilet?' Gauche put his hand over his mouth, acting the buffoon. 'I beg your pardon, ladies, it just slipped out. It was impossible to get rid of the child - the entire principality had been eagerly awaiting his birth. In any case, it would have been a sin. If he called his advisers together they might let the cat out of the bag. What was he going to do? And then Dr Vogel coughed deferentially into his hand and suggested a way of saving the situation. He said that he knew a lady by the name of Fraulein von Sanfon who could work miracles and even pluck the phoenix from the sky for the prince if he needed it, let alone find him a newborn white baby. The fraulein knew how to keep her mouth shut, and being a very noble individual she would, of course, not take any money for her services, but she did have a great fondness for old jewels . . . Anyway, within no more than a couple of hours a fine bouncing baby boy, whiter than a little suckling piglet, even with white hair, was reposing on the satin sheets of the cradle and the poor little negro child was taken from the palace. They told her Highness that the innocent child would be transported to southern climes and placed with a good family for upbringing. And so everything was settled as well as could possibly be managed. The grateful duke gave the doctor a monogrammed diamond snuffbox for Fraulein von Sanfon, together with a note of gratitude and an oral request to depart the principality and never return. Which the considerate maiden immediately did.' Gauche chuckled, unable to restrain himself. 'The next morning, after a row that had lasted all night, the grand duke finally decided to take a closer look at his new son and heir. He squeamishly lifted the boy out of the cradle and turned him this way and that, and suddenly on his pink little backside - begging your pardon - he saw a birthmark shaped like a heart. His Highness had one exactly like it on his own hindquarters, and so did his grandfather, and so on to the seventh generation. Totally bemused, the duke sent for his physician in ordinary, but Dr Vogel had set out from the castle for parts unknown the previous night, leaving behind his wife and eight children.' Gauche burst into hoarse laughter, then began coughing and waving his hands in the air. Someone else chuckled uncertainly and Mme Kleber put her hand over her mouth.

'The investigation that followed soon established that the court doctor had been behaving strangely for some time and had even been seen in the gambling houses of neighbouring Baden, in the company, moreover, of a certain jolly young woman whose description closely matched that of Fraulein von Sanfon.' The detective put on a more serious expression. 'The doctor was found two days later in a hospital in Strasbourg. Dead. He'd taken a fatal dose of laudanum and left a note: "I alone am to blame for everything." A clear case of suicide. The identity of the true culprit was obvious, but how could you prove it? As for the snuffbox, it was a gift from the grand duke, and there was a note to go with it. It would not have been worth their Highnesses' while to take the case to court. The greatest mystery, of course, was how they managed to swap the newborn prince for the little negro baby, and where they could have found a chocolate-coloured child in a country of people with blue eyes and blond hair. But then, according to some sources, shortly before the incident described, Marie Sanfon had had a Senegalese maid in her service . . .'

'Tell me, Commissioner,' Fandorin said when the laughter stopped (four people were laughing: Lieutenant Renier, Dr Truffo, Professor Sweetchild and Mme Kleber), 'is Marie Sanfon so remarkably good-looking that she can turn any man's head?'

'No, she is nothing of the kind. It says everywhere that her appearance is perfectly ordinary, with absolutely no distinctive features.' Gauche cast a lingering, impudent glance in Clarissa's direction. 'She changes the colour of her hair, her behaviour, her accent and the way she dresses with the greatest of ease. But evidently there must be something exceptional about this woman. In my line of work I've seen all sorts of things. The most devastating heartbreakers are not usually great beauties. If you saw them in a photograph you would never pick them out, but when you meet them you can feel your skin creep. It's not a straight nose and long eyelashes that a man goes for, it's a certain special smell.'

'Oh, Commissioner,' Clarissa objected at this vulgar comment. 'There are ladies present.'

'There are certainly suspects present,' Gauche parried calmly. 'And you are one of them. How do I know that Mlle Sanfon is not sitting at this very table?'

He fixed his eyes on Clarissa's face. This was getting more and more like a bad dream. She could hardly catch her breath.

'If I have c-calculated correctly, then this person should be twenty-nine now?'

Fandorin's calm, almost indifferent question roused Clarissa to take a grip on herself, and casting female vanity aside, she cried out:

'There is no point in staring at me like that, monsieur detective! You are obviously paying me a compliment that I do not deserve. I am almost ten years older than your adventuress! And the other ladies present are hardly suited to the role of Mile Sanfon. Mme Kleber is too young and Mrs Truffo, as you know, does not speak French!'

'For a woman of Marie Sanfon's skill it is a very simple trick to add or subtract ten years from her age,' Gauche replied slowly, staring at Clarissa as intently as ever. 'Especially if the prize is so great and failure smacks of the guillotine. So have you really never been to Paris, Mlle Stamp? Somewhere in the region of the rue de Grenelle, perhaps?'

Clarissa turned deathly pale.

'At this point I feel obliged to intervene as a representative of the Jasper-Artaud Partnership,' Renier interrupted irritably. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I can assure you there is absolutely no way that any swindlers and crooks with an international reputation could have joined our cruise. The company guarantees that there are no card-sharps or loose women on board the Leviathan, let alone adventuresses known to the police. You can understand why. The maiden voyage is a very great responsibility. A scandal is the very last thing that we need. Captain Cliff and I personally checked and rechecked the passenger lists, and whenever necessary we made inquiries. Including some to the French police, monsieur Commissioner. The captain and I are prepared to vouch for everyone present here. We do not wish to prevent you from carrying out your professional duty, M. Gauche, but you are simply wasting your time. And the French taxpayers' money.'

'Well now,' growled Gauche, 'time will tell.'

Following which, to everyone's relief, Mrs Truffo struck up a conversation about the weather.

Reginald Milford-Stokes

10 April 1878

22 hours 31 minutes

In the Arabian Sea

17 06' 28" N 59° 48' 14" E

My passionately beloved Emily,

This infernal ark is controlled by the forces of evil, I can sense it in every fibre of my tormented soul. Although I am not sure that a criminal such as I can have a soul. Writing that has set me thinking. I remember that I have committed a crime, a terrible crime which can never ever be forgiven, but the strange thing is, I have completely forgotten what it was that I did. And I very much do not want to remember.

At night, in my dreams, I remember it very well - otherwise how can I explain why I wake up in such an appalling state every morning!' How I long for our separation to be over! I feel that if it lasts for even a little longer, I shall lose my mind. I sit in the cabin and stare at the minute hand of the chronometer, but it doesn't move. Outside on the deck I heard someone say, 'It's the tenth of April today,' and I couldn't grasp how it could possibly be April and why it had to be the tenth. I unlocked the trunk and saw that the letter I wrote to you yesterday was dated 9 April and the one from the day before yesterday was dated the eighth. So it's right. It is April. The tenth.

For several days now I have been keeping a close eye on Professor Sweetchild (if he really is a professor). He is a very popular man with our group in Windsor, an inveterate old windbag who loves to flaunt his knowledge of history and oriental matters. Every day he comes up with new, fantastic stories of hidden treasure, each more improbable than the last. And he has nasty, shifty, piggy little eyes. Sometimes there is an insane gleam in them. If only you could hear how voluptuous his voice sounds when he talks about precious stones. He has a positive mania for diamonds and emeralds.

Today at breakfast Dr Truffo suddenly stood up, clapped his hands loudly and announced in a solemn voice that it was Mrs Truffo's birthday. Everybody oohed and aahed and began congratulating her, and the doctor himself publicly presented his plain-faced spouse with a gift for the occasion, a pair of topaz earrings in exceptionally bad taste. What terrible vulgarity, to make a spectacle of giving a present to one's own wife! Mrs Truffo, however, did not seem to think so. She became unusually lively and appeared perfectly happy, and her dismal features turned the colour of grated carrot. The lieutenant said: 'Oh, madam, if we had known about this happy event in advance, we would certainly have prepared some surprise for you. You have only your own modesty to blame.' The empty-headed woman turned an even more luminous shade and muttered bashfully: 'Would you really like to make me happy?' The response was a general lazy mumble of goodwill. 'Well then,' she said, 'let's play my favourite game of lotto. In our family we always used to take out the cards and the bag of counters on Sundays and church holidays. It's such wonderful fun! Gentlemen, it will really make me very happy if you will play!' It was the first time I had heard the doctor's wife speak at such great length. For an instant I thought she was making fun of us, but no, Mrs Truffo was entirely serious. There was nothing to be done. Only Renier managed to slip out, supposedly because it was time for him to go on watch. The churlish commissioner also attempted to cite some urgent business or other as an excuse, but everyone stared at him so reproachfully that he gave in with a bad grace and stayed.