Murder on the Leviathan (25 page)

All night long the sheet lightning had flashed across the sky, the wind had howled in the masts and Leviathan had pitched ponderously to and fro on the heaving black rollers. Gauche lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling which was alternately dark and stark white - when it was lit up by lightning. The lashing rain drummed on the deck, and the glass that held his forgotten liver medicine skidded backwards and forwards across the table, with the spoon tinkling inside it.

It was Gauche's first storm at sea, but he wasn't afraid. A sea monster like this couldn't possibly sink! It might get rattled and shaken about a bit, but certainly nothing more. His only problem was that he couldn't get to sleep with the thunder booming away like that. The moment he started nodding off, there it went again - crash, boom!

But he must have fallen asleep somehow, because he suddenly jerked upright in bed, wondering what was happening. The cabin was echoing with the heavy, laboured beating of his heart.

No, it wasn't his heart. It was someone pounding on the door.

'Commissioner! (Bang-bang-bang) Commissioner! (Bang-bang-bang-bang) Open up! Quick!'

Whose voice was that? It couldn't be Fandorin!

'Who's there? What do you want?' cried Gauche, pressing his hand to the left side of his chest. 'Have you lost your mind?'

'Open up, damn you!'

Oho! What kind of a way was that for a diplomat to talk? Something really serious must have happened. 'Just a moment!'

Gauche pulled off his nightcap with the tassel (his old Blanche had knitted it for him), stuck his arms into the sleeves of his dressing gown and slipped on his bedroom slippers.

When he peeped through the crack of the half-open door he saw it really was Fandorin. In a frock coat and tie, holding a walking cane with an ivory knob. His eyes were blazing.

'What is it?' Gauche asked suspiciously, certain his nocturnal visitor could only have brought bad news.

The diplomat began speaking in an untypical jerky manner, but without stammering.

'Get dressed. Bring a gun. We have to arrest Captain Renier. Urgently. He's steering the ship onto the rocks.'

Gauche shook his head - maybe it was just another of those awful dreams he'd been having.

'Monsieur le russe, have you been smoking hashish?'

'I am not here alone,' replied Fandorin.

The commissioner stuck his head out into the corridor and saw two other men standing beside the Russian. One was the half-crazy baronet. But who was the other? The senior navigator, that's right. What was his name now? . . . Fox.

'Pull yourself together!' said the diplomat, launching a new staccato assault. 'There's not much time. I was reading in my cabin. There was a knock. Sir Reginald. He measured our position at one in the morning. With his sextant. The course was wrong. We should go left of the Isle of Mannar. We're going to the right. I woke the navigator. Fox. Tell him.'

The navigator stepped forward. He looked badly shaken. 'There are shoals there, monsieur,' he said in broken French. 'And rocks. Sixteen thousand tonnes, monsieur. If it runs aground it will break in half like a French loaf. A baguette, you understand? Another half-hour on this course and it will be too late to turn back!'

Wonderful news! Now old Gustave had to be a master mariner and lift the curse of the Isle of Mannar!

'Why don't you just tell the captain that . . . that he's following the wrong course?'

The navigator glanced at the Russian.

'Mr Fandorin says we shouldn't.'

'Renier must have decided to go for broke.' The Russian began jabbering away again. 'He's capable of anything. He could have the navigator arrested. For disobeying orders. He could even use a gun. He's the captain. His word is law on board the ship. Only the three of us know what is happening. We need a representative of authority. You, Commissioner. Let's get up there!'

'Wait, wait!' Gauche pressed his hands to his forehead. 'You're making my head spin. Has Renier gone insane, then?'

'No. But he's determined to destroy the ship. And everyone on board.'

'What for? What's the point?'

No, no, this couldn't really be happening. It was all a nightmare.

Realizing that the commissioner wasn't going to be lured out of his lair that easily, Fandorin began speaking more slowly and clearly.

'I have only a hunch to go on. An appalling suspicion. Renier wants to destroy the ship and everyone on it to conceal his crime and cover his tracks. Hide all the evidence at the bottom of the ocean. If you find it hard to believe that anyone could snuff out thousands of lives so callously, then think of the rue de Grenelle and remember Sweetchild. In the hunt for the Brahmapur treasure human life is cheap.'

Gauche gulped.

'In the hunt for the treasure?'

'Yes,' said Fandorin, controlling himself with an effort. 'Renier is Rajah Bagdassar's son. I'd guessed, but I wasn't sure. Now there can be no doubt.'

'What do you mean, his son? Rubbish! The rajah was Indian, and Renier is a pure-blooded Frenchman.'

'Have you noticed that he doesn't eat beef or pork? Do you realize why? It's a habit from his childhood. In India the cow is regarded as a sacred animal, and Moslems do not eat pork. The rajah was an Indian, but he was a Moslem by religion.'

'That proves nothing!' Gauche said with a shrug. 'Renier said he was on a diet.'

'What about his dark complexion?'

'A suntan from sailing the southern seas.'

'Renier has spent the last two years sailing the London-New York and London-Stockholm routes. Renier is half-Indian, Gauche. Think! Rajah Bagdassar's wife was French and at the time of the Sepoy Mutiny their son was being educated in Europe. Most probably in France, his mother's homeland. Have you ever been in Renier's cabin?'

'Yes, he invited me in. He invited everybody.'

'Did you see the photograph on the table? "Seven feet under the keel. Francoise B."?'

'Yes, I saw it. It's his mother.'

'If it's his mother, then why B instead of R? A son and his mother should have the same surname.' 'Perhaps she married a second time.'

'Possibly. I haven't had time to check that. But what if Francoise B. means Francoise Bagdassar? In the European manner, since Indian rajahs don't have surnames.'

'Then where did the name Renier come from?'

'I don't know. Let's suppose he took his mother's maiden name when he was naturalized.'

'Conjecture,' Gauche retorted. 'Not a single hard fact. Nothing but "what if?" and "let's suppose".'

'I agree. But surely Renier's behaviour at the time of Sweetchild's murder was suspicious? Remember how the lieutenant offered to fetch Mme Kleber's shawl? And he asked the professor not to start without him. I think the few minutes Renier was away were long enough for him to set fire to the litter bin and pick up the scalpel from his cabin.'

'And why do you think it was he who had the scalpel?'

'I told you the negro's bundle disappeared from the boat after the search. And who was in charge of the search? Renier!'

Gauche shook his head sceptically. The steamer swung over hard and he struck his shoulder painfully against the doorpost, which didn't help to improve his mood.

'Do you remember how Sweetchild began?' Fandorin continued. He took a watch out of his pocket, glanced at it and began speaking faster. ' "Suddenly it hit me! Everything fell into place - about the shawl, and about the son! It's a simple piece of clerical work. Dig around in the registers at the Ecole Maritime and you'll find him!" Not only had he guessed the secret of the shawl, he had discovered something about the rajah's son as well. For instance, that he studied at the Ecole Maritime in Marseille. A training school for sailors. Which our Renier also happens to have attended. Sweetchild mentioned a telegram he sent to an acquaintance of his in the French Ministry of the Interior. Perhaps he was trying to find out what became of the child. And he obviously did find out something, but he didn't guess that Renier is the rajah's son, otherwise he would have been more careful.'

'And what did he dig up about the shawl?' Gauche asked eagerly.

'I think I can answer that question as well. But not now, later. We're running out of time!'

'So you think Renier himself set the fire and took advantage of the panic to shut the professor's mouth?' Gauche mused.

'Yes, damn it! Use your brains! I know there's not much hard evidence, but we have only twenty minutes left before Leviathan enters the strait!'

But the commissioner still wasn't convinced.

'The arrest of a ship's captain on the high seas is mutiny. Why did you believe what this gentleman told you?' He jerked his chin in the direction of the crazy baronet. 'He's always talking all sorts of nonsense.'

The red-headed Englishman laughed disdainfully and looked at Gauche as if he were some kind of woodlouse or flea. He didn't dignify his comment with a reply.

'Because I have suspected Renier for a long time,' the Russian said rapidly. 'And because I thought what happened to Captain Cliff was strange. Why did the lieutenant need to negotiate for so long with the shipping company over the telegraph? It means they did not know that Cliff s daughter had been involved in a fire. Then who sent the telegram to Bombay? The governors of the boarding school? How would they know the Leviathan's route in such detail? Perhaps it was Renier himself who sent the message? My guidebook says that Bombay has at least a dozen telegraph offices. Sending a telegram from one office to another would be very simple.'

'And why in damnation's name would he want to send such a telegram?'

'To gain control of the ship. He knew that if Cliff received news like that he would not be able to continue the voyage. The real question is, why did Renier take such a risk? Not out of idle vanity - so that he could command the ship for a week and then let everything go hang. There is only one possible explanation: he did it so he could send the Leviathan to the bottom, with all the passengers and crew on board. The investigation was getting too close for comfort and he could feel the noose tightening around his neck. He must know the police will carry on hounding all the suspects. But if there's a shipwreck with all hands lost, the case is closed. And then there's nothing to stop him picking up the casket at his leisure.'

'But he'll be killed along with the rest of us!'

'No, he won't. We've just checked the captain's launch and it is ready to put to sea. It's a small craft, but sturdy. It can easily weather a storm. It has a supply of water and a basket of provisions and something else that is rather touching - a travelling bag all packed and ready to go. Renier must be planning to abandon ship as soon as the Leviathan has entered the narrow channel and can no longer turn back. The ship will be unable to swing around, and even if the engines are stopped the current will still carry it onto the rocks. A few people might be saved, since we are not far from the shore, but everyone who disappears will be listed as missing at sea.'

'Don't be such a stupid ass, monsieur policeman!' the navigator butted in. 'We've wasted far too much time already. Mr Fandorin woke me up and said the ship was on the wrong course. I wanted to sleep and I told Mr Fandorin to go to hell. He offered me a bet, a hundred pounds to one that the captain was off course. I thought, the Russian's gone crazy, everyone knows how eccentric the Russians are, this will be easy money. I went up to the bridge. Everything was in order. The captain was on watch, the pilot was at the helm. But for the sake of a hundred pounds I checked the course anyway, and then I started sweating, I can tell you! But I didn't say a word to the captain. Mr Fandorin had warned me not to say anything. And that,' the navigator looked at his watch, 'was twenty-five minutes ago.'

Then he added something in English that was obviously uncomplimentary about the French in general and French policemen in particular. The only word Gauche could understand was 'frog'.

The sleuth hesitated for one final moment and then made up his mind. Immediately he was transformed, and began getting dressed with swift, precise movements. Papa Gauche might be slow to break into a gallop, but once he started moving he needed no more urging.

As he pulled on his jacket and trousers he told the navigator:

'Fox, bring two sailors up onto the top deck, with carbines. The captain's mate should come too. No, better not, there's no time to explain everything all over again.'

He put his trusty Lefaucheux in his pocket and offered the diplomat a four-cylinder Marietta.

'Do you know how to use this?'

'I have my own, a Herstal-Agent,' replied Fandorin, showing him a handsome, compact revolver unlike any Gauche had ever seen before. 'And this as well.'

With a single rapid movement he drew a slim, pliable sword blade out of his cane.

'Then let's go.'

Gauche decided not to give the baronet a gun - who could tell what the lunatic might do with it?

The three of them strode rapidly down the long corridor. The door of one of the cabins opened slightly and Renate Kleber glanced out, with a shawl over her brown dress.

'Gentlemen, why are you stamping about like a herd of elephants?' she exclaimed angrily. 'I can't get any sleep as it is with this awful storm.'