Murder on the Leviathan

Commissioner Gauche

‘Are they ever going to let us go ashore?’ Mme Kleber asked plaintively. ‘Everyone else is out strolling round Bombay, and we’re just sitting here doing nothing …’

The curtains were pulled across the windows to keep out the searing rays of the sun that scorched the deck and made the air sticky and suffocating. But although it was hot and stuffy in the Windsor saloon, everyone sat there patiently, waiting for the truth to be revealed.

Gauche took out his watch - a presentation piece with a profile portrait of Napoleon III - and replied vaguely: ‘Soon, ladies and gentlemen. I’ll let you out soon. But not all of you.’

At least he knew what he was waiting for: Inspector Jackson and his men were conducting a search. The murder weapon itself was probably lying at the bottom of the ocean, but some clues might have been left. They must have been left. Of course, there was plenty of circumstantial evidence anyway, but hard evidence always made a case look more respectable. It was about time Jackson put in an appearance …

The Leviathan had reached Bombay at dawn. Since the evening of the previous day all the Windsorites had been confined to their cabins under house arrest, and immediately the ship arrived in port Gauche had contacted the authorities, informed them of his own conclusions and requested their assistance.

They had sent Jackson and a team of constables. Come on, Jackson, get a move on, thought Gauche, wishing the inspector would stop dragging his feet. After a sleepless night the commissioner’s head felt as heavy as lead and his liver had started playing up, but despite everything he was feeling rather pleased with himself. He had finally unravelled the knots in the tangled thread, and now he could see where it led.

At half past eight, after finalizing his arrangements with the local police and spending some time at the telegraph office, Gauche had ordered the detainees to be assembled in the Windsor saloon - it would be more convenient for the search. He hadn’t even made an exception for Renate, who had been sitting beside him at the time of the murder and could not possibly have cut the professor’s throat. The commissioner had been watching over his prisoners for more than three hours now, occupying a strategic position in the deep armchair opposite his client, and there were two armed policemen standing outside the door of the saloon, where they could not be seen from inside.

The detainees were all too sweaty and nervous to make conversation. Renier dropped in from time to time, nodded sympathetically to Renate and went off again about his business.

The captain looked in twice, but he didn’t say anything, just gave the commissioner a savage glance - as if this whole mess was papa Gauche’s fault!

The professor’s deserted chair was like the gap left by a missing tooth. The Indologist himself was lying ashore, in the chilly vaults of the Bombay municipal morgue. The thought of the dark shadows and the blocks of ice almost made Gauche envy the dead man. Lying there, with all his troubles behind him, with no sweat-drenched collar cutting into his neck …

The commissioner looked at Dr Truffo, who did not seem very comfortable either: the sweat was streaming down his olive-skinned face and his English Fury kept whispering in his ear.

‘Why are you looking at me like that, monsieur!’ Truffo exploded when he caught the policeman’s glance. ‘Why do you keep staring at me? It’s absolutely outrageous! What right do you have? I’ve been a respectable medical practitioner for fifteen years …’ he almost sobbed. ‘What difference does it make if a scalpel was used? Anyone could have done it!’

‘Was it really done with a scalpel?’ Mile Stamp asked timidly.

It was the first time anyone in the saloon had mentioned what had happened.

‘Yes, only a very good quality scalpel produces such a clean incision,’ Truffo replied angrily. ‘I inspected the body. Someone obviously grabbed Sweetchild from behind, put one hand over his mouth and slit his throat with the other. The wall of the corridor is splattered with blood, just above the height of a man.

That’s because his head was pulled back …’

‘No great strength would have been required, then?’ asked the Russian. ‘The element of surprise would have b-been enough?’

The doctor gave a despondent shrug.

‘I don’t know, monsieur. I’ve never tried it.’

Aha, at last! The door half-opened and the inspector’s bony features appeared in the gap. The inspector beckoned to the commissioner, who grunted with the effort of hoisting himself out of the armchair.

There was a pleasant surprise waiting for the commissioner in the corridor. Everything had worked out quite splendidly! A thorough job, efficient and elegant. Solid enough to bring the jury in straight away, no lawyer would ever demolish evidence like that. Good old papa Gauche, he could still give any young whippersnapper a hundred points’ start. And well done Jackson for his hard work!

The four of them went back into the saloon together: the captain, Renier and Jackson, with Gauche bringing up the rear.

At this stage he was feeling so pleased with himself that he even started humming a little tune. And his liver had stopped bothering him.

‘Well, ladies and gentlemen, this is it,’ Gauche announced cheerfully, walking out into the very centre of the saloon. He put his hands behind his back and swayed on his heels. It was a pleasant feeling to know you were a figure of some importance, even, in your own way, a ruler of destinies. The road had been long and hard, but he had reached the end at last. Now for the most enjoyable part.

‘Papa Gauche has certainly had to rack his old brains, but an old hunting dog will always sniff out the fox’s den, no matter how confused the trail might be. By murdering Professor Sweetchild our criminal has finally given himself away. It was an act of despair. I believe that under questioning the murderer will tell me all about the Indian shawl and many other things as well.

Incidentally, I should like to thank our Russian diplomat who, without even knowing it, helped to set me on the right track with several of his comments and questions.’

In his moment of triumph Gauche could afford to be magnanimous. He nodded condescendingly to Fandorin, who bowed his head without speaking. What a pain these aristocrats were, with all their airs and graces, always so arrogant, you could never get a civil word out of them.

‘I shall not be travelling with you any further. Thanks for the company, as they say, but all things in moderation. The murderer will also be going ashore: I shall hand him over to Inspector Jackson in a moment, here on board the ship.’

Everyone in the saloon looked warily at the morose, skinny Englishman standing there with his hands in his pockets.

‘I am very glad this nightmare is over,’ said Captain Cliff. ‘I realize you have had to put up with a lot of unpleasantness, but it has all been sorted out now. The head steward will find you places in different saloons if you wish. I hope that the remainder of your cruise on board the Leviathan will help you to forget this sad business.’

‘Hardly,’ said Mine Kleber, answering for all of them. ‘This whole experience has been far too upsetting for all of us! But please don’t keep us in suspense, monsieur Commissioner, tell us quickly who the murderer is.’

The captain was about to add something to what he had said, but Gauche raised his hand to stop him. This time he had earned the right to a solo performance.

‘I must confess that at first my list of suspects included every single one of you. The process of elimination was long and difficult, but now I can reveal the most crucial point: beside Lord Littleby’s body we discovered one of the Leviathans gold emblems - this one here.’ He tapped the badge on his own lapel.

‘This little trinket belongs to the murderer. As you know, a gold badge could only have been worn by a senior officer of the ship or a first-class passenger. The officers were immediately eliminated from the list of suspects, because they all had their badges in place and no one had requested the shipping line to issue a new emblem to replace one that had been lost. But among the passengers there were four individuals who were not wearing a badge. Mile Stamp, Mme Kleber, M. Milford-Stokes and M. Aono. I have kept this quartet under particularly close observation.

Dr Truffo found himself here because he is a doctor, Mrs Truffo because husband and wife must not be set asunder, and our Russian diplomat because of his snobbish disinclination to appear like a caretaker.’

The commissioner lit his pipe and started pacing around the salon.

‘I have erred, I confess. At the very beginning I suspected monsieur le baronet, but I received timely information concerning his … circumstances, and selected a different target.

You, madam!’ Gauche swung round to face Miss Stamp.

‘As I observed,’ she replied coldly. ‘But I really cannot see what made me appear so suspicious.’

‘Oh, come now!’ said Gauche, surprised. ‘In the first place, everything about you indicates that you suddenly became rich only very recently. That in itself is already highly suspicious. In the second place, you lied about never having been in Paris, even though the words Hotel Ambassadeur are written on your fan in letters of gold. Of course, you stopped carrying the fan, but old Gauche has sharp eyes. I spotted that trinket of yours straight away. It is the sort of thing that expensive hotels give to their guests as mementoes of their stay. The Ambassador happens to stand on the rue de Grenelle, only five minutes’ walk from the scene of the crime. It is a luxurious hotel, very large, and all sorts of people stay in it, so why is the mademoiselle being so secretive, I asked myself. There is something not right here. And I found I couldn’t get the idea of Marie Sanfon out of my head …’ The commissioner smiled disarmingly at Clarissa Stamp. ‘Well, I was casting around in the dark for a while, but eventually I hit upon the right trail, so I offer my apologies, mademoiselle.’

Gauche suddenly noticed that the redheaded baronet had turned as white as a sheet: his jaw was trembling and his green eyes were glaring at the commissioner balefully.

‘What precisely do you mean by … my “circumstances”?’ he said slowly, choking on the words in his fury. ‘What are you implying, mister detective?’

‘Come, come,’ said Gauche, raising a conciliatory hand. ‘Above all else, you must remain calm. You must not become agitated. Your circumstances are your circumstances and they are no one else’s business. I only mentioned them to indicate that you no longer figure among my potential suspects. Where is your emblem, by the way?’

‘I threw it away,’ the baronet replied gruffly, his eyes still looking daggers at Gauche. ‘It’s repulsive! It looks like a golden leech! And …’

‘And it was not fitting for the baronet Milford-Stokes to wear the same kind of nameplate as a rag-tag bunch of nouveaux riches, was it?’ the commissioner remarked shrewdly. ‘Yet another snob.’

Mile Stamp also seemed to have taken offence.

‘Commissioner, your description of exactly what it is that makes me such a suspicious character was most illuminating. Thank you,’ she said acidly, with a jerk of her pointed chin. ‘You have indeed tempered justice with mercy.’

‘When we were still in Aden I sent a number of questions to the prefecture by telegram. I could not wait for the replies because the inquiries that had to be made took some time, but there were several messages waiting for me in Bombay. One of them concerned you, mademoiselle. Now I know that from the age of fourteen, when your parents died, you lived in the country with a female cousin of your mother. She was rich, but miserly. She treated you, her companion, like a slave and kept you on little more than bread and water.’

The Englishwoman blushed and seemed to regret ever having made her comment. Now, my sweet little bird, thought Gauche, let us see how deeply you blush at what comes next!

‘A couple of months ago the old woman died and you discovered she had left her entire estate to you. It is hardly surprising that after so many years under lock and key you should want to get out and travel a bit, to see the world. I expect you had never seen anything of life except in books?’

‘But why did she conceal the fact that she visited Paris?’ Mme Kleber interrupted rudely. ‘Because her hotel was on the street where all those people were killed? She was afraid you would suspect her, was that it?’

‘No,’ laughed Gauche. ‘That was not it. Having suddenly become rich, Mile Stamp acted as any other woman would have done in her place - the first thing she did was to visit Paris, the capital of the world. To admire the beautiful sights of Paris, to dress in the latest Paris fashion and also, well … for romantic adventures.’

The Englishwoman had clenched her fingers together nervously, she was gazing at Gauche imploringly, but nothing was going to stop him now - this fine lady should have known better than to look down her nose at a commissioner of the Paris police.

‘Miss Stamp found romance in plenty. In the Ambassador Hotel she made the acquaintance of an exceptionally suave and handsome gentleman, who is listed in the police files under the name of the Vampire. A shady character who specializes in rich, ageing foreign women. The flames of passion were ignited instantly and - as always happens with the Vampire - they were extinguished without warning. One morning, on the thirteenth of March to be exact, madam, you woke alone and forlorn in a hotel room that you could barely recognize because it was so empty. Your friend had made off with everything except the furniture. They sent me a list of the items that were stolen from you.’ Gauche glanced into his file. ‘Number thirty-eight on the list is “a golden brooch in the form of a whale”. When I read that, I began to understand why Miss Stamp does not like to remember Paris.’

The foolish woman was a pitiful sight now - she had covered her face with her hands and her shoulders were heaving.

‘I have never really suspected Mme Kleber,’ said Gauche, moving on to the next point on his agenda, ‘even though she was unable to give a clear explanation of why she had no emblem.’

‘But why did you ignore what I told you?’ the Japanese butted in. “I told you something very important.’

‘I didn’t ignore it!’ The commissioner swung round to face the speaker. ‘Far from it. I had a word with Mme Kleber and she gave me an explanation that accounted for everything. She suffered so badly during the first stage of pregnancy that her doctor prescribed … certain sedative substances. Afterwards the painful symptoms passed, but the poor woman had already become habituated to the medication, which she took for her nerves and insomnia. She was taking larger and larger doses and the habit was threatening to get out of hand. I had a fatherly word with Mme Kleber and afterwards, under my watchful eye, she threw the vile narcotic into the sea.’ Gauche cast a glance of feigned severity at Renate, who had stuck out her lower lip like a sulky child. ‘Remember, my dear, you promised papa Gauche on your word of honour.’

Renate lowered her eyes and nodded.

Clarissa erupted. ‘Ah, what touching concern for Mme Kleber! Why could you not spare my blushes, monsieur detective?

You have humiliated me in front of the entire company.’

But the commissioner had no time for her now - he was still gazing at the Japanese, and his gaze was grave and unrelenting.

The quick-witted Jackson understood, without having to be told, that it was time. There was a funereal gleam of burnished steel as he took his hand out of his pocket. He held the revolver with the barrel pointing straight at the Oriental’s forehead. “I believe that you Japanese think of us as ginger-haired monkeys?’ Gauche said in a hostile voice. ‘I’ve heard that’s what you call Europeans. We are hairy barbarians and you are cunning, subtle and so highly cultured. White people are not even fit to lick your boots.’ The commissioner puffed out his cheeks sarcastically and blew a thick cloud of smoke out to one side.

‘Killing ten monkeys means nothing to you, you don’t even think of it as wrong.’

Aono sat there tense and still. His face was like stone.

‘You accuse me of killing Lord Littleby and his vassals … that is, servants?’ the Oriental asked in a flat, lifeless voice. ‘Why do you accuse me?’

‘For every possible reason criminal science has to offer, my dear chap,’ the commissioner declared. Then he turned away from the Japanese, because the speech he was about to make was not intended for this yellow dog, it was intended for History.

The time would come when they would print it in the textbooks on criminology!

‘First, gentlemen, allow me to present the circumstantial evidence indicating that this person could have committed the crimes of which I accuse him.’ (Ah, but he shouldn’t be giving this speech to an audience of ten people, he should be addressing a packed hall in the Palais de Justice!) ‘And then I shall present to you the evidence which demonstrates beyond all possible doubt that M. Aono not only could have, but actually did murder eleven people - ten on the fifteenth of March on the rue de Grenelle and one yesterday, the fourteenth of April, on board the steamer Leviathan.’

As he spoke, an empty space formed around Aono. The Russian was the only one left sitting beside the prisoner, and the inspector was standing just behind him with his revolver at the ready.

‘I hope nobody here has any doubt that the death of Professor Sweetchild is directly connected with the crime on the rue de Grenelle. As our investigation has demonstrated, the goal of that murder most foul was to steal, not the golden Shiva, but the silk shawl …’ Gauche scowled sternly, as if to say: Yes, indeed, the investigation has established the facts, so you can stop making that wry face, monsieur diplomat. ‘… which is the key to the hidden treasure of the rajah of Brahmapur, Bagdassar. We do not yet know how the accused came to learn the secret of the shawl, and we are all aware that the Orient holds many impenetrable mysteries for our European minds. However, the deceased professor, a genuine connoisseur of oriental culture, had succeeded in solving this mystery. He was on the point of sharing his discovery with us when the fire alarm was sounded. Fate itself had sent the criminal a golden opportunity to stop Sweetchild’s mouth for ever. Afterwards all would be silence again, just like at the rue de Grenelle. But the killer failed to take into account one very important circumstance: this time Commissioner Gauche was on hand, and he is not one to be trifled with. It was a risky move, but it might have worked. The criminal knew that the scholar would dash straight to his cabin to save his papers, that is, his manuscripts. It was there, concealed by the bend in the corridor, that the murderer committed his foul deed.

And there we have the first piece of circumstantial evidence …’ the commissioner raised a finger to emphasize his point ‘… M. Aono ran out of the salon and therefore he could have committed this murder.’

‘Not only I,’ said the Japanese. ‘Six other people ran out of the salon: M. Renier, M. and Mme Truffo, M. Fandorin, M. Milford Stokes and Mile Stamp.’

‘Correct,’ Gauche agreed. ‘But I merely wished to demonstrate to the jury, by which I mean the present company, the connection between these two crimes, and also that you could have committed yesterday’s murder. Now let us return to the “Crime of the Century”. M. Aono was in Paris at the time, a fact of which there can be no doubt, and which is confirmed by a telegram that I recently received.’

‘One and a half million other people were also in Paris,’ the Japanese interjected.

‘Perhaps, but nonetheless we now have our second piece of circumstantial evidence,’ said Gauche.

‘Too circumstantial by far,’ put in the Russian.

‘I won’t dispute that.’ Gauche tipped some tobacco into his pipe before he made his next move. ‘However, the fatal injections were administered to Lord Littleby’s servants by a medic of some sort, and there are certainly not one and a half million medics in Paris, are there?’

No one contested that, but Captain Cliff asked:

‘True, what of it?’

‘Ah, monsieur capitaine,’ said Gauche, his eyes flashing brightly, ‘the point is that our friend Aono here is not a military man, as he introduced himself to all of us, but a qualified surgeon, a recent graduate from the medical faculty at the Sorbonne! I learned that from the same telegram.’

A pause for effect. A muffled hum of voices in the hall of the Palais de Justice, the rustling of the newspaper artists’ pencils on their sketchpads: ‘Commissioner Gauche Plays His Trump Card.’ Ah, but you must wait for the ace, my friends, the ace is yet to come.

‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, we move from circumstantial evidence to hard facts. Let M. Aono explain why he, a doctor, a member of a respected and prestigious profession, found it necessary to pose as an army officer. Why such deception?’

A drop of sweat slithered down the waxen face of the Japanese.

Aono said nothing. He certainly hadn’t taken long to run out of steam!

‘There is only one answer: he did it to divert suspicion from himself. The murderer was a doctor!’ the commissioner summed up complacently. ‘And that brings us to our second piece of hard evidence. Gentlemen, have you ever heard of Japanese boxing?’

‘I’ve not only heard of it, I’ve seen it,’ said the captain. ‘One time in Macao I saw a Japanese navigator beat three American sailors senseless. He was a puny little tyke, you’d have thought you could blow him over, but you should have seen the way he skipped about and flung his arms and legs around. He laid three hulking whalers out flat. He hit one of them on the arm with the edge of his hand and twisted the elbow the other way. Broke the bone, can you imagine? That was some blow!’

Gauche nodded smugly.

‘I have also heard that the Japanese possess the secret of killing with their bare hands in combat. They can easily kill a man with a simple jab of the finger. We have all seen M. Aono practising his gymnastics. Fragments of a shattered gourd - a remarkably hard gourd - were discovered under the bed in his cabin. And there were several whole ones in a sack. The accused obviously used them for perfecting the precision and strength of his blow. I cannot even imagine how strong a man must be to smash a hard gourd with his bare hand, and into several pieces …’

The commissioner surveyed his assembled audience before introducing his second piece of evidence.

‘Let me remind you, ladies and gentlemen, that the skull of the unfortunate Lord Littleby was shattered into several fragments by an exceptionally strong blow with a blunt object. Now would you please observe the calluses on the hands of the accused.’

The Japanese snatched his small, sinewy hands off the table.

‘Don’t take your eyes off him, Jackson. He is very dangerous,’

warned Gauche. ‘If he tries anything, shoot him in the leg or the shoulder. Now let me ask M. Aono what he did with his gold emblem. Well, have you nothing to say? Then let me answer the question myself: the emblem was torn from your chest by Lord Littleby at the very moment when you struck him a fatal blow to the head with the edge of your hand!’

Aono half-opened his mouth, as though he was about to say something, but he only bit his lip with his strong, slightly crooked teeth and closed his eyes. His face took on a strange, detached expression.

‘And so, the picture that emerges of the crime on the rue de Grenelle is as follows,’ said Gauche, starting his summing-up.

‘On the evening of the fifteenth of March, Gintaro Aono went to Lord Littleby’s mansion with the premeditated intention of killing everyone in the house and taking possession of the triangular shawl from the owner’s collection. At that time he already had a ticket for the Leviathan, which was due to sail for India from Southampton four days later. The defendant was obviously intending to search for the Brahmapur treasure in India. We do not know how he managed to persuade the unfortunate servants to submit to an “inoculation against cholera”. It is very probable that the accused showed them some kind of forged document from the mayor’s office. That would have been entirely convincing because, as I have been informed by telegram, medical students from the final year at the Sorbonne are quite often employed in prophylactic public health programmes.

There are quite a lot of Orientals among the students and interns at the university, so the evening caller’s yellow skin was unlikely to alarm the servants. The most monstrous aspect of the crime is the infernal callousness with which two innocent children were murdered. I have considerable personal experience of dealing with the scum of society, ladies and gentlemen.

In a fit of rage a criminal thug may toss a baby into a fire, but to kill with such cold calculation, with hands that do not even tremble … You must agree, gentlemen, that is not the French way, indeed it is not the European way.’

‘That’s right!’ exclaimed Renier, incensed, and Dr Truffo supported him wholeheartedly.

‘After that everything was very simple,’ Gauche continued.

‘Once he was sure that the poisonous injections had plunged the servants into a sleep from which they would never wake, the murderer walked calmly up the stairs to the second floor and into the hall where the collection was kept, and there he began helping himself to what he wanted. After all, he was certain that the master of the house was away. But an attack of gout had prevented Lord Littleby from travelling to Spa and he was still at home. The sound of breaking glass brought him out into the hall, where he was murdered in a most barbarous manner. It was this unplanned murder that shattered the killer’s diabolical composure. He had almost certainly planned to take several items from the collection in order not to draw attention to the celebrated shawl, but now he had to hurry. We do not know, but perhaps his Lordship called out before he died and the killer was afraid his cries had been heard in the street. For whatever reason, he took only a golden Shiva that he did not need and beat a hasty retreat, without even noticing that his Leviathan badge had been left behind in the hand of his victim. In order to throw the police off the scent, Aono left the house through the window of the conservatory … No, that was not the reason!’

Gauche slapped himself on the forehead. ‘Why did I not think of it before? He could not go back the way he had come if his victim had cried out! For all he knew, passers-by were already gathering at the door of the mansion! That was why Aono smashed the window in the conservatory, jumped down into the garden and then made his escape over the fence. But he need not have been so careful - at that late hour the rue de Grenelle was empty. If there were any cries, no one heard them …’

The impressionable Mme Kleber sobbed. Mrs Truffo listened to her husband’s translation and blew her nose with feeling.

Clear, convincing and unassailable, thought Gauche. The evidence and the investigative hypotheses reinforce each other perfectly. And old papa Gauche still hasn’t finished with you yet.

‘This is the appropriate moment to consider the death of Professor Sweetchild. As the accused has quite rightly observed, in theory the murder could have been committed by six other people apart from himself. Please, do not be alarmed, ladies and gentlemen!’ The commissioner raised a reassuring hand. ‘I shall now prove that you did not kill the professor and that he was in fact killed by our Japanese friend here.’

The blasted Japanese had completely turned to stone. Was he asleep? Or was he praying to his Japanese god? Pray as much as you like, my lad, that old slut Mme Guillotine will still have your head!

Suddenly the commissioner was struck by an extremely unpleasant thought. What if the English nabbed the Japanese for the murder of Sweetchild? The professor was a British subject after all. Then the criminal would be tried in an English court and he would end up on a British gallows instead of a French guillotine! Anything but that! The ‘Crime of the Century’ could not be tried abroad! The trial must be held in the Palais de Justice and nowhere else! Sweetchild may have been killed on board an English ship, but there were ten bodies in Paris and only one here. And in any case the ship wasn’t entirely British property, there were two partners in the consortium!

Gauche was so upset that he lost track of his argument. Not on your life, he thought to himself, you will not have my client.

I’ll put an end to this farce and then go straight to the French consul. I’ll take the murderer to France myself. And immediately he could see it: the crowded quayside, the police cordons, the journalists …

But first the case had to be brought to a conclusion.

‘Now Inspector Jackson will tell us what was found when the defendant’s cabin was searched.’

Gauche gestured to Jackson to say his piece.

Jackson launched into a monotonous rigmarole in English, but the commissioner soon put a stop to that:

‘This investigation is being conducted by the French police,’ he said sternly, ‘and the official language of this inquiry is also French. Apart from which, monsieur, not everyone here understands your language. And most importantly of all, I am not sure that the accused knows English. And you must admit that he has a right to know the results of your search.’

The protest was made as a matter of principle, in order to put the English in their place from the very beginning. They had to realize that they were the junior partners in this business.

Renier volunteered to act as interpreter. He stood beside the inspector and translated phrase by phrase, enlivening the Englishman’s flat, truncated sentences with his own dramatic

intonation and expressive gestures.

‘Acting on instructions received, a search was carried out. In cabin number twenty-four. The passenger’s name is Gintaro Aono. We acted in accordance with the Regulations for the Conduct of a Search in a Confined Space. A rectangular room with a floor area of two hundred square feet. Was divided into twenty squares horizontally and forty-four squares vertically.’

The lieutenant asked what that meant and then explained to the others. ‘Apparently the walls also have to be divided into squares - they tap on them in order to identify secret hiding places.

Although I can’t see how there could be any secret hiding places in a steamship cabin … The search was conducted in strict sequence: first vertically, then horizontally. No hiding places were discovered in the walls …’ At this point Renier gave an exaggerated shrug, as if to say: who would ever have thought it? ‘During the examination of the horizontal plane. The following items relevant to the case were discovered. Item one: notes in a hieroglyphic script. They will be translated and studied.

Item two: a long dagger of oriental appearance with an extremely sharp blade. Item three: a sack containing eleven Egyptian gourds. And finally, item four: a bag for carrying surgical instruments.

The compartment for holding a large scalpel is empty.’

The audience gasped. The Japanese opened his eyes and glanced briefly at the commissioner, but still did not speak.

He’s going to crack any moment, thought Gauche, but he was wrong. Without getting up off his chair, the Oriental swung round to face the inspector standing behind him and struck the hand holding the revolver a sharp blow from below. While the gun was still describing a picturesque arc through the air, the athletic Japanese had already reached the door, but when he jerked it open the two policemen standing outside jammed the barrels of their Colts into his chest. A split second later the inspector’s weapon completed its trajectory, crashed onto the centre of the table and detonated with a deafening roar. There was a jangling sound and the air was filled with smoke. Someone screamed.

Gauche quickly summed up the situation: the prisoner was backing towards the table; Mrs Truffo was in a dead faint; there seemed to be no other casualties; there was a hole in Big Ben just below the dial and its hands weren’t moving. The clock was jangling. The ladies were screaming. But in general the situation was under control.

The Japanese was returned to his seat and shackled with handcuffs; the doctor’s wife was revived and everyone went back to their places. The commissioner smiled and began talking again, demonstrating his superior presence of mind.

‘Gentlemen of the jury, you have just witnessed a scene that amounts to a confession of guilt, even though it was played out in a somewhat unusual manner.’

He’d made that slip about the jury again, but he didn’t bother to correct himself. After all, this was his dress rehearsal.

‘As the final piece of evidence, it could not possibly have been more conclusive,’ Gauche summed up smugly. ‘And you, Jackson, may consider yourself reprimanded. I told you that he was dangerous.’

The inspector was as scarlet as a boiled crayfish. That would teach him.

All in all, everything had turned out quite excellently.

The Japanese sat there with three guns pointing at him, pressing his shackled hands to his chest. He had closed his eyes again.

‘That is all, Inspector. You can take him away. He can be kept in your lock-up for the time being. When all the formalities have been completed, I shall take him to France. Goodbye, ladies and gentlemen, old papa Gauche is disembarking, I wish you all a pleasant journey.’

‘I am afraid, Commissioner, that you will have to travel with us a little further,’ the Russian said in that monotonous voice of his.

For a moment Gauche thought he had misheard.

‘Eh?’

‘Mr Aono is not guilty of anything, so the investigation will have to be continued.’

The expression on Gauche’s face must have looked extremely stupid - wildly staring eyes and bright scarlet cheeks …

Before the outburst of fury came, the Russian continued with quite astonishing self-assurance:

‘Captain, on b-board ship you are the supreme authority. The commissioner has just acted out a mock trial in which he took the part of prosecutor and played it with great conviction. However, in a civilized court, after the prosecution has made its case the defence is offered the floor. With your permission, I should like to take on that assignment.’

‘Why waste any more time?’ the captain asked in surprise. ‘It all seems cut and dried to me. The commissioner of police explained everything very clearly.’

‘Putting a passenger ashore is a serious m-matter, and the responsibility is ultimately the captain’s. Think what damage will be done to the reputation of your shipping line if it turns out that you have made a mistake. And I assure you,’ said Fandorin, raising his voice slightly, ‘that the commissioner is mistaken.’

‘Nonsense!’ exclaimed Gauche. ‘But I have no objections. It might even be interesting. Carry on, monsieur, I’m sure I shall enjoy it.’

After all, a dress rehearsal had to be taken seriously. This boy was no fool, he might possibly expose some gaps in the prosecution’s logic that needed patching up. Then if the prosecutor made a mess of things during the trial, Commissioner Gauche would be able to give him a hand.

Fandorin crossed one leg over the other and clasped his hands around his knee.

‘You gave a brilliant and convincing speech. At first sight your arguments appear conclusive. Your logic seems almost beyond reproach, although, of course, the so-called “circumstantial evidence” is worthless. Yes, Mr Aono was in Paris on the fifteenth of March. Yes, Mr Aono was not in the saloon when the p-professor was killed. In themselves these two facts mean nothing, so let us not even take them into consideration.’

‘Very well,’ Gauche agreed sarcastically. ‘Let us move straight on to the hard facts.’

‘Gladly. I counted five more or less significant elements. Mr Aono is a doctor, but for some reason he concealed that from us.

That is one. Mr Aono is capable of shattering a hard object such as a gourd - and perhaps also a head - with a single blow. That is two. Mr Aono does not have a Leviathan emblem. That is three.

A scalpel, which might be the one that killed Professor Sweetchild, is missing from the defendant’s medical bag. That is four.

And finally, five: we have just witnessed an attempted escape by the accused, which sets his guilt beyond all reasonable doubt. I don’t think I have forgotten anything, have I?’

‘There is a number six,’ put in the commissioner. ‘He is unable to offer an explanation for any of these points.’

‘Very well, let us make it six,’ the Russian agreed readily.

Gauche chuckled.

‘I’d say that’s more than enough for any jury to send our little pigeon to the guillotine.’

Inspector Jackson jerked his head up and growled in English: ‘To the gallows.’

‘No, to the gallows,’ Renier translated.

Ah, the black-hearted English! He had warmed a viper in his bosom!

‘I beg your pardon,’ fumed Gauche. ‘The investigation has been conducted by the French side. So our villain will go to the guillotine!’

‘And the decisive piece of evidence, the missing scalpel, was discovered by the British side. He’ll be sent to the gallows,’ the lieutenant translated.

‘The main crime was committed in Paris. To the guillotine!’

‘But Lord Littleby was a British subject. And so was Professor Sweetchild. It’s the gallows for him.’

The Japanese appeared not to hear this discussion that threatened to escalate into an international conflict. His eyes were still closed and his face was completely devoid of all expression.

These yellow devils really are different from us, thought Gauche. And just think of all the trouble they would have to take with him: a prosecutor, a barrister, a jury, judges in robes.

Of course, that was the way it ought to be, democracy is democracy after all, but this had to be a case of casting pearls before swine.

When there was a pause Fandorin asked:

‘Have you concluded your debate? May I p-proceed?’

‘Carry on,’ Gauche said gloomily, thinking about the battles with the British that lay ahead.

‘And let us not d-discuss the shattered gourds either. They also prove nothing.’

This whole comedy was beginning to get on the commissioner’s nerves.

‘All right. We needn’t waste any time on trifles.’

‘Excellent. Then that leaves five points: he concealed the fact that he is a doctor; he has no emblem; the scalpel is missing; he tried to escape; he offers no explanations.’

‘And every point enough to have the villain sent … for execution.’

‘The problem is, Commissioner, that you think like a European, but M-Mr Aono has a different, Japanese, logic, which you have not made any effort to fathom. I, however, have had the honour of conversing with this gentleman, and I have a better idea of how his mind works than you do. Mr Aono is not simply Japanese, he is a samurai, and he comes from an old and influential family. This is an important point for this particular case. For five hundred years every man in the clan of Aono was a warrior. All other professions were regarded as unworthy of such a distinguished family. The accused is the third son in the family. When Japan decided to move a step closer to Europe, many noble families began sending their sons abroad to study, and Mr Aono’s father did the same. He sent his eldest son to England to study for a career as a naval officer, because the principality of Satsuma, where the Aono clan resides, provides officers for the Japanese navy. In Satsuma the navy is regarded as the senior service. Aono senior sent his second son to a military academy in Germany. Following the Franco-German War of 1870 the Japanese decided to restructure their army on the German model, and all of their military advisers are Germans. All this information about the clan of Aono was volunteered to me by the accused himself

‘And what the devil do we want with all these aristocratic details?’ Gauche asked irritably.

‘I observed that the accused spoke with pride about his older brothers but preferred not to talk about himself. I also noticed a long time ago that for an alumnus of St Cyr, Mr Aono is remarkably ignorant of military matters. And why would he have been sent to a French military academy when he himself had told me that the Japanese army was being organized along German lines? I have formed the following impression. In keeping with the spirit of the times, Aono senior decided to set his third son up in a peaceful, non-military profession and make him a doctor. From what I have read in books, in Japan the decision of the head of the family is not subject to discussion, and so the defendant travelled to France to take up his studies in the faculty of medicine, even though he felt unhappy about it. In fact, as a scion of the martial clan of Aono, he felt disgraced by having to fiddle with bandages and tinker with clysters! That is why he said he was a soldier. He was simply ashamed to admit his true profession, which he regards as shameful. From a European point of view this might seem absurd, but try to see things through his eyes, How would your countryman D’Artagnan have felt if he had ended up as a physician after dreaming for so long of winning a musketeer’s cloak?’

Gauche noticed a sudden change in the Japanese. He had opened his eyes and was staring at Fandorin in a state of obvious agitation, and crimson spots had appeared on his cheeks. Could he possibly be blushing? No, that was preposterous.

‘Ah, how very touching,’ Gauche snorted. ‘But I’ll let it go. Tell me instead, monsieur counsel for the defence, about the emblem. What did your bashful client do with it? Was he ashamed to wear it?’

‘That is absolutely right,’ the self-appointed barrister said with a nod. ‘That is the reason. He was ashamed. Look at what it says on the badge.’

Gauche glanced down at his lapel.

‘It doesn’t say anything. There are just the initials of the Jasper-Artaud Partnership.’

‘Precisely.’ Fandorin traced out the three letters in the air with his finger. ‘J - A - P. The letters spell “jap”, the term of abuse that foreigners use for the Japanese. Tell me, Commissioner, how would you like to wear a badge that said “frog”?’

Captain Cliff threw his head back and burst into loud laughter.

Even the sour-faced Jackson and stand-offish Miss Stamp smiled. The crimson spots spread even further across the face of the Japanese.

A terrible premonition gnawed at Gauche’s heart. His voice was suddenly hoarse.

‘And why can he not explain all this for himself?’

‘That is quite impossible. You see - again as far as I can understand from the books that I have read - the main difference between the Europeans and the Japanese lies in the moral basis of their social behaviour.’

‘That’s a bit high-flown,’ said the captain.

The diplomat turned to face him.

‘Not at all. Christian culture is based on a sense of guilt. It is bad to sin, because afterwards you will be tormented by remorse. The normal European tries to behave morally in order to avoid a sense of guilt. The Japanese also strive to observe certain moral norms, but their motivation is different.

In their society the moral restraints derive from a sense of shame. The worst thing that can happen to a Japanese is to find himself in a situation where he feels ashamed and is condemned or, even worse, ridiculed by society. That is why the Japanese are so afraid of committing any faux pas that offends the sense of decency. I can assure you that shame is a far more effective civilizing influence than guilt. From Mr Aono’s point of view it would be quite unthinkable to speak openly of “shameful” matters, especially with foreigners. To be a doctor and not a soldier is shameful. To confess that he has lied is even more shameful. And to admit that he, a samurai, could attach any importance to offensive nicknames - why, that is entirely out of the question.’

‘Thank you for the lecture,’ said Gauche, with an ironic bow.

‘And was it shame that made your client attempt to escape from custody too?’

‘That’s the point,’ agreed Jackson, suddenly transformed from enemy to ally. ‘The yellow bastard almost broke my wrist.’

‘Once again you have guessed correctly, Commissioner. It is impossible to escape from a steamship, there is nowhere to go. Believing his position to be hopeless and anticipating nothing but further humiliation, my client (as you insist on calling him) undoubtedly intended to lock himself in his cabin and commit suicide according to samurai ritual. Is that not right, Mr Aono?’

Fandorin asked, addressing the Japanese directly for the first time.

‘You would have been disappointed,’ the diplomat continued gently. ‘You must have heard that your ritual dagger was taken by the police during their search.’

‘Ah, you’re talking about that - what’s it called? - hira-kira, hari-kari.’ Gauche smirked into his moustache. ‘Rubbish. I don’t believe that a man could rip his own belly open. If you’ve really had enough of this world, it’s far better to brain yourself against the wall. But I won’t take you up on that either. There is one piece of evidence you can’t shrug off-the scalpel that is missing from his medical instruments. How do you explain that? Do you claim that the real culprit stole your client’s scalpel in advance because he was planning the murder and wanted to shift the blame onto Aono? That just won’t wash! How could the murderer know the professor would decide to tell us about his discovery immediately after dinner? And Sweetchild himself had only just guessed the secret of the shawl. Remember the state he was in when he came running into the saloon!’

‘Nothing could be easier for me than to explain the missing scalpel. It is not even a matter of supposition, but of hard fact Do you remember how things began disappearing from people’s cabins after Port Said? The mysterious spate of thefts ended as suddenly as it had begun. And do you remember when? It was after our black stowaway was killed. I have given a lot of thought to the question of why he was on board the Leviathan, and this is my explanation. The negro was probably brought here from darkest Africa by Arab slave traders, and naturally he arrived in Port Said by sea. Why do I think that? Because when he escaped from his masters, the negro didn’t simply run away, he boarded a ship. He evidently believed that since a ship had taken him away from his home, another ship could take him back.’

‘What has all this got to do with our case?’ Gauche interrupted impatiently. ‘This negro of yours died on the fifth of April, and Sweetchild was killed yesterday! To hell with you and your fairy tales! Jackson, take the prisoner away!’

The commissioner set off decisively towards the door, but the diplomat grabbed his elbow in a vice-like grip and said in a repulsively obsequious voice:

‘Dear M. Gauche, I would like to follow my arguments through to their conclusion. Please be patient for just a little while longer.’

Gauche tried to break free, but this young whippersnapper had fingers of steel. After his second attempt failed, the commissioner decided not to make himself look even more foolish.

He turned to face Fandorin.

‘Very well, five more minutes,’ he hissed, glaring into the insolent youth’s serene blue eyes.

‘Thank you. Five minutes will be more than enough to shatter your final piece of hard evidence … I knew that the runaway slave must have a lair somewhere on the ship, so I looked for it. But while you were searching the holds and the coal-holes, Captain, I started with the upper deck. The black man had only been seen by first-class passengers, so it was reasonable to assume that he was hiding somewhere close by. I found what I was looking for in the third lifeboat from the bow on the starboard side: the remains of his food and a bundle of his belongings. There were several pieces of coloured cloth, a string of beads and all sorts of shiny objects, including a small mirror, a sextant, a pince-nez and also a large scalpel.’

‘Why should I believe you?’ roared Gauche. His case was crumbling to dust before his very eyes.

‘Because I am a disinterested party who is prepared to confirm his testimony under oath. May I continue?’ The Russian smiled his sickening little smile. ‘Thank you. Our poor negro was evidently a thrifty individual who did not intend to return home empty-handed.’

‘Stop, stop!’ cried Renier, with a frown. ‘M. Fandorin, why did you not report your discovery to the captain and me? What right did you have to conceal it?’

‘I didn’t conceal it. I left the bundle where it was. But when I came back to the lifeboat a few hours later, after the search, the bundle was gone. I was sure it must have been found by your sailors. But now it seems that the professor’s murderer got there before you and claimed all the negro’s trophies, including Mr Aono’s scalpel. The c-criminal could have foreseen that he might need to take … extreme measures and carried the scalpel around with him as a precaution. It might help to put the police off the scent. Tell me, Mr Aono, was the scalpel stolen from you?’

The Japanese hesitated for a moment before nodding reluctantly.

‘And you did not mention it, because an officer of the imperial army could not possibly possess a scalpel, am I right?’

‘The sextant was mine!’ declared the redheaded baronet. ‘I thought … but that doesn’t matter. So it turns out that savage stole it. Gentlemen, if someone’s head is smashed in with my sextant, please bear in mind that it is nothing to do with me.’

Bewildered by this final and absolute disaster, Gauche squinted inquiringly at Jackson.

‘I’m very sorry, Commissioner, but it seems you will have to continue your voyage,’ the inspector said in French, twisting his thin lips into a smile of sympathy. ‘My apologies, Mr Aono. If you would just hold out your hands … Thank you.’

The handcuffs jangled plaintively as they were removed.

The silence that ensued was broken by Renate Kleber’s frightened voice:

‘I beg your pardon, gentlemen, but then who is the murderer?’