Murder on the Leviathan

Gintaro Aono

The Russian diplomat is a man of profound, almost Japanese intellect. Fandorin-san possesses the most un-European ability to see a phenomenon in all its fullness, without losing his way in the maze of petty details and technicalities. The Europeans are unsurpassed masters of everything that concerns doing, they have superlative understanding of how. But true wisdom belongs to us Orientals, since we understand why. For the hairy ones the fact of movement is more important than the final goal, but we never lower our gaze from the lodestar twinkling in the distance, and therefore we often neglect to pay due attention to what lies closer at hand. This is why time and again the white peoples are the victors in petty skirmishes, but the yellow race maintains its unshakeable equanimity in the certain knowledge that such trivial matters are unworthy of serious attention. In all that is truly important, in the genuinely essential matters, victory will be ours.

Our emperor has embarked on a great experiment: to combine the wisdom of the East with the intellect of the West. Yet while we Japanese strive meekly to master the European lesson of routine daily conquest, we do not lose sight of the ultimate end of human life - death and the higher form of existence that follows it. The red-hairs are too individualistic, their precious ego obscures their vision, distorting their picture of the world around them and making it impossible for them to see a problem from different points of view. The soul of the European is fastened tight to his body with rivets of steel, it cannot soar aloft.

But if Fandorin-san is capable of illumination, he owes it to the semi-Asiatic character of his homeland.

In many ways Russia is like Japan: the same reaching out of the East for the West. Except that, unlike us, the Russians forget about the star by which the ship maintains its heading and spend too much time gazing idly around them. To emphasize one’s individual T or to dissolve it in the might of the collective ‘we’ - therein lies the antithesis between Europe and Asia. I believe the chances are good that Russia will turn off the first road onto the second.

However, I have become carried away by my philosophizing. I must move on to Fandorin-san and the clarity of mind which he has demonstrated.

I shall describe events as they happened.

The Leviathan arrived in Aden before dawn. Concerning this port my guidebook says the following: The port of Aden, this Gibraltar of the East, serves England as her link with the East Indies. Here steamships take on coal and replenish their reserves of fresh water. Aden’s importance has increased immeasurably since the opening of the Suez Canal. The town itself, however, is not large. It has extensive dockside warehouses and shipyards, a number of trading stations, shipping offices and hotels. The streets are laid out in a distinctively regular pattern. The dryness of the local soil is compensated for by 30 ancient reservoirs which collect the rainwater that runs down from the mountains. Aden has a population of 34,000, consisting primarily of Indian Moslems.

For the time being I must be content with this scanty description, since the gangway has not been lowered and no one is being allowed ashore. The alleged reason is quarantine for medical reasons, but we vassals of the principality of Windsor know the true reason for the turmoil and confusion: sailors and police from ashore are combing the gigantic vessel from stem to stern in search of negroes.

After breakfast we stayed on in the saloon to wait for the results of the manhunt. It was then that an important conversation took place between the commissioner and the Russian diplomat in the presence of our entire company (even for me it has already become ‘ours’).

At first people spoke about the death of the negro, then as usual the conversation turned to the murders in Paris. Although I took no part in the discussion on that topic, I listened very attentively, and at first it seemed to me that they were trying yet again to catch a green monkey in a thicket of bamboo or a black cat in a dark room.

Stamp-san said: ‘So, we have nothing but riddles. We don’t know how the black man managed to get on board and we don’t know why he wanted to kill Mme Kleber. It’s just like the rue de Grenelle. More mystery.’

But then Fandorin-san said: ‘There’s no mystery there at all. It’s true that we still haven’t cleared up the business with the negro, but I think we have a fairly clear picture of what happened on the rue de Grenelle.’

Everyone stared at him in bewilderment and the commissioner smiled scornfully: ‘Is that so? Well then, out with it, this should be interesting.’

Fandorin-san: ‘I think what happened was this. That evening someone arrived at the door of the mansion on the rue de Grenelle …’

The commissioner (in mock admiration): ‘Oh, bravo! A brilliant deduction!’

Someone laughed, but most of us continued listening attentively, for the diplomat is not a man to indulge in idle talk.

Fandorin-san (continuing imperturbably):

‘… someone whose appearance completely failed to arouse the servants’ suspicion. It was a physician, possibly wearing a white coat and certainly carrying a doctor’s bag. This unexpected visitor requested everyone in the house to gather immediately in one room, because the municipal authorities had instructed that all Parisians were to receive a prophylactic vaccination.’

The commissioner (starting to get angry): ‘What idiotic fantasy is this? What vaccination? Why should the servants take the word of a total stranger?’

Fandorin (sharply): ‘If you do not take care, M. Gauche, you may find yourself demoted from Investigator for Especially Important Cases to Investigator for Rather Unimportant Cases. You do not take sufficient care in studying your own materials, and that is unforgivable. Take another look at the article from Le Sou that mentions Lord Littleby’s connection with the international adventuress Marie Sanfon.’

The detective rummaged in his black file, took out the article in question and glanced through it.

The commissioner (with a shrug): ‘Well, what of it?’

Fandorin (pointing): ‘Down here at the bottom.

Do you see the headline of the next article: “Cholera epidemic on the wane”? And what it says about “the vigorous prophylactic measures taken by the physicians of Paris”?’

Truffo-sensei: ‘Why, yes indeed, gentlemen, Paris has been plagued by outbreaks of cholera all winter. They even set up a medical checkpoint in the Louvre for the boats arriving from Calais.’

Fandorin-san: ‘That is why the sudden appearance of a physician did not make the servants suspicious.

No doubt their visitor acted confidently and spoke very convincingly. He could have told them it was getting late and he still had several more houses to visit, or something of the kind. The servants evidently decided not to bother the master of the house, since he was suffering from an attack of gout, but of course they called the security guards from the second floor. And it only takes a moment to give an injection.’

I was delighted by the diplomat’s perspicacity and the ease with which he had solved this difficult riddle.

His words even set Commissioner Gauche thinking.

‘Very well then,’ he said reluctantly. ‘But how do you explain the fact that after poisoning the servants this medic of yours didn’t simply walk up the stairs to the second floor, but went outside, climbed over the fence and broke in through a window in the conservatory?’

Fandorin-san: I’ve been thinking about that. Did it not occur to you that two culprits might have been involved? One dealt with the servants, while the other broke in through the window?’

The commissioner (triumphantly): ‘Indeed it did occur to me, my dear monsieur clever clogs, it most certainly did. That is precisely the assumption that the murderer wanted us to make. It’s perfectly obvious that he was simply trying to confuse the trail!

After he poisoned the servants, he left the pantry and went upstairs, where he ran into the master of the house. Very probably the thief simply smashed in the glass of the display case because he thought there was no one else in the house. When his Lordship came out of his bedroom to see what all the noise was about, he was murdered. Following this unexpected encounter the culprit beat a hasty retreat, not through the door, but through the window of the conservatory. Why? In order to pull the wool over our eyes and make it seem like there were two of them. You fell for his little trick hook, line and sinker. But old papa Gauche is not so easily taken in.’

The commissioner’s words were greeted with general approval. Renier-san even said: ‘Damn it, Commissioner, but you’re a dangerous man!’ (This is a common turn of speech in various European languages. It should not be taken literally. The lieutenant meant to say that Gauche-san is a very clever and experienced detective.)

Fandorin-san waited for a while and asked: ‘Then you made a thorough study of the footprints and came to the conclusion that this person jumped down from the window and did not climb up on to the window sill?’

The commissioner did not answer that, but he gave the Russian a rather angry look.

At this point Stamp-san made a comment that turned the conversation in a new direction.

‘One culprit, two culprits - but I still don’t understand the most important thing: what was it all done for?’ she said. ‘Clearly not for the Shiva. But what then? And not for the sake of the scarf either, no matter how remarkable and legendary it may be!’

Fandorin-san replied to this in a matter-of-fact voice, as if he were saying something perfectly obvious: ‘But of course it was precisely for the sake of the scarf, mademoiselle. The Shiva was only taken in order to divert attention and then thrown into the Seine from the nearest bridge because it was no longer needed.’

The commissioner observed: ‘For Russian boyars (I have forgotten what this word means, I shall have to look it up in the dictionary) half a million francs may perhaps be a mere trifle, but most people think differently. Two kilograms of pure gold was “no longer needed”! You really are getting carried away, monsieur diplomat.’

Fandorin-san: ‘Oh come now, Commissioner, what is half a million francs compared with the treasure of Bagdassar?’

‘Gentlemen, enough of this quarrelling!’ the odious Mme Kleber exclaimed capriciously. ‘I was almost killed, and here you are still harping on the same old tune. Commissioner, while you were so busy tinkering with an old crime, you very nearly had a new one on your hands!’

That woman simply cannot bear it when she is not the centre of attention. After what happened yesterday I try not to look at her - I have a strong urge to jab my finger into the blue vein pulsating on her white neck. One jab would be quite enough to dispatch the loathsome creature. But of course that is one of those evil thoughts that a man must drive out of his head by an effort of will. By confiding my evil thoughts to this diary I have managed to diminish the violence of my hatred a little.

The commissioner put Mme Kleber in her place.

‘Please be quiet, madam,’ he said sternly. ‘Let us hear what other fantasies our diplomat has concocted.’

Fandorin-san: ‘This entire story only makes sense if the stolen shawl is especially valuable in some way. That is one. According to what the professor told us, in itself the shawl is of no great value, so it is not a matter of the piece of silk, but of some other thing connected with it. That is two. As you already know, the shawl is connected with the final will and testament of the Rajah Bagdassar, the last owner of the Brahmapur treasure. That is three. Tell me, professor, was the rajah a zealous servant of the Prophet?’

Sweetchild-sensei (after a moment’s thought): ‘I can’t say exactly … He didn’t build mosques, and he never mentioned the name of Allah in my company. The rajah liked to dress in European clothes, he smoked Cuban cigars and read French novels … Ah yes, he drank cognac after lunch! So he obviously didn’t take religious prohibitions too seriously.’

Fandorin-san: ‘Then that makes four: although he is not overly devout, Bagdassar makes his son a final gift of a Koran, which for some reason is wrapped in a shawl. I suggest that the shawl was the most important part of this legacy. The Koran was included for the sake of appearances … Or possibly the notes made in the margins in Bagdassar’s own hand contained instructions on how to find the treasure with the help of the shawl.’

Sweetchild-sensei: ‘But why did it have to be with the help of the shawl? The rajah could have conveyed his secret in the marginalia!’

Fandorin-san: ‘He could have, but he chose not to. Why? Allow me to refer you to my argument number one: if the shawl were not immensely valuable in some way, it is unlikely that ten people would have been murdered for it. The shawl is the key to five hundred million francs or, if you prefer, fifty million pounds, which is approximately the same. I believe that is the greatest hidden treasure there has ever been in the whole of human history. And by the way, Commissioner, I must warn you that if you are not mistaken and the murderer really is on board the Leviathan, more people could be killed. Indeed, the closer you come to your goal, the more likely it becomes. The stakes are too high and too great a price has already been paid for the key to the mystery.’

These words were followed by deadly silence.

Fandorin-san’s logic seemed irrefutable, and I believe all of us felt shivers run up and down our spines. All of us except one.

The first to recover his composure was the commissioner.

He gave a nervous laugh and said: ‘My, what a lively imagination you do have, M. Fandorin. But as far as danger is concerned, you are right. Only you, gentlemen, have no need to quake in your boots. This danger threatens no one but old man Gauche, and he knows it very well. It comes with my profession. But I’m well prepared for it!’ And he glanced round us all menacingly, as if he were challenging us to single combat.

The fat old man is ridiculous. Of everyone there the only person whom he might be able to best is the pregnant Mme Kleber. In my mind’s eye I glimpsed a tempting picture: the red-faced commissioner had flung the young witch to the floor and was strangling her with his hairy sausage-fingers, and Mme Kleber was expiring with her eyes popping out of her head and her malicious tongue dangling out of her mouth.

‘Darling, I’m scared!’ I heard the doctor’s wife whisper in a thin, squeaky voice as she turned to her husband, who patted her shoulder reassuringly.

The redheaded freak M.-S.-san (his name is too long for me to write it in full) raised an interesting question: ‘Professor, can you describe the shawl in more detail? We know the bird has a hole where its eye should be, and it’s a triangle. But is there anything else remarkable about it?’

I should note that this strange gentleman takes part in the general conversation almost as rarely as I do. But, like the author of these lines, if he does say something then it is always off the point, and so the unexpected appropriateness of his question was all the more remarkable.

Sweetchild-sensei: ‘As far as I recall, apart from the hole and the unique shape there is nothing special about the shawl. It is about the size of a small fan, but it can easily be hidden in a thimble. Such remarkably fine fabric is quite common in Brahmapur.’

‘Then the key must lie in the eye of the bird and the triangular shape,’ Fandorin-san concluded with exquisite assurance.

He was truly magnificent.

The more I ponder on his triumph and the whole story in general, the more strongly I feel the unworthy temptation to demonstrate to all of them that Gintaro Aono is also no fool. 1 also could reveal things that would amaze them. For instance, I could tell Commissioner Gauche certain curious details of yesterday’s incident involving the black-skinned savage. Even the wise Fandorin-san has admitted that the matter is not entirely clear to him as yet.

What if the ‘wild Japanese’ were suddenly to solve the riddle that is puzzling him? That could be interesting!

Yesterday’s insults unsettled me and I lost my composure for a while. Afterwards, when I had calmed down, I began comparing facts and weighing the situation up, and I have constructed an entire logical argument wliich 1 intend to put to the policeman.

Let him work out the rest for himself. This is what I shall tell the commissioner.

First I shall remind him of how Mme Kleber humiliated me. It was a highly insulting remark, made in public. And it was made at the precise moment when I was about to reveal what I had observed. Did Mme Kleber not perhaps wish to shut me up? This surely appears suspicious, monsieur Commissioner?

To continue. Why does she pretend to be weak, when she is as fit as a sumo wrestler? You will say this is an irrelevant detail. But I shall tell you, monsieur detective, that a person who is constantly pretending must be hiding something. Take me, for instance. (Ha ha. Of course, I shall not say that.) Then I shall point out to the commissioner that European women have very delicate white skin.

Why did the negro’s powerful fingers not leave even the slightest mark on it? Is that not strange?

And finally, when the commissioner decides I have nothing to offer him but the vindictive speculations of an oriental mind bent on vengeance, I shall tell him the most important thing, which will immediately make our detective sit up and take notice.

‘M. Gauche,’ I shall say to him with a polite smile, ‘I do not possess your brilliant mind and i am not attempting, hopeless ignoramus that I am, to interfere in your investigation, but I regard it as my duty to draw your attention to a certain circumstance.

You yourself say that the murderer from the rue de Grenelle is one of us. M. Fandorin has expounded a convincing account of how Lord Littleby’s servants were killed. Vaccinating them against cholera was a brilliant subterfuge. It tells us that the murderer knows how to use a syringe. But what if the person who came to the mansion on the rue de Grenelle were not a male doctor, but a woman, a nurse? She would have aroused even less apprehension than a man, would she not? Surely you agree? Then let me advise you to take a casual glance at Mme Kleber’s arms when she is sitting with her viper’s head propped on her hand and her wide sleeve slips down to the elbow. You will observe some barely visible points on the inner flexure, as I have observed them. They are needle marks, monsieur Commissioner.

Ask Dr Truffo if he is giving Mme Kleber any injections and the venerable physician will tell you what he has already told me today: no, he is not, for he is opposed in principle to the intravenous injection of medication. And then, oh wise Gauche sensei, you will add two and two, and you will have something for your grey head to puzzle over.’ That is what I shall tell the commissioner, and he will take Mme Kleber more seriously.

A European knight would say that I had behaved villainously, but that would merely demonstrate his own limitations. That is precisely why there are no knights left in Europe, but the samurai are still with us. Our lord and emperor may have set the different estates on one level and forbidden us to wear two swords in our belts, but that does not mean the calling of a samurai has been abolished, quite the opposite. The entire Japanese nation has been elevated to the estate of the samurai in order to prevent us from boasting to each other of our noble origins.

We all stand together against the rest of the world.

Oh, you noble European knight (who has never existed except in novels)! In fighting with men, use the weapons of a man, but in fighting with women, use the weapons of a woman. That is the samurai code of honour, and there is nothing villainous in it, for women know how to fight every bit as well as men. What contradicts the honour of the samurai is to employ the weapons of a man against a woman or the weapons of a woman against a man. I would never sink as low as that.

I am still uncertain whether the manoeuvre I am contemplating is worthwhile, but my state of mind is incomparably better than it was yesterday. So much so that I have even managed to compose a decent haiku without any difficulty: