A traitor?' Zubtsov exclaimed. 'Here in the Okhranka?'

  'Sh-sh,' said the State Counsellor, putting one ringer to his lips. 'Who he is and where exactly he works is what the prince . and I shall determine today, after we exchange the information we shall have collected. That is why we have arranged to meet so mysteriously in room number three of the nobles' section in the Petrosov Baths, believe it or not.' Erast Petrovich smiled cheerfully and took a sip of cold tea. 'By the way, where is Evstratii Pavlovich?'

  The conversation that Fandorin held with Evstratii Pavlovich Mylnikov, whom the State Counsellor tracked down at the temporary observation post he had set up in a dusty attic close to the Lobastov plant, was in part similar to those that had preceded it, and in part different from them, for in addition to the deceased Pyotr Ivanovich, they also discussed the unsuccessful nocturnal operation, the perfidious millionaire and the question of a gratuity for the families of the agents who had been killed. However, the conversation concluded in exactly the same manner: the State Counsellor told the other man the precise time and place of his meeting with the Deputy Director of Police. Only this time he gave a different room number: number four.

  And after his visit to the observation post Fandorin did not go on to do anything else at all. He took a cab home, and on the way he whistled an aria from Geisha, a very rare event for Erast Petrovich and a sign of quite uncommon optimism.

  In the outhouse on Malaya Nikitskaya Street, Fandorin and his servant held a long, circumstantial conversation in Japanese. In fact Erast Petrovich did most of the talking and Masa listened, constantly repeating: 'Hai, hai.'

  Then he replied to a few questions and went off, serenely calm, to sleep, although it was only shortly after two in the afternoon, and nothing of importance had been achieved.

  He slept for a long time, until six o'clock. When he arose, he dined with a good appetite, did a little gymnastics and dressed in a light English sports outfit that did not restrict his movements: a short checked jacket, a close-fitting silk waistcoat, narrow trousers with foot straps.

  But that was not the end of Erast Petrovich's toilette: he thrust a small stiletto in a light sheath of oiled paper under the elastic suspender of his right sock; he thrust a Velodog -a miniature pistol invented for bicyclists who are pestered by stray dogs - into a holster on his back, and put his main weapon - a seven-round Herstahl-Baillard, the latest invention from the master-gunsmiths of Liege - into another holster, designed for wearing under the arm.

  Fandorin's servant tried to attach to his belt a most sinister-looking steel chain with two heavy spheres attached to it, but the State Counsellor resolutely rejected this unconventional weapon, since the spheres clanged against each other as he walked, and that attracted attention.

  'Don't try to do anything yourself,' Erast Petrovich told his faithful helper, not for the first time, as he put on his cloth-covered fur coat in the hallway. 'Just remember which room they go into. Then give the knock we agreed on the door of room six, and I'll let you in. Vakatta’*

  'Vakattemas,' Masa replied stoutly. 'De mo—'**

  * 'You understand?'

  **'I understand ... But—'

  He didn't finish what he was saying, because someone rang the doorbell repeatedly and insistently: once, twice, three times.

  'That's your new concubine,' the valet sighed. 'No one else rings so impatiently'

  'Have you just arrived, or are you going out?' Esfir asked on seeing Erast Petrovich in his coat, with his top hat in his hands. She hugged him and pressed her cheek against his lips. 'You're going out. Your nose is warm. If you had just come in, your nose would be cold. And for some reason you smell of musk. When will you be back? I'll wait; I've missed you terribly'

  'Esfir, I asked you to telephone,' Fandorin said, disconcerted. 'I really am going out; I don't know yet when I'll be back. And Masa will be going out soon.'

  'I can't stand the telephone,' the black-eyed beauty snapped. 'It's so dead, somehow. And where are you off to?'

  'It's a piece of important b-business,' Erast Petrovich replied evasively; then, yielding to a sudden, unaccountable impulse, he added quickly, 'I'm meeting Prince Pozharsky at the Petrosov Baths. In the nobles' section ... room five.'

  The State Counsellor's face instantly flushed a deep red and his long eyelashes fluttered guiltily.

  'That is, not number f-five, but number six. A slip of the tongue

  'My God, what do I care which room you're meeting that villain in? Fine company you've chosen for yourself! In the bathhouse - that's simply charming!' Esfir exclaimed with an angry laugh. 'Male entertainment - I've heard a great deal about that. I expect you'll call in a few girls too. Goodbye, Your Honour; you'll never see me again!' And before Fandorin even had time to open his mouth, the door slammed shut with a deafening thud. There was the sound of heels stamping across the porch, and then snow crunching under running feet.

  'Not a woman, but the eruption of Mount Fuji in the fifth year of the age of the Eternal Treasure,' Masa exclaimed admiringly 'So, master, you say I should not take any weapons? Not even my very smallest knife, that can be hidden so conveniently in my loincloth?'

  There would have been nowhere to hide the knife in any case, because no one wore a loincloth in the common hall with the pool. The men were completely naked and, to Masa's taste, extremely ugly - as hairy as monkeys and with excessively long arms and legs. One of them was particularly unpleasant to look at, with thick red fur on his stomach and chest. Several times Masa surveyed his own smooth body, so beautifully rounded at the sides. If the learned English sage Tiaruridszu Daruin was right, and man really was descended from a monkey, then the Japanese had progressed much further along that path than the red-hairs.

  Masa did not like it in the bathhouse at all. The water was not hot enough, the awkward stone steps gleamed too brighdy, and the wait was dragging on for too long altogether.

  In addition to the valet, there were nine other men splashing in the pool. It was hard to say how many of them were bandits. There was one he had no doubt about - sullen, with black hair, a big nose like a Japanese water sprite's and a lean, muscular torso - he had fresh red scars on his side and his chest, and the top of his left ear had been sliced off. Masa's experienced eye had immediately spotted the traces left by glancing blows from a sharp blade. Obviously a yakuza, except that he had no beautiful coloured tattoos. Masa tried to stay as close as possible to this suspicious character. But there were several other bathers who looked entirely peaceable. For instance, the thin, white-skinned youth sitting on the edge not far away. He was toying distractedly with a chain attached to the bronze railing that ran all the way round the pool. The railing was there for people to hold on to, and Masa couldn't understand why they had hooked an iron chain on to it with that ring. But he didn't rack his brains over it, because he had more important business.

  There were six doors leading out on to the gallery located behind the columns, just as the diagram had indicated. His master should be behind the last door on the right. The bandits wouldn't try to get in there. They would break down one of the first four doors. He just had to remember which one it was and then run to his master. Nothing could be simpler.

  But how would the bandits manage without weapons? Red-hairs didn't know how to kill people with their bare hands; they had to have steel. Where would they get a pistol or a knife in a bathhouse?

  'Now,' the man with the scars said unexpectedly.

  The shouting and splashing instantly stopped. Four hands grabbed Masa's wonderful sides tightly from behind and pushed him towards the edge, and before the valet could gather his wits, the nice-looking youth had pulled the chain out of the water. At the other end of the chain, there was another iron ring, which was instantly clicked shut around Masa's wrist.

  'Gently now, sir,' the youth said. 'Stay here quietly and nothing bad will happen to you.'

  'I say, come now, gentlemen; what kind of trick is this?' a voice shouted in outrage. Masa turned round and saw three other men, obviously chance visitors, who had also been chained to the railing in the same way as himself. All the other bathers -six young men, including their leader with the big nose - quickly clambered out of the pool.

  That very moment, another two came running in through the doors leading to the changing rooms. They were fully dressed, and both of them were carrying tall heaps of clothes in their hands.

  The naked bandits quickly dressed, paying no attention to the outraged shouts of the chained men.

  Masa tugged on his chain, but it held firm. It was a pair of genuine handcuffs, the kind used for restraining arrested criminals - why hadn't he guessed sooner? The bandits had come earlier, attached one end of the handcuffs to the rail, dropped the other into the water and then waited for the appointed hour. Their crafty, dishonest trick had deprived Masa of the chance to fulfil his duty. Now the bandits would break into one of the doors, see there was no one there, and start checking all the others, and there was no way he could warn his master.

  It was pointless to shout. Firstly, in the gleaming marble hall any howl would shatter into a myriad worthless echoes, mingling with the splashing of the water and the rumbling voices of the bathers. Of course, Masa could shout very, very loud, and perhaps his master would hear his voice through the closed door; but his master would not flee to save himself, he would come hurrying to his aid. And he must not allow that to happen, no matter what!

  The conclusion?

  Wait until the bandits broke into one of the doors, and then yell with all the power his lungs could muster.

  Meanwhile the bandits had put their clothes on, and out of nowhere revolvers had appeared in their hands. Eight men with revolvers - that is too many, thought Masa. If only they had no revolvers, just knives, that would be all right. The two of them could have managed. But this was really bad: the master was alone, there were eight of them, and with guns.

  The yakuza chief cocked his revolver and said: 'Pozharsky's tricky. No dawdling, fire immediately. Emelya, Nail, you get the door.'

  The two largest bandits went dashing up the marble steps with the others hanging back a little behind them.

  They're giving the first two space to run at the door and break it down, Masa guessed, wondering which way they would turn -to the left, towards the first three rooms, or to the right?

  They turned to the right. So they had to be going to room number four.

  But the bandits who had been allocated the role of battering ram went straight past door number four without giving it a glance. They didn't stop at door number five either.

  Even though Masa was standing up to his chest in hot water, he felt a sudden chill of horror.

  'Dann-a-a-al Kio tsuke-e-e!'*

  * 'Master! Beware!'

  Erast Petrovich reached the main entrance of the Petrosov Baths at precisely ten.

  'The gentleman's waiting for you in room six,' the attendant announced with a bow. 'No one has arrived in the other five rooms yet.'

  'They will,' the State Counsellor replied. 'L-Later on.'

  He walked along the wide corridor, up to the piano nobile, along another corridor, round a corner. On his right was the entrance to the ladies' section, on the left the private rooms began, with the service staircase beyond them. Before he entered the room, Fandorin surveyed the location once again and was satisfied. If they needed to withdraw in haste, it was very convenient: one provided covering fire while the other ran to the corner. Then the roles were reversed. Short sprints: the risk of taking a bullet was minimal. And things would probably not get as far as shooting.

  'Are there many visitors in the l-ladies' section at about this time?' he asked his guide, just in case.

  The man smiled in a most polite manner, with just the slightest hint of playfulness.

  'Plenty as yet, but there won't be any more coming in. It's a bit late already for the fair sex.'

  'Is this their way in and their way out?' Fandorin asked in alarm.

  'Certainly not, sir. The way out's on the other side. Specially arranged. A woman, Your Worship, doesn't take kindly to being observed after the bathhouse, with a towel over her hair. Instead of going out through the main door, they prefer to duck into the sleigh, and adieu!'

  Erast Petrovich gave the man a coin and went into his room.

  As a young rake awaits his ardent tryst, so have I waited all the day for when ... something or other... in my secret basement!' Pozharsky greeted him boisterously. The naked prince was sitting in an armchair with a cigar clenched in his teeth.

  Standing on the table in front of him were a bottle of Cachet Blanc, two glasses and a bowl of fruit, with a newspaper lying open beside them.

  'Champagne?' Fandorin asked, raising one eyebrow slightly. 'Do we have some cause for celebration?'

  'I do,' Gleb Georgievich replied mysteriously. 'But let's start at the beginning and not get ahead of ourselves. Get your clothes off and take a dip' - he pointed to the small pool in the floor -'and afterwards we'll have a talk. How about you - have you brought any booty?'

  Erast Petrovich glanced at the locked door that led into the common hall and replied evasively: 'I shall have some s-soon.'

  Pozharsky gave him a curious glance and wound a napkin round the bottle. 'Well, why are you standing there like a buyer at a slave market? Get undressed.'

  It had not been Erast Petrovich's intention to get undressed, since his plan envisaged the likelihood of a hasty retreat, but to parade fully clothed in front of a completely naked man seemed stupid and improper. What if the trick completely failed to work? Should he just carry on standing there in his jacket? Fortunately, his comfortable and simple sports costume could be donned in mere seconds - after all he could ignore the leotard, the waistcoat, the cuffs and the collar.

  'What's this - are you shy?' The prince laughed. 'That's not at all like you.'

  The State Counsellor pulled off his clothes and put them on the divan, placing both revolvers and the stiletto on top of them as if it were an afterthought.

  Pozharsky whisded: 'A serious arsenal. I'm a great respecter of prudence. I'm exactly the same. Will you show me your toys later? And I'll show you mine. But business first. Jump in, jump in. One thing is no obstacle to the other.'

  Erast Petrovich glanced round at the door again and jumped into the pool, but he didn't splash around in the water for long; instead, he climbed out straight away.

  'You're a genuine Antinous,' said the prince, surveying Fan-dorin's physique appreciatively. 'This is a fine outlandish setting we have for an operational conference. To work?'

  'To work.'

  The State Counsellor sat down in an armchair and lit up a cigar himself, but he kept his leg muscles tensed, ready to leap up just as soon as Masa knocked on the door.

  'How was Diana?' Pozharsky asked with a strangely jovial smile. 'Did she confess her sins?'

  Fandorin thought the intonation of the question sounded strange, and he paused before replying.

  Allow me t-to inform you of my conclusions a little later. I have serious grounds to hope that the m-main culprit will be exposed today'

  However, these words failed to produce the anticipated effect on the other man.

  'But I know how to find our elusive CG,' the prince parried, 'and very soon now I shall snap it up.'

  Erast Petrovich felt himself turning pale. If Pozharsky was telling the truth, it meant that he had found a shorter and more effective way to solve this complex puzzle.

  Suppressing his wounded amour propre, Fandorin said: 'C-Congratulations, that is a great success. But how—'

  He didn't finish, because at that moment there was a loud shout outside the door. He couldn't make out the words, but there could be no doubt that it was Masa shouting. And that could only mean one thing: the plan had failed, and failed in some extremely unpleasant way.

  Erast Petrovich leapt to his feet, about to make a dash for his clothes, but suddenly there was a deafening crash as the door leading to the pool was torn off its hinges by a powerful blow.

  Two men came hurtling through into the room, with an entire mob pressing in behind them. Fandorin didn't need a time-and-motion study to realise he would never reach his clothes or his weapons. He could only hope there would be enough time to leap out into the corridor.

  Pozharsky pulled a small double-barrelled pistol out from under the newspaper and fired twice. The leading attacker threw his arms up and ran on for a few more steps from sheer inertia, collapsing face down in the pool, and the prince flung away his discharged weapon and dashed after Fandorin with astounding agility.

  They flew through the doorway simultaneously, bumping their naked shoulders together. Wood dust showered down on to Erast Petrovich's head as a bullet slammed into the lintel of the door, and the next moment the two leaders of the investigation tumbled out into the corridor. Without even looking round, Pozharsky set off to the right. There was no point in running in the same direction: the initial battle plan with alternating short sprints under covering fire had been rendered meaningless by the lack of any weapons.

 

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