Read Online The Death of Achilles by Boris Akunin - Free Book Online
Authors: Boris Akunin
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deadweight…”
Wanda sobbed and angrily wiped away a tear.
Erast Petrovich followed her expression and intonation carefully. She appeared to be telling the truth. After an appropriate pause, Fandorin asked, “Did your meeting with the general take place by chance?”
“Yes. That is, of course, not entirely. I heard that the White General was staying at the Dusseaux. I was curious to take a look at him.”
“And did Mikhail Dmitrievich drink a lot of wine here with you?”
“Not at all. Half a bottle of Chateau d’Yquem.”
Erast Petrovich was surprised.
“Did he bring the wine with him?”
“No, what makes you think that?”
“Well, you see, mademoiselle, I knew the deceased quite well. Chateau d’Yquem was his favorite wine. How could you have known that?”
Wanda fluttered her slim fingers vaguely.
“I didn’t know it at all. But I am also fond of Chateau d’Yquem. It would seem that the general and I had many things in common. What a pity that the acquaintance proved to be so brief.” She laughed bitterly and cast a seemingly casual glance at the clock on the mantelpiece.
The movement was not lost on Fandorin and he deliberately paused for a moment before continuing with the interrogation.
“Well, what happened next is clear. You were frightened. You probably screamed. The officers came running in, they t-tried to revive Sobolev. Did they call a doctor?”
“No, it was obvious that he was dead. The officers almost tore me to pieces.” She laughed again, this time in anger rather than bitterness. “One of them, in a Circassian coat, was especially furious. He kept repeating that it was a disgrace, a threat to the entire cause, shouting about death in a cheap whore’s bed.” Wanda smiled disagreeably, revealing her white, perfectly even teeth. “And there was a Cossack captain who threatened me, too. First he sobbed a bit, then he said he would kill me if I said anything and offered me money. I took his money, by the way. And I took his threats seriously, too. You never know; I might go down in history as some kind of new Delilah. What do you think, Monsieur Fandorin, will they write about me in school textbooks?”
And she laughed again, this time with a clear note of defiance.
“Hardly,” Erast Petrovich said pensively.
The overall picture was clear now. And so was the reason for the obstinacy with which the officers had tried to protect their secret. A national hero could not die like that. It was so improper. Not Russian, somehow. The French would probably have forgiven their idol, but here in Russia it would be regarded as a national disgrace.
Well, then, Miss Wanda had nothing to worry about. It was up to the governor, of course, to decide her fate, but Fandorin was willing to guarantee that the authorities would not discommode the free-spirited songstress by opening an official investigation.
It might have seemed that the case could be regarded as closed, but Erast Petrovich was an inquisitive man and there was one small circumstance that was still nagging at him. Wanda had already glanced surreptitiously at the clock several times, and the collegiate assessor thought that he could sense a mounting anxiety in those fleeting glances. Meanwhile the hand on the clock was gradually approaching the hour — in five minutes it would be exactly ten. Could Miss Wanda perhaps be expecting a visitor at ten o’clock? Could this circumstance be the reason for her being so frank and forthcoming? Fandorin hesitated. On the one hand, it would be interesting to discover whom his hostess was expecting at such a late hour. On the other hand, Erast Petrovich had been taught from an early age not to impose on ladies. In a situation like this, a cultured man said his farewells and left, especially when he had already obtained what he came for. What should he do?
His hesitation was resolved by the following commonsense consideration: If he were to linger until ten and wait for the visitor to
Wanda sobbed and angrily wiped away a tear.
Erast Petrovich followed her expression and intonation carefully. She appeared to be telling the truth. After an appropriate pause, Fandorin asked, “Did your meeting with the general take place by chance?”
“Yes. That is, of course, not entirely. I heard that the White General was staying at the Dusseaux. I was curious to take a look at him.”
“And did Mikhail Dmitrievich drink a lot of wine here with you?”
“Not at all. Half a bottle of Chateau d’Yquem.”
Erast Petrovich was surprised.
“Did he bring the wine with him?”
“No, what makes you think that?”
“Well, you see, mademoiselle, I knew the deceased quite well. Chateau d’Yquem was his favorite wine. How could you have known that?”
Wanda fluttered her slim fingers vaguely.
“I didn’t know it at all. But I am also fond of Chateau d’Yquem. It would seem that the general and I had many things in common. What a pity that the acquaintance proved to be so brief.” She laughed bitterly and cast a seemingly casual glance at the clock on the mantelpiece.
The movement was not lost on Fandorin and he deliberately paused for a moment before continuing with the interrogation.
“Well, what happened next is clear. You were frightened. You probably screamed. The officers came running in, they t-tried to revive Sobolev. Did they call a doctor?”
“No, it was obvious that he was dead. The officers almost tore me to pieces.” She laughed again, this time in anger rather than bitterness. “One of them, in a Circassian coat, was especially furious. He kept repeating that it was a disgrace, a threat to the entire cause, shouting about death in a cheap whore’s bed.” Wanda smiled disagreeably, revealing her white, perfectly even teeth. “And there was a Cossack captain who threatened me, too. First he sobbed a bit, then he said he would kill me if I said anything and offered me money. I took his money, by the way. And I took his threats seriously, too. You never know; I might go down in history as some kind of new Delilah. What do you think, Monsieur Fandorin, will they write about me in school textbooks?”
And she laughed again, this time with a clear note of defiance.
“Hardly,” Erast Petrovich said pensively.
The overall picture was clear now. And so was the reason for the obstinacy with which the officers had tried to protect their secret. A national hero could not die like that. It was so improper. Not Russian, somehow. The French would probably have forgiven their idol, but here in Russia it would be regarded as a national disgrace.
Well, then, Miss Wanda had nothing to worry about. It was up to the governor, of course, to decide her fate, but Fandorin was willing to guarantee that the authorities would not discommode the free-spirited songstress by opening an official investigation.
It might have seemed that the case could be regarded as closed, but Erast Petrovich was an inquisitive man and there was one small circumstance that was still nagging at him. Wanda had already glanced surreptitiously at the clock several times, and the collegiate assessor thought that he could sense a mounting anxiety in those fleeting glances. Meanwhile the hand on the clock was gradually approaching the hour — in five minutes it would be exactly ten. Could Miss Wanda perhaps be expecting a visitor at ten o’clock? Could this circumstance be the reason for her being so frank and forthcoming? Fandorin hesitated. On the one hand, it would be interesting to discover whom his hostess was expecting at such a late hour. On the other hand, Erast Petrovich had been taught from an early age not to impose on ladies. In a situation like this, a cultured man said his farewells and left, especially when he had already obtained what he came for. What should he do?
His hesitation was resolved by the following commonsense consideration: If he were to linger until ten and wait for the visitor to
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