weariness temporarily dispelled by the novelty of having something to do.
As the witnesses moved about, Porfiry scanned the auditorium and was surprised to see the man he was looking for dressed in the garb of a butler, sitting on the edge of the diminutive stage as if it were an upturned crate. He regarded the activity around him with a bored detachment. The unexpected servant’s livery was not the only change that had come over him. The slight, boyish man had filled out into a barrel-shaped figure. His face too was fuller and fleshier. Whereasonce it had appeared smooth and unnaturally youthful, it was now so deeply lined that the effect was equally unnatural. There was still something childlike about his features, but he looked like a child who had aged prematurely, through some strange disease. He held a cigarette in an ebony holder, and watched, engrossed, as the swirls of smoke rose and drifted from its burning tip.
‘Prince Bykov?’
The prince looked up vacantly, the tedium of the night instilling a glazed stupefaction into his face. The sight of Porfiry galvanised him. He sat up sharply. Something like panic flashed in his eyes. ‘You?’
‘Yes.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I am the investigating magistrate. A woman has been murdered. Of course, you know that.’
‘How could I not. She ruined my play.’
‘That was very thoughtless of her.’
‘Oh, yes, I know. I shouldn’t say such things. It is callous and unfeeling of me. But I am an artist. I make no apologies for that. Artists are above the norms of morality.’
‘It is very dangerous of you to make such admissions to a magistrate.’
‘Surely you do not suspect me of involvement in this lurid crime? To begin with, there is the question of taste .’ Prince Bykov screwed his face into a wrinkled clump of disgust. ‘Besides, I was on stage at the time.’ The prince held his arms outstretched to indicate his costume. ‘I might also say that I had no motive. Indeed, I had every motive to keep her alive, at least until the end of my play.’
‘And then?’
‘Oh, I would happily have murdered her then. Yelena’s beauty was extraordinary. But her talent was rather less than average. And her temperament, frankly, appalling. The last few weeks have been a torture for me.’
Porfiry smiled indulgently. ‘I was interested in the title of your play. The Vanished Lover . I wonder, did you ever go to Switzerland?’
Prince Bykov gave a start, then looked the magistrate up and down with a new interest. Somehow what he saw seemed to relax him perceptibly. ‘You have a good memory, Porfiry Petrovich. I did indeed go to Switzerland.’
‘And did you find … what you were looking for?’
‘No. And so, I am back in Petersburg.’
Porfiry smiled distantly and nodded. ‘Your friend – Ratazyayev … that was his name, was it not?’
‘Again, I congratulate you on your memory.’
‘Whatever became of him, I wonder?’
‘I have no idea. He vanished from my life without a trace. I have given up looking for him now.’
‘When you stop looking for something is often when you find it.’
‘Is that a proverb?’
‘No.’
‘It should be.’
‘However, they do say wild ducks and tomorrow both come without calling.’
Prince Bykov snorted smoke appreciatively. ‘Yes, a wild duck. That’s Ratazyayev all right.’
Prince Bykov’s smile became wistful. ‘The thing is, I no longer wish to find him. I certainly do not wish him to head my way. A bird may be known by its flight, you know. He flew… away.’ Prince Bykov made a fluttering sweep with the hand that held the cigarette, trailing smoke. ‘And so, by that act of his, for the first time, I truly knew him.’
The pain this knowledge had entailed filled the prince’s eyes with moisture, and Porfiry found himself blinking in sympathy, although his own eyes were, he was sure, quite dry.
*
As he was leaving the theatre, Porfiry caught sight of Maria Petrovna deep in
As the witnesses moved about, Porfiry scanned the auditorium and was surprised to see the man he was looking for dressed in the garb of a butler, sitting on the edge of the diminutive stage as if it were an upturned crate. He regarded the activity around him with a bored detachment. The unexpected servant’s livery was not the only change that had come over him. The slight, boyish man had filled out into a barrel-shaped figure. His face too was fuller and fleshier. Whereasonce it had appeared smooth and unnaturally youthful, it was now so deeply lined that the effect was equally unnatural. There was still something childlike about his features, but he looked like a child who had aged prematurely, through some strange disease. He held a cigarette in an ebony holder, and watched, engrossed, as the swirls of smoke rose and drifted from its burning tip.
‘Prince Bykov?’
The prince looked up vacantly, the tedium of the night instilling a glazed stupefaction into his face. The sight of Porfiry galvanised him. He sat up sharply. Something like panic flashed in his eyes. ‘You?’
‘Yes.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I am the investigating magistrate. A woman has been murdered. Of course, you know that.’
‘How could I not. She ruined my play.’
‘That was very thoughtless of her.’
‘Oh, yes, I know. I shouldn’t say such things. It is callous and unfeeling of me. But I am an artist. I make no apologies for that. Artists are above the norms of morality.’
‘It is very dangerous of you to make such admissions to a magistrate.’
‘Surely you do not suspect me of involvement in this lurid crime? To begin with, there is the question of taste .’ Prince Bykov screwed his face into a wrinkled clump of disgust. ‘Besides, I was on stage at the time.’ The prince held his arms outstretched to indicate his costume. ‘I might also say that I had no motive. Indeed, I had every motive to keep her alive, at least until the end of my play.’
‘And then?’
‘Oh, I would happily have murdered her then. Yelena’s beauty was extraordinary. But her talent was rather less than average. And her temperament, frankly, appalling. The last few weeks have been a torture for me.’
Porfiry smiled indulgently. ‘I was interested in the title of your play. The Vanished Lover . I wonder, did you ever go to Switzerland?’
Prince Bykov gave a start, then looked the magistrate up and down with a new interest. Somehow what he saw seemed to relax him perceptibly. ‘You have a good memory, Porfiry Petrovich. I did indeed go to Switzerland.’
‘And did you find … what you were looking for?’
‘No. And so, I am back in Petersburg.’
Porfiry smiled distantly and nodded. ‘Your friend – Ratazyayev … that was his name, was it not?’
‘Again, I congratulate you on your memory.’
‘Whatever became of him, I wonder?’
‘I have no idea. He vanished from my life without a trace. I have given up looking for him now.’
‘When you stop looking for something is often when you find it.’
‘Is that a proverb?’
‘No.’
‘It should be.’
‘However, they do say wild ducks and tomorrow both come without calling.’
Prince Bykov snorted smoke appreciatively. ‘Yes, a wild duck. That’s Ratazyayev all right.’
Prince Bykov’s smile became wistful. ‘The thing is, I no longer wish to find him. I certainly do not wish him to head my way. A bird may be known by its flight, you know. He flew… away.’ Prince Bykov made a fluttering sweep with the hand that held the cigarette, trailing smoke. ‘And so, by that act of his, for the first time, I truly knew him.’
The pain this knowledge had entailed filled the prince’s eyes with moisture, and Porfiry found himself blinking in sympathy, although his own eyes were, he was sure, quite dry.
*
As he was leaving the theatre, Porfiry caught sight of Maria Petrovna deep in
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