I’ll make trouble! Oh, right, and where’s your privy here?”
The maitre d’hotel beckoned a flunky across with his finger and the rowdy customer was shown with all due deference to a room fitted out with the latest word in European technology: porcelain stools, flushing water, and washstands with mirrors. But our merchant was not interested in these German novelties. Ordering the flunky to wait outside, he went in, took a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket, and began reading, frowning in concentration.
It was the transcript of a telephone conversation.
17 MINUTES PAST 2 IN THE AFTERNOON. PARTY 1-MALE, PARTY 2-FEMALE.
P1 : Young lady, give me number 762, the Anglia… This is Georg Knabe here. Could you please call Miss Wanda.
Voice (sex not determined): One moment, sir.
P2 : Wanda speaking. Who is this?
P1 : (Note in the margin: “From this point on everything is in German.”) It’s me. An urgent matter. Very important. Tell me one thing. Did you do anything to him? You understand what I mean. Did you or didn’t you? Tell me the truth, I entreat you!
P2 : (following a long pause): I didn’t do what you mean. Everything simply happened on its own. But what’s wrong with you? Your voice sounds very strange.
P1 : You really didn’t do it? Oh, thanks be to God! You have no idea of the position I’m in. It’s like some terrible nightmare!
P2 : I’m delighted to hear it. (One phrase inaudible.) P1: Don’t joke. Everyone has abandoned me! Instead of praise for showing initiative, there’s only black ingratitude. And that is not the worst thing. It could turn out that a certain event of which you know will not postpone the conflict, but, on the contrary, bring it closer — that is what I have been informed. But you didn’t do anything after all?
P2 : I told you, no.
P1 : Then where’s the bottle?
P2 : In my room. And it’s still sealed.
P1 : I must collect it from you. Today.
P2 : I’m singing at the restaurant today and won’t be able to get away. I’ve already missed two evenings as it is.
P1 : I know. I’ll be there. I’ve already booked a table. For seven o’clock. Don’t be surprised — I’ll be in disguise. This business has to be kept secret. Bring the bottle with you. And another thing, Fraulein Wanda. Recently you’ve been tending to get above yourself. Take care — I’m not the kind of man to take liberties with.
( P2 hangs up without replying.) Stenographed and translated from the German by Yuly Schmidt There was a note at the bottom in a slanting military hand: “Make sure he doesn’t get scared and do away with her! E.O.”
The young merchant emerged from the lavatory clearly refreshed. Accompanied by the maitre d ‘hotel, he entered the dining hall and cast a dull glance over the tables and their impossibly white tablecloths covered with gleaming silver and crystal. He spat on the brilliant parquet floor (the maitre d’hotel merely winced) and finally jabbed his finger in the direction of a table (an empty one, thank God) beside the wall. On the left of it there were two students in the company of several young milliners trilling with laughter, and on the right of it was a gentleman with a ginger beard in a checked jacket, sitting there watching the stage and sipping Moselle wine.
If not for agent Klyuev’s warning, Fandorin would never have recognized Herr Knabe. Another master of disguise. But then, in view of his primary professional activity, that was hardly surprising.
Scattered but enthusiastic applause broke out in the hall. Wanda had come out onto the low stage — slim and sinuous in a dress shimmering with sequins, looking like some magical serpent.
“What a scrawny thing; no meat on her at all,” a chubby milliner at the next table snorted, offended because both students were staring wide-eyed at the songstress.
Wanda swept the hall with her wide, radiant eyes and began singing in a quiet voice without any introduction, either words or
The maitre d’hotel beckoned a flunky across with his finger and the rowdy customer was shown with all due deference to a room fitted out with the latest word in European technology: porcelain stools, flushing water, and washstands with mirrors. But our merchant was not interested in these German novelties. Ordering the flunky to wait outside, he went in, took a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket, and began reading, frowning in concentration.
It was the transcript of a telephone conversation.
17 MINUTES PAST 2 IN THE AFTERNOON. PARTY 1-MALE, PARTY 2-FEMALE.
P1 : Young lady, give me number 762, the Anglia… This is Georg Knabe here. Could you please call Miss Wanda.
Voice (sex not determined): One moment, sir.
P2 : Wanda speaking. Who is this?
P1 : (Note in the margin: “From this point on everything is in German.”) It’s me. An urgent matter. Very important. Tell me one thing. Did you do anything to him? You understand what I mean. Did you or didn’t you? Tell me the truth, I entreat you!
P2 : (following a long pause): I didn’t do what you mean. Everything simply happened on its own. But what’s wrong with you? Your voice sounds very strange.
P1 : You really didn’t do it? Oh, thanks be to God! You have no idea of the position I’m in. It’s like some terrible nightmare!
P2 : I’m delighted to hear it. (One phrase inaudible.) P1: Don’t joke. Everyone has abandoned me! Instead of praise for showing initiative, there’s only black ingratitude. And that is not the worst thing. It could turn out that a certain event of which you know will not postpone the conflict, but, on the contrary, bring it closer — that is what I have been informed. But you didn’t do anything after all?
P2 : I told you, no.
P1 : Then where’s the bottle?
P2 : In my room. And it’s still sealed.
P1 : I must collect it from you. Today.
P2 : I’m singing at the restaurant today and won’t be able to get away. I’ve already missed two evenings as it is.
P1 : I know. I’ll be there. I’ve already booked a table. For seven o’clock. Don’t be surprised — I’ll be in disguise. This business has to be kept secret. Bring the bottle with you. And another thing, Fraulein Wanda. Recently you’ve been tending to get above yourself. Take care — I’m not the kind of man to take liberties with.
( P2 hangs up without replying.) Stenographed and translated from the German by Yuly Schmidt There was a note at the bottom in a slanting military hand: “Make sure he doesn’t get scared and do away with her! E.O.”
The young merchant emerged from the lavatory clearly refreshed. Accompanied by the maitre d ‘hotel, he entered the dining hall and cast a dull glance over the tables and their impossibly white tablecloths covered with gleaming silver and crystal. He spat on the brilliant parquet floor (the maitre d’hotel merely winced) and finally jabbed his finger in the direction of a table (an empty one, thank God) beside the wall. On the left of it there were two students in the company of several young milliners trilling with laughter, and on the right of it was a gentleman with a ginger beard in a checked jacket, sitting there watching the stage and sipping Moselle wine.
If not for agent Klyuev’s warning, Fandorin would never have recognized Herr Knabe. Another master of disguise. But then, in view of his primary professional activity, that was hardly surprising.
Scattered but enthusiastic applause broke out in the hall. Wanda had come out onto the low stage — slim and sinuous in a dress shimmering with sequins, looking like some magical serpent.
“What a scrawny thing; no meat on her at all,” a chubby milliner at the next table snorted, offended because both students were staring wide-eyed at the songstress.
Wanda swept the hall with her wide, radiant eyes and began singing in a quiet voice without any introduction, either words or
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