the lid, holding it up to the light. ‘There seems to be something scratched on the lid, sir. Two words, I think.’ He tilted the lid so that the light shot obliquely across it. ‘The first letter is an “H”, sir. Then, there’s an “A”.’ He brought the lid closer and then moved it away, squinting with his eyes as he did so. ‘Then there seems to be a “T” and an “E”. Spells HATE.’
‘Thank you, Stra-chan, even I can work that one out.’
‘The next line is not so clear. An “A”, I think. Then an “L” and maybe another “L”. But the last letter is very faint, sir. It’s hard to see down here, sir.’
‘“HATE ALL” That is interesting,’ said Danilov.
‘A message from the killer, sir?’
‘It looks like it, doesn’t it, Stra-chan? Lieutenant Masset, you didn’t notice these scratches?’
The Lieutenant shrugged his shoulders once more. ‘We thought they were marks from the makers. Not important.’
‘I think you were wrong.’ Danilov put his hat back on his head. ‘Let’s get out of here. I need the fresh air of a smoke.’
‘Come, Stra-chan, we’re close to Moscow cafe.’
They walked down the crowded streets of the French Concession. Despite the cold, both sides of the road were a hive of activity. Hawkers sang the praises of their wares. Gamblers, wrapped up in jackets and mufflers, surrounded the mahjong tables on the pavement, watching and understanding every nuance of the play. Shoppers dawdled at shop windows, admiring the latest trinkets imported from France. Chauffeurs chatted, sharing a smoke as their idling cars pumped exhaust into the street.
‘We need to examine the lid of the barrel more closely, Stra-chan.’
‘Lieutenant Masset said he would send it over just as soon as he had cleared it with Major Renard.’
Danilov threw his cigarette into the gutter. ‘Bureaucrats. They have nothing better to do than to give themselves permission to do nothing. Why can’t they just leave me to get on with the investigation?’
Strachan kept silent. They crossed the street opposite a Russian Orthodox church, its golden dome glistening in the haze of the morning sunshine. Danilov turned down one of the lanes off the main road and entered a narrow lilong on the right, past a watchman in front of his grate, snoring loudly. He pushed through a glass door and stepped into the warm fug of a cafe.
The room was small, no more than six tables. On their left, two chess players lifted their heads, annoyed at the interruption. Ahead of them, a large copper samovar hissed a jet of steam and hot water.
A small, elf-like woman approached them. She had fine, almost porcelain features and moved with the elegance of a dancer from the Kirov. ‘Good morning, Pyotr Alexandrevich, what a pleasant surprise.’
‘Good morning to you, Elena Ivanova.’ Inspector Danilov stepped aside to reveal Strachan standing behind him. ‘May I present to you Detective Constable Stra-chan. This is Princess Elena Ivanova Ostrepova.’
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Detective.’
The Princess held out her hand. Danilov expected Strachan to kiss the hand or at least shake it heartily. Instead, he leaned forward and just touched the tips of the elegant fingers.
She turned to Danilov. ‘This detective has such good manners, not like the last one you were with.’
‘Inspector Meaker was a little…clumsy, Princess.’
‘Clumsy? The man was a bear, a boor and a bore.’ She lifted her old-fashioned pince-nez to her eyes and examined Strachan. ‘But this one I approve. Most charming.’ She turned back again to Danilov. ‘So, is this visit business or pleasure?’ She pointed to an empty chess board at a nearby table.
‘Business, I’m afraid.’
‘How tiresome. Never mind, at least we will have some tea and snacks together, yes?’
‘That would be most welcome.’
She led them to a large wooden table covered in glass and topped with an intricate lace cloth. She clapped her hands and immediately a waitress began to set the table with fine china plates and glass tea cups.
‘Please sit. If it’s about your family, Inspector, I’m afraid I have heard nothing more since our last chat. My “little ears” have heard not a pin drop.’
Danilov coughed, hoping that Strachan hadn’t heard. ‘Stra-chan, the Princess has the finest network of “little ears” in Shanghai. There is nothing that goes on in the French Concession she does not know about.’
‘You flatter me, Pyotr Alexandrevich. You must be after something very important.’
They both laughed. ‘As usual, Princess, you see through me as clearly as a drop of melted snow.’
The food and snacks began to arrive. Danilov paused while the waitress served them, pouring the tea into glasses. He inhaled the aroma, picked up the glass cup by its metal holder and took a little sip of the scalding brew. ‘As perfect as ever. Just like Minsk, only better.’
‘It’s good enough. The water isn’t the same, you know. In St Petersburg, there, we used to drink tea.’
Danilov saw a momentary ‘oh’ of happiness cross the face of the Princess. He imagined her younger self flirting with dashing officers, dancing the night away, laughing like there was no tomorrow. The look vanished to be followed by one of sadness and regret.
‘You said you had business with me, Inspector?’
‘I did, Princess.’ He took another sip of the tea. ‘Recently there have been two murders in the Concession.’
‘A terrible business.’
‘Terrible indeed. The first was a French magistrate, Monsieur Flamini. Found on the steps of the courthouse…frozen.’
The last word was spoken after a long pause. The Princess stared back at him. ‘And what do you want from me, Inspector?’
‘Have your “little ears” heard anything?’
‘A few whispers here and there. But whispers are very hard to hear, they get caught in the breeze and vanish into the air.’ She snapped her fingers softly.
Danilov looked straight at the Princess. The elegant old lady with her rather old-fashioned Edwardian dress and beautiful, porcelain skin had been replaced by something much harder, like a sleeping cat that had just revealed its claws.
He smiled. ‘You are quite right, Princess. Whispers are such fleeting things. Here one moment and gone the next. Only the bad rumours fly on wings. I heard one such rumour recently.’
‘Did you, Inspector?’
‘About a club on Chu Pao Street. A Russian club it appears. Our friends in the Shanghai Police may raid it soon. Illegal activity apparently, girls and opium. The usual vices.’
‘Such vices are everywhere in the city. Mankind loves its vices more than it loves its virtues.’
‘Unfortunately that is true, Princess.’
‘But without mankind’s addiction to its vices, you wouldn’t have employment, Inspector, would you?’
‘That is unfortunately also true. It is the great paradox of my profession. We are dependent for our existence on the continuation of the vices we are employed to eradicate. If we are ever successful, we have no job.’
‘I wouldn’t ever worry about your employment, Inspector. Not in Shanghai anyway.’
Danilov was enjoying the game. Like chess between two evenly matched players, the opening moves had been