voice. ‘Please be so good as to return to your seats. Did you hear? They’re going to check your documents.’
‘Disaster, Glyceria Romanovna,’ Rybnikov whispered. ‘I’m done for.’
Lidina gasped as she examined a lace cuff stained with blood, but then jerked her head up sharply.
‘Why? What’s happened?’
In those slightly red and yet still beautiful eyes, Vasilii Alexandrovich read an immediate readiness for action and once again, after all the numerous occasions during the night, he marvelled at the unpredictability of this capital-city cutie.
The way Glyceria Romanovna had behaved during the efforts to save the drowning and wounded had been absolutely astounding: she didn’t sob and wail, or throw a fit of hysterics; in fact she didn’t cry at all, simply bit on her bottom lip at the most painful moments, so that by dawn it had swollen up quite badly. Rybnikov shook his head as he watched the frail little lady dragging a wounded soldier out of the water and binding up his bleeding wound with a narrow rag torn off her silk dress.
Once, overcome by the sight, the staff captain had murmured to himself: ‘It’s like Nekrasov, that poem “Russian Women”’. And he glanced around quickly, to see whether anyone had heard this comment that fitted so badly with the image of a grey little runt of an officer.
After Vasilii Alexandrovich had saved her from the dark-complexioned neurasthenic, and especially after several hours of working together, Lidina had started acting quite naturally with the staff captain, as if he were an old friend – she, too, had evidently changed her opinion of her travelling companion.
‘Why, what’s happened? Tell me!’ she exclaimed, gazing at Rybnikov with fright in her eyes.
‘I’m done for all round,’ Vasilii Alexandrovich whispered, taking her by the arm and leading her slowly towards the train. ‘I went to Peter without authorisation, my superiors didn’t know about it. My sister’s unwell. Now they’ll find out – it’s a catastrophe …’
‘The guardhouse, is it?’ Lidina asked, distressed.
‘Never mind the guardhouse, that’s no great disaster. The terrible part is something else altogether … Remember you asked about my tube? Just before the explosion? Well, I really did leave it in the toilet. I’m always so absentminded.’
Glyceria Romanovna put her hand over her lips and asked in a terrible whisper:
‘Secret drawings?’
‘Yes. Very important. Even when I went absent without leave, I didn’t let them out of my sight for a moment.’
‘And where are they? Haven’t you taken a look there, in the toilet?’
‘They’ve disappeared,’ Vasilii Alexandrovich said in a sepulchral voice, and hung his head. ‘Someone took them. That’s not just the guardhouse, it means a trial, under martial law.’
‘How appalling!’ said the lady, round-eyed with horror. ‘What can be done?’
‘I want to ask you something,’ said Rybnikov, stopping as they reached the final carriage. ‘Before anyone’s looking, I’ll duck in under the wheels and afterwards I’ll choose my moment to slip down the embankment and into the bushes. I can’t afford to be checked. Don’t give me away, will you? Tell them you’ve got no idea where I went to. We didn’t talk during the journey. What would you want with a rough type like me? And take my little suitcase that’s on the rack with you, I’ll call round to collect it in Moscow. Ostozhenka Street, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, the Bomze building.’
Lidina glanced round at the big boss from St Petersburg and the gendarmes, who were also moving towards the train.
‘Will you help me out, save me?’ asked Rybnikov, stepping into the shadow of the carriage.
‘Of course!’ A determined, even reckless expression appeared on Glyceria Romanovna’s little face – just like earlier, when she had made a dash for the emergency brake. ‘I know who stole your drawings! That repulsive specimen who attacked
Learning to Kill: Stories