Free A Razor Wrapped in Silk by R. N. Morris Page A

disbelief. He turned to Virginsky. ‘Pavel Pavlovich, what are we to make of this?’
    Virginsky shrugged.
    ‘How could he have left?’ Porfiry’s incredulous rage closed down suddenly into a look of vicarious cunning. ‘Unless … he bribed someone?’
    ‘I …’ Velchaninov thought for a moment before replying: ‘I cannot comment on that accusation, except to say that I am sure Ivan Iakovich will deny it in the strongest possible terms. Furthermore, unless you have evidence to back it up, sir, whoever you are, I suggest you retract it.’ Velchaninov spoke without looking at Porfiry, almost swallowing back his words as he uttered them, so little conviction did he have in them.
    ‘I am Porfiry Petrovich, the investigating magistrate in this murder enquiry. If I find that your master has bribed one of my policemen, be assured that I will not hesitate to bring the full force of the law down on him. That is how things are done now.’
    ‘There is a possibility that he may not have left, after all,’ said Velchaninov. ‘I will see if I can find him.’ He ran from the room.
    ‘What do you make of that?’ Porfiry demanded of Virginsky.
    Virginsky pursed his lips. ‘The rich and powerful have long considered themselves above the law in this country. It is a difficult habit to break. It will take more than a few judicial reforms. And, of course, they always have their lackeys.’
    ‘Would he do whatever his master asked of him, do you think?’
    Virginsky raised his eyebrows, acknowledging the peculiar significance of the question. ‘I do not believe that Bakhmutov has left already. He was testing the waters, I think. If you had gone along with his little proposal he would have taken himself off. Young Velchaninov will be able to produce him in surprisingly quick time, I dare say.’
    A second knock at the door proved the perspicacity of Virginsky’s words. Porfiry treated him to a wryly appreciative smirk. ‘Come in.’ He winked at Virginsky as he snapped out the command.
    Porfiry turned his attention on the man who had entered. He gave no sign of being at all contrite, but strode in with his head high and his lavish white mane falling back on his shoulders. Though his hair was long, his beard was precisely groomed in the style of Napoleon III. It was the decisive finishing point on a compelling face: its sharpness complemented that of his aquiline nose and somewhat disguised the unusual fleshiness of his lips. He met Porfiry’s gaze with an unflinching directness.
    ‘So you are Ivan Iakovich Bakhmutov? How good of you to condescend to see us.’
    ‘It is my pleasure, I’m sure.’ His voice was a resonant bass. ‘One’s duty is always a pleasure when one is a loyal subject.’
    ‘Please be so good as to sit down. This need take no longer than it will,’ said Porfiry.
    ‘I beg your pardon? I didn’t quite follow what you just said.’ Bakhmutov’s mask of absolute confidence slipped momentarily. He regarded Porfiry with a look that suggested he did not know whether to make of him a fool or a rogue.
    ‘It was really quite simple. Sit down. There is a seat. Sit on it.Unless … you have a problem with haemorrhoids? I have suffered from them myself in the past, so I do sympathise.’
    ‘No, I do not have that problem, I am happy to say.’ Bakhmutov pulled out a chair hesitantly.
    ‘Then you are very lucky. A man of your age must be prone to any number of inconvenient ailments. There is your legendary tiredness, for example.’
    Bakhmutov was still standing, his hands on the back of his seat. ‘Did you call me here solely to make a fool of me?’
    ‘Please don’t ask such tempting questions. I called you here because I am conducting a murder enquiry. I urge you to sit down. I have some questions to ask you.’
    ‘I have already given a statement to him.’ Bakhmutov nodded slowly towards Virginsky as he took his seat.
    ‘Yes, I have read that statement, and still find I have some questions to ask