As Bobov had said, Dmitri found the place easily enough.
The alleyway leading to the run-down, unsavory tavern was littered with garbage many days old. A tomcat screeched under his feet as Dmitri stepped into the dark passage, but he was so intent on his destination and the hopeful culmination of his hunt that he hardly paid it a second’s notice. He stalked through the door into the vile place as if he were attacking a Turkish fort—with none of the qualms of conscience of his brother-in-law.
His soldier’s instincts served him well, for he knew that the best position any man could hope for in battle was that of surprise. Hesitation now, even for a brief moment, could make him lose the advantage he possessed.
He stormed through the empty common room, took in the scene in an instant, located the stairs, and bounded up them with no hesitation. As he took the stairs two at a time, he drew out his revolver and held it poised in readiness.
There was only one door on the landing above. It was closed.
Dmitri paused only momentarily, drew in a deep breath, then raised his leg and crashed his booted foot hard against it. The latch and fittings all snapped from the blow, and as the splintering wood was still raining down around him, Dmitri burst into the room.
Basil lay outstretched on a bed three meters from him, with such a look of astonishment and shock on his face that Dmitri might have found it humorous had his business been less deadly. A woman garbed in a flimsy dressing gown of faded reddish color lounged in a threadbare overstuffed chair next to the bed. She was some years older than Anickin, or at least looked it, even though a thick layer of rouge and powder tried to hide the fact.
Dmitri absorbed the scene in seconds, noting in particular the bandage around Basil’s right wrist some five centimeters above the base of the hand. The brief interval filled with stunned silence ended as Basil regained his control.
“So,” he sneered, “the swaggering count has found me at last.” His glaring eyes seemed almost pleased at the turn of events.
“Yes, Anickin,” rejoined Dmitri. “Now we will see how you fare when up against other than helpless women.”
“Helpless, ha! ha!” Basil gave a croaking laugh, but his right eye twitched with anything but merriment.
“Get up!” Dmitri ordered.
“Why not kill me right here in my bed?” His tone challenged, his eyes dared.
“I, at least, have some regard for female sensitivities.” Dmitri turned his head toward the woman. “But I will either kill you or see you behind bars today, one way or another! Now move!” He cocked the pistol.
Basil measured his adversary for one more moment before swinging his legs off the bed. Dmitri did not take his eyes off the lawyer, following his movements with the gun. He would put nothing past this lunatic! Yet despite his wariness, Basil’s next move nevertheless caught Dmitri unawares.
As Anickin gained his feet, even before he had fully risen, he suddenly grabbed at the woman’s arm and yanked her toward him with such force that he fairly lifted her bodily from the chair. She had not even time to let out a surprised scream before she was firmly grasped in his arms as an effective shield against Dmitri’s weapon.
“How many lives will you take, Remizov?” he shouted.
“You are a vile animal!” cried Dmitri. He kept his weapon trained on Basil, cocked and prepared to fire at the first opportunity. There could be no thought of an honorable battle. The man was a wild beast, and must be approached and dealt with as such.
Keeping Evie in front of him, facing Dmitri, Basil slowly worked his way toward the door. Although the woman looked terrified, she made no attempt to escape, nor did she struggle in the least. Dmitri wondered if the whole hostage scenario was a charade and whether he ought to call Anickin’s bluff.
But there was no time for moral debates. Basil was at the door, and suddenly threw the woman toward Dmitri and sprang for the latch.
The pistol fired out of control as the woman’s body slammed against Dmitri, knocking the gun from his hand. She slumped to the floor.
Dmitri froze, aghast at what he had done. But his instincts allowed only a moment of horror before he sprang into action. Without pausing to retrieve his gun, he leaped over the woman’s body and bolted down the stairs in pursuit.
Basil’s weakened condition was no match for the strength and speed of righteous fury. Before the wounded lawyer had reached the outer door, he felt a vise-grip upon his shoulder. Dmitri yanked him around and slammed him up against the sooty wall of the empty common room in one quick, violent motion. Basil scarcely had time to catch what was left of his breath when he found himself the victim of an unrelenting barrage of blows to his face and midsection.
The superior strength he had exerted in their last encounter together had all but left him, and Basil was completely ill-equipped to fight back. Dmitri caught him by the throat, and, after several more vicious blows, began beating his head against the brick wall.
Suddenly the air exploded with the sharp report of gunfire.
With the force of the shot, Dmitri was thrown off balance. He felt a sharp, searing pain in his shoulder as he hit the ground.
“Good girl!” said Basil through swollen, bleeding lips.
The woman stood above them on the landing, bent and pale from her wound, holding Dmitri’s revolver in both her trembling hands.
“I . . . I couldn’t let him kill you, Basil,” she rasped, then winced in pain as she slowly made her way down the stairs.
“Give me the gun,” said Basil. “I’ll finish him off.”
She hobbled toward him. “You’ll have to go now, won’t you?” she said.
“There isn’t time for all that now, Evie—give me the gun.”
“Take me with you, Basil. They’re sure to arrest me now, and . . . I don’t know if I’ll be strong enough to keep quiet. They’ll ask about my wound. How can I . . . take me with you . . . please.”
“Of course I’ll take you. Now let me finish this rat off.”
He grabbed the gun from her hand, and his lips twisted into a hideous grin as he pointed the gun back around at her and his finger squeezed the trigger.
She did not even scream as the bullet penetrated her heart. She was dead before hitting the floor. Yet even as she crumbled lifeless, her lips wore the same look of relief, even of affection, that had come over her momentarily when for a few brief seconds, she thought they would be together.
Even as the echo of the gunshot was reverberating through the room, Dmitri groggily came to himself. Hardly conscious of the burning pain in his arm, he lurched for the murderer’s feet. Basil stumbled back, tripped over Evie’s body, and reeled to the floor, the gun flying from his hand as he hit.
Dmitri rolled to his left, stretched out his hand, and in a single motion swept up the weapon.
Basil was back on his feet now. Dmitri fired.
He was dizzy and his aim went wide. Still he fired . . . again . . . then again. It was only as the gun clicked empty that some of his vision began to clear and he saw that he was firing into thin air.
Hurriedly he glanced around the empty room. Basil was nowhere to be seen. Dmitri struggled to pull himself to his feet. But his legs were sapped of all their strength. His head spun, and suddenly the wound in his shoulder came full force upon him. He staggered momentarily, then toppled over in a faint, collapsing in a heap over Evie’s body.
When he awoke again, Dmitri had no idea how much time had passed. It could have been hours or only minutes.
He instantly recalled everything that had transpired. His first two sensations were of the horrific pain in his swelling shoulder, and the lump of cold humanity lying beneath him.
With revulsion, he crawled off Evie’s body and attempted to stand. The stiffness of his joints and the dried blood splotches might have indicated to him the passage of more than just a few minutes, but his brain did not absorb that information clearly. His first thought was only to be after Basil.
He staggered to the door, grabbed the wall for support, then stumbled outside. The cool night air helped further to revive him, but the stench of garbage more than made up for it. The alley spun around and with effort he choked down his nausea. Inch by inch he gradually began making his way along the deserted close.
But it was no use. Basil Anickin had long since disappeared, swallowed up in the gathering fog.
Dimtri’s consciousness had already begun to fail him again when slowly he sensed that he was not alone.
With blurry half-awareness he sensed that these people holding on to him were friends. Their uniforms indicated some royal regiment. They must have been sent to find him, to tell him all was well. They were now leading him home. And in a nice carriage, no less. It would feel good to get off his weary feet.
But his head and shoulder ached dreadfully, and he could not keep his eyes open much longer.
As Dmitri collapsed in unconsciousness, the two gendarmes on either side of him grabbed hold of his limp frame and stuffed him inside the paddy wagon. They climbed in beside him, yelling at the driver to make haste.
With a man of this importance in tow, it would not do to keep Chief Vlasenko waiting.