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of Moscow.”
    Again, not even a single officer so much as inclined his head in greeting. Erast Petrovich refrained from repeating his own greeting to them and waited to see what would happen next. Gukmasov turned to him and said: “And these, Mr. Fandorin, are my colleagues. Senior Adjutant Lieutenant Colonel Baranov, Adjutant Lieutenant Prince Erdeli, Adjutant Staff Captain Prince Abadziev, Orderly Captain Ushakov, Orderly Cornet Baron Eichgolz, Orderly Cornet Gall, Orderly Lieutenant Markov.”
    “I won’t remember them all,” responded Erast Petrovich.
    “That will not be necessary,” snapped Gukmasov. “I have introduced all these gentlemen to you because you owe us an explanation.”
    “Owe you?” Fandorin echoed derisively. “Oh, come now!”
    “Yes indeed, sir. Be so good as to explain in front of everyone here the reason for the insulting interrogation to which you subjected me in the presence of the chief of police.”
    The captain’s voice was menacing, but the collegiate assessor remained unperturbed and his constant slight stammer had suddenly disappeared.
    “The reason for my questions, Captain, is that the death of Mikhail Dmitrievich Sobolev is a matter of state importance, indeed it is an event of historical significance. That is one.” Fandorin smiled reproachfully. “But you, Prokhor Akhrameevich, have been trying to make fools of us, and very clumsily, too. That is two. I have instructions from Prince Dolgorukoi to get to the bottom of this matter. That is three. And you may be certain that I shall get to the bottom of it; you know me. That is four. Or are you going to tell me the truth after all?”
    A Caucasian prince in a white Circassian coat with silver cartridge belts — if only Fandorin could remember which of the two Caucasians he was — leapt up off the divan.
    “One-two-three-four! Gentlemen! This sleuth, this lousy civilian, is jeering at us! Prosha, I swear on my mother that I’ll—”
    “Sit down, Erdeli!” Gukmasov barked, and the Caucasian immediately did so, twitching his chin nervously.
    “I certainly do know you, Erast Petrovich. I know you and I respect you.” The captain’s expression was grave and cheerless. “Mikhail Dmitrievich respected you, too. If his memory is dear to you, do not interfere in this matter. You will only make things worse.”
    Fandorin replied no less sincerely and seriously: “If it were merely a matter of myself and my own idle curiosity, then I should certainly accede to your request. But I am sorry, in this case I cannot — it is a matter of duty.”
    Gukmasov cracked the knuckles of the fingers that he had linked together behind his back and began walking around the room, jingling his spurs. He halted in front of the collegiate assessor.
    “Well, now, I cannot accept that, either. I cannot allow you to continue with your investigation. Let the police try — but not you, never. This is the wrong case for you to apply your talents to, Mr. Fandorin. Be informed that I shall stop you by any means possible, regardless of the past.”
    “Which means, for example, Prokhor Akhrameevich?” Erast Petrovich inquired.
    “I’ll give you some means!” Lieutenant Erdeli interjected yet again, jumping to his feet. “You, sir, have insulted the honor of the officers of the Fourth Army Corps, and I challenge you to a duel! Pistols, here, this very minute. To the death, handkerchief terms!”
    “As far as I recall the rules of dueling,” Fandorin said dryly, “the terms of combat are set by the party who is challenged. So be it; I will play this stupid game with you — but later, when I have concluded my investigation. You may send your seconds to me. I am staying in suite number twenty. Good-bye, gentlemen.”
    He was about to turn around and leave, but Erdeli bounded over with a cry of “Then I’ll make you fight!” and attempted to slap him across the face. With amazing agility, Erast Petrovich seized the hand that had been raised to