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Kadyshev?”
    She narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips, and thought a moment. “I believe he first came here by way of Geneva, back in the fall of 1881. Of course, I have a record of the exact date. That was the year of the Tsar’s assassination. Many Russians came here back then.”
    â€œCan you tell me what sort of gentleman he was? I mean, his habits, customs, and general demeanor. Did he have many friends, or was he the sort who kept to himself?”
    â€œWell now, he was an educated gentleman; he had a medical degree from his own country, but he wasn’t qualified to practice here so he worked as an apothecary at a shop in the square. I’d say in most regards he was an ideal tenant—neat, quiet, and always paid the rent on time. And he was polite, but not friendly, if you know what I mean. A solitary fellow, and rather gloomy—but I have no reason to complain of him.”
    Achille thought, Speak well of the dead or not at all. “I see. Can you recall any friends or acquaintances of his—male or female?”
    Madame sighed. “There were no women, which might seem odd. He was a decent-looking man and seemed healthy enough. He dressed well for a man of his class and occupation, but he wasn’t a pansy. I know that sort, not that I have any particular prejudice against them. At any rate, in all the years he was here I can recall only two male acquaintances, both of them Russian.”
    â€œDo you know their names?”
    â€œYes, there was a M. Nazimov. He was a doctor by profession, like M. Kadyshev. A thin, pale gentleman as I recall, and he coughed a good deal. He might have been consumptive. Anyway, he hasn’t been here in years.”
    Achille assumed that she referred to Mme Nazimova’s husband; the information squared with what Nazimova had told him about their relationship with Kadyshev. “And the other man?”
    â€œAh, that would be M. Boguslavsky—what names these people have. He visited quite frequently, as recently as last week. I think he’s a chemist. A loud man, not as polite as M. Kadyshev, and he smokes like an old stove.”
    Achille immediately recalled the Sobranie. “Excuse me, Madame. Did this man smoke a pipe or a cigar?”
    â€œNo, Inspector, he smoked cigarettes, one right after the other. And he dropped the butts on the landing, the stairway, in the entrance hall, or anywhere else he pleased.”
    â€œDo you remember anything different or unusual about the cigarettes he smoked?”
    â€œYes, they were long with cardboard tips, the kind Russians smoke. Heaven knows I’ve had to pick up enough of them.”
    â€œCan you give me a more detailed description of M. Boguslavsky? His approximate age, height, weight, and build, and color of skin, hair, beard, and eyes? Or any unusual distinguishing features—scars, deformities, and so forth?”
    â€œOh, he’s a bear, taller than you by a couple of centimeters, and stocky. I’d say he’s in his forties; he has a full brown beard that comes down well below his collar and he’s balding on top, but no gray. Big brown eyes and a gruff manner. And he does have a nasty scar above the beard on his left cheek. Might have got it dueling, which wouldn’t surprise me; he’s that sort of man.”
    â€œThis is very helpful information, Madame. You said you believe he’s a chemist. Do you know where he’s employed?”
    She shook her head. “No, M. Lefebvre, I’m afraid not. You might ask over at the café near the apothecary shop. He and M. Kadyshev used to go there for coffee and to play chess. And, I assume, to talk politics.”
    The mention of politics piqued Achille’s interest. “Politics—did you ever overhear any of their discussions?”
    Mme Arnaud flushed a bit and laughed nervously. “Well, Monsieur, I don’t eavesdrop. But I have overheard them, on occasion, speaking in a