Sherlock Holmes in Russia (10 page)

Everyone shrugged at this reply and a brief look of distrust appeared once again on the faces of the investigator and the police chief.

And so silently and evidently very unhappy with Holmes, everyone returned to the dining-room. The rest of the evening passed in conversation to which neither Holmes nor I paid any attention. After eleven o’clock Holmes asked for us to be assigned a room and we retired.

When I awoke the following morning, Holmes wasn’t in the room, although it was still early. As I had expected, he had been up at five, gone off somewhere and only returned at nine. This I found out only later from his own words. When he returned, I was awake.

‘My dear chap, I didn’t want to wake you,’ he said. ‘You were sleeping so soundly and so peacefully, I had no wish to disturb your slumber, but now that you are awake, I must ask you to dress quickly.’

Much as I would have wanted to go on sleeping, I could hardly do so in the face of his demand. I jumped out of bed, washed and we sat down to breakfast which had been sent up to our room.

‘Are we leaving?’ I asked.

‘Not entirely,’ answered Holmes. ‘It is very likely that we’ll have to return, but in the meantime, I’d like to accept the kind invitation extended by Boris Nikolayevitch for us to visit his estate.’

Chatting away, we drank several glasses of tea and when, at last, Boris Nikolayevitch knocked on our door, we were ready to leave.

Boris Nikolayevitch still appeared depressed, but was courteous
and attentive. ‘I hope you slept well,’ he said, entering the room.

‘Oh, yes, for which we wish to thank you,’ Sherlock Holmes answered on behalf of both of us.

‘Is there anything else you would like,’ he asked. ‘Perhaps you are used to a hearty breakfast in the morning.’

‘I must confess that ham and eggs wouldn’t go amiss,’ Holmes answered with a smile.

Boris Nikolayevitch Kartzeff was all attentiveness and a few minutes later returned with a servant carrying our breakfast and a bottle of sherry.

Thus fortified, we thanked our cordial host and rose from the table.

‘Do you wish to come with me today,’ asked Kartzeff, ‘or do you wish to rest a while?’

‘With your permission, we’d like to accept your invitation this very day,’ answered Sherlock Holmes. ‘We are very pressed for time and it is very likely that we have to return to England in a few days.’

‘In that case, I shall give instructions for the horses to be made ready as soon as the funeral is over,’ said our cordial host.

As he was about to leave, Holmes stopped him, ‘Another little request. With your permission, I’d like to see your late uncle again before we leave.’

‘But, of course,’ answered Boris Nikolayevitch. ‘Shall we do so this very minute?’

Holmes nodded. We left our room and made our way into the hall where the funeral service was in preparation.

Approaching the coffin, Sherlock Holmes carefully lifted the muslin cloth over the face of the dead man and proceeded to examine the corpse. Several minutes passed before he tore himself away. But when he moved away, one couldn’t gather anything from the expression on his face.

Then the priests arrived and the usual service for that sort of
event began. The reader began his doleful chant. The priest recited the service monotonously. And all was as if it was being done on a factory floor, unhurriedly, in a fixed manner but yet to some mysterious beat. Not particularly involved in the sacred service, we each stood sunk in his own thoughts.

The service over, we went out for some fresh air into the garden round the house. The garden was over ten hectares, i.e. nigh on ten acres in area. It was fully planted with fruit trees and truly magnificent. Here and there flowerbeds were scattered from which brightly coloured blossoms struck the eye. Yellow sand neatly covered the pathways and sculptures added to the sense of proportion of this lordly manor garden. We strolled silently through the alleyways and, from the look of intense concentration on the face of Sherlock Holmes, I could sense that a secret thought had lodged like a thorn in his brain.

A half hour later Boris Nikolayevitch followed us out. After the funeral service his mood seemed to have lifted. ‘I hope you won’t refuse to attend the burial today,’ he said pleasantly. ‘We don’t intend to let it drag on for long, especially as there will be no women present. I’m not particularly sentimental and am always against the dead being detained for long in the house of the living.’

‘How right you are,’ said Holmes. ‘The presence of the dead in a home is depressing, and as far as we in England are concerned, we always try to remove the body as quickly as possible to its place of burial.’

‘I’m sure you will excuse me for leaving you now,’ Kartzeff apologized. ‘I’m sure you will understand that all funeral arrangements are exclusively my responsibility.’

‘Oh, but of course,’ Sherlock Holmes nodded. ‘We’ll stay here while you see to your duties and I beg you not to concern yourself with us.’

Boris Nikolayevitch Kartzeff bowed himself away politely, while we continued our aimless meandering.

Several hours passed. At about two in the afternoon Boris Nikolayevitch again reappeared and said that the body would be carried out in a quarter of an hour. We followed him inside.

We saw the corpse lifted up on a long piece of cloth and, accompanied by the clergy and choir, the sad procession moved to the village cemetery.

I won’t describe the details of the burial as they are too well known to all. To the sad strains of the service and the wailing of the choir, the body was lowered into the ground. Heavy clods of damp earth thudded on the coffin lid and soon it vanished from sight. More and more damp earth was unevenly heaped over the grave and then, under the skilled hands of the gravediggers, evened out into the usual tidy mound.

The last note of the burial psalm and then all those present quietly trudged away, for some reason speaking of the departed in soft undertones. Sherlock Holmes and I also returned.

The dining-room table was already set and Boris Nikolayevitch, still preserving a look of sadness on his face, invited us to partake of refreshments.

In any wake, the faces of the guests begin by looking long and sad, but become merrier as the wine begins to flow until such time as the proceedings acquire the character of a proper binge.

It must have been all of seven o’clock, because the sun was beginning to set, when the guests and clergy rose from the table. At this point Boris Nikolayevitch approached Holmes saying, ‘I’m at your disposal now. And if you so wish, we can go to my place together.’

‘I am ready,’ answered Holmes. ‘Mind you, I see no reason for staying on. What I was able to find in the dead man’s bedroom has little bearing on this scene and so, having rested at your place, we still have to return to Moscow, where I hope to find more reliable clues concerning this matter.’

We didn’t have much to pack. Boris Nikolayevitch gave final instructions and we got into an elegant landau harnessed to a
troika, three horses harnessed abreast. The sun set completely.

The well cared for horses, energized by the cool evening air, rose to the occasion and our carriage sped merrily along the country road.

It was less than five miles to the estate of Boris Nikolayevitch. At first, the road passed through open fields in which ears of grain were like dark waves. Then it entered the forest. This was thick with fir trees that hadn’t seen an axe for a long time, evidently protected for a long time by the late Sergey Sergeyevitch Kartzeff.

Now right, now left, the road wound through the dark forest lit by a patch of sky in which a myriad stars blazed. I don’t know how others might be affected, but this mystery-laden road only served to depress me with its gloom.

We drove a mile and a half without encountering a living soul. There was something strange about this vast, unpopulated, silent country road which lay between the estate of the uncle and his nephew. I was unable to refrain from expressing my thoughts to Kartzeff who was sitting beside us.

‘What’s there to be surprised about?’ he said, shrugging his shoulders. ‘This is a direct road joining our two estates and since time immemorial the peasants aren’t permitted to drive along it.’

Emerging from the forest, we again drove along open fields and, at last, the tall contours of the Igralino estate rose before us.

We were met by the friendly barking of dogs, but as soon as they heard their master’s voice, they fell silent. Our troika rolled up to the porch. An old retainer opened the door. He bowed low to his master, cast a suspicious look at the guests, let us through inside and helped us off with our outer garments.

The house did not overwhelm us with its opulence but, notwithstanding that, a glance into any of its rooms and you would conclude that a scion of the old gentry lived here. Not only were their portraits preserved, but their way of life. The
house itself was too ordinary to be described as palatial. But the furnishings in any of the rooms had been selected with remarkable good taste and were far from cheap.

‘First of all, gentlemen, abiding by a purely Russian tradition, I must show you to your quarters and then share with you whatever my humble abode is rich with,’ said the master of the house, cordially welcoming us.

With these words, he led us through several rooms and in one of them said, ‘I hope you will be comfortable here for the night.’

The room was fairly large. Apart from two beds, there was a wash basin, cupboard, a chest of drawers, a comfortable divan and several cushioned and ordinary chairs. Needless to say, we were very satisfied with the arrangements.

We thanked Boris Nikolayevitch and followed him to the dining-room. It was decorated in the Russian style and dinner was already laid out. The cooking was out of the ordinary. Over dinner our host made every effort to appear bright and cheerful, but I couldn’t help noticing that the events of the day were still with him. This was not unusual and so neither Holmes nor I paid much attention to that.

‘You’re probably tired after such a day,’ said our host to Holmes, ‘which is why I don’t feel I ought to tire you for long. Frankly, the day has worn me out, too, and so, if you don’t wish to retire early, I’ll have to apologize for leaving you to your own devices so soon.’

‘I do understand,’ said Holmes sympathetically. ‘I, too, would like to rest. Silly of me not to have said so earlier.’

‘In that case, I wish you a very good night,’ said Kartzeff.

He went off, leaving us to ourselves.

Holmes shut the door and carefully examined the room and
window. This was the only window in the room and as in Russian houses it had the usual hinged ventilation pane set inside it.

‘Perhaps the owner doesn’t seem to be much bothered by draughts,’ Holmes said as if by the by, turning the catch now this way, now that. ‘It doesn’t lock and the slightest breeze will blow it open.’

From a small leather case in his pocket he took several nails and nailed them securely into the frame of the window pane. After that he locked the door, leaving the key in the lock and began to undress. I did the same and a few minutes later I was fast asleep. I don’t recollect whether anything happened that night. All I know is that from the look on Holmes’s face sitting at the table when I woke, I could see he had spent a sleepless night.

Seeing me open my eyes, he heaved a sigh of relief and then said in a tired voice, ‘Well, now, my dear chap, thank God that you’re awake. This will give me a chance for a little rest. Stay awake, there’s a good chap, and I suggest you pay special attention to this little window pane.’

With these words he threw himself on the bed and a minute later he was already sleeping the sleep of the dead. Thoroughly puzzled, I sat there for a couple of hours, my gaze fixed on the window, but try as I might, I detected nothing suspicious.

The sun was already high in the heavens when Holmes awoke. He jumped out of bed, washed quickly and said cheerfully, ‘Well, my dear chap, I can now stay up for a couple of nights. That tired feeling is gone. Such tiredness is unforgivable and just this once, accidental.’

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. ‘I suppose something unusual took place last night and you’ll tell me what it was all about,’ I said.

‘You’ll allow me, my dear chap, to refrain from a direct answer,’ said Holmes solemnly. ‘It is very likely that in a few hours you will know more than you expected, and then your
curiosity is bound to be satisfied.’

We chatted about various trifles and the time passed unnoticed. At nine there was a knock on the door. The door opened and Boris Nikolayevitch came in. His eyes were baggy and his face somewhat drawn. He greeted us, asked how we had spent the night and, receiving a positive answer, appeared contented enough.

‘Tea is served,’ he invited.

We nodded our acceptance. Over tea, Holmes, who was at first withdrawn, livened up and jokes, anecdotes and witticisms poured from him. When we had drunk our tea, he announced that it was imperative for him to go to Moscow.

‘Surely you can stay longer,’ exclaimed Boris Nikolayevitch in a hurt tone.

Holmes gave a sad shrug. ‘Alas, I cannot. I did warn you yesterday that it is essential for me to be in Moscow today for pressing business and I hope you remember my words. This is why I must ask you to have horses made available immediately to get us to the station.’

‘Most certainly,’ exclaimed Kartzeff. ‘I will give the necessary orders at once.’ He went off but wasn’t back for some considerable time.

Holmes sat there without stirring, his head in the palms of his hands. The rest of the time before lunch and the lunch itself passed slowly. After lunch we were told that the horses were ready and, having bidden farewell to our host, we departed for the station.

Arriving in town, we made straight for Nikolai Nikolayevitch Kartzeff, brother of Boris Nikolayevitch and whose address we had taken.

‘It seems a little strange,’ said Holmes pensively along the way, ‘that the second nephew didn’t even wish to attend his uncle’s funeral.’

‘Yes, that is very strange,’ I agreed. ‘Could it be that we will find here some clues leading to the crime?’