Sherlock Holmes in Russia (13 page)

‘Oh, I shall never forget that look, a mixture of fear and loathing,’ I said.

‘If until then I had any reservations about his guilt, all doubt vanished from that moment. And so, during the night, I waited for confirmation of my presuppositions,’ said Holmes. ‘In any case, there’s not much more to tell you about the most recent events. You saw for yourself how an invisible hand tried to open the pane for that cursed animal to get into our room. Now, Watson, all that’s left is to lure him to a last desperate step. As soon as we return, I will announce that we have decided to depart for the city and, depending on how he reacts, we’ll decide what to do next. In the meantime, let us take our time getting back.’

We strolled back.

Boris Nikolayevitch was busy in the yard, handing out some sort of orders concerning household matters, when Sherlock
Holmes approached and firmly stated that we had to return to Moscow this very day.

A hardly discernible gleam appeared in Kartzeff’s glance. But it was only momentary and, taking himself in hand, he said indifferently, ‘I am so sorry you cannot stay longer, but it can’t be helped. Work must come first. If you don’t intend to stop off at Silver Slopes, I’ll send you to the station by the direct road. I am only sorry that I cannot do so immediately. My horses are all out on the road and you’ll have to wait a few hours.’

‘Oh, that’s no problem,’ answered Sherlock Holmes.

‘I’ll give instructions for you to be driven to the ferry. It belongs to me, by the way. From there, the same horses will take you to the station.’

‘Excellent!’ said Sherlock Holmes.

We thanked him again and went inside, where we chatted with Nikolai Nikolayevitch and Boris Nikolayevitch who occasionally dropped in on us. Nevertheless, hour after hour went by and no horses appeared.

At a convenient moment, when both brothers were out of the room at the same time, Holmes whispered to me softly, ‘I forgot to tell you another little detail. This morning a sock went missing. I deliberately placed my boots outside the door and stuffed my socks inside them. Tell me, why do you think a sock went missing?’

‘I haven’t a clue. Now why should he need an old sock of yours,’ I said with a smile.

‘All the same, it is a serious matter,’ said Holmes. ‘I am nearly certain that he needed the sock for that ape to scent.’

Dinner was served at five and went off normally. It was another two hours before the host informed us the horses were ready and awaited us by the porch. But even here there was a delay. Kartzeff examined the carriage and claimed it hadn’t been properly oiled. He gave instructions for it to be oiled all over again. It was clearly a deliberate attempt to delay us further.

Night was beginning to fall when, at last, we thanked the brothers for their hospitality, bade them farewell and departed. After a mile along the road, the carriage entered a forest. Now the sun set and it became completely dark.

‘Be even more on your guard and hold on to your revolver,’ Holmes whispered.

As we drove into the forest, the driver slowed down.

Holding his revolver in his hand, Holmes looked back and ordered me to do the same. The precaution was not wasted. A couple of miles into the forest, Holmes pressed my hand forcefully. Leaning over the seat with his outstretched hand holding a revolver, it was as if he was expecting some invisible foe. And suddenly, despite the darkness, I saw the fairly large, dark silhouette of some strange creature. It sped along the road after us in silent leaps. I had hardly become aware of what was going on, hardly had the thought flashed through my mind that this might be the ape-strangler, when the terrifying creature caught up with us and made a colossal flying leap.

Simultaneously, our shots rang out. The damned creature crashed to the ground.

At exactly the same moment the driver tumbled head over heels off the coach-box and vanished amongst the trees. The horses surged forward, only to be stopped by Holmes’s powerful grip. He quickly passed the reins to me and, revolver in hand, jumped off the carriage. He ran a few quick steps towards the animal lying on the ground and a third shot rang out. He returned dragging the dead ape along with him. He threw it in, jumped on the coach-box, seized the reins and we galloped away. We raced through the forest with the speed of lightning. The foaming horses pulled up by the ferry.

We yelled and yelled, but nobody appeared. We had no idea how the ferry operated and ended up wasting the best part of an hour in fruitless activity, jumping on and off it and then alongside.

‘The devil!’ said Holmes fiercely. ‘He’ll catch up with us.’

We made another desperate attempt and this time success crowned our efforts. Just as we managed to find the end of the mooring rope, we heard the sound of horses galloping, but we had hardly managed to cast off when a troika came straight for us and into the water.

Two men leaped out and before we had time to gather ourselves together, they scrambled on board.

‘Aha, so that’s what you are up to,’ we heard a hoarse voice rage. In that moment I saw Boris Nikolayevitch leap like a cat at Holmes standing by the mooring rope. I threw myself to help him but powerful hands pinioned me.

The ferry forged ahead at full speed and there was nobody to see the life-and-death struggle being waged on board. We fought with every ounce of strength we possessed, we fought tooth and nail as we rolled over and over. In the heat of the struggle I couldn’t see what was happening with Holmes. I gathered up my last reserves of strength, seized my opponent by the throat and with every ounce of strength bashed his head in the darkness against the wooden planking. He, too, made a desperate effort, slipped out of my hands to roll over and vanish beneath the waves.

I leapt to my feet to help Holmes. But it was too late. I was nearly at his side, but he was in a deathly embrace with Kartseff and they went overboard together. Holmes vanished out of sight.

I kept on yelling and screaming for him, but the river was as unresponsive as the grave. Somehow I managed to steer the craft to the opposite shore and at the first village I raised the alarm. I invoked the help of the villagers, and entreated them to find my friend.

All night and day we searched and searched. We even requested the help of the village downriver, but all was in vain. Holmes had irrevocably vanished. We searched a further five
days but to no avail. I set off for Moscow, where I laid everything before the police. Soon I departed for England, grieving the premature end of my best friend.

‘Surely you notice, my dear Watson, that revolutionary times in Russia affected townspeople and citizens of the Russian Empire generally much more so than those who, up until such times, kept out of the limelight and emerged to show themselves only with the greatest care.’

‘Surely that was to be expected,’ I replied. ‘The turmoil that accompanies revolution invariably deflects conservative elements. In their drive to quell revolution, these elements fail to see the mass of riff-raff who live by theft, robbery, burglary, blackmail and suchlike shady means.’

The conversation between us took place as we sat on a bench along the Tversky Boulevard, where Holmes and I had gone out for some fresh air.

‘When I look at the chronicle of current events set out in the local press, I am simply amazed at the sheer number of daring and impertinent robberies systematically carried out in Moscow.
You would think that, having regard to the improved strength of the investigation department instituted with the first revolutionary outbursts, it would be possible to cope with ordinary crime! But it looks as if the opposite is the case.’

While he was saying all this, Holmes drew Kabbalistic symbols in the sand with his cane, while pensively looking up at the investigation department, directly opposite which we sat.

‘I think that the reason is clear,’ I said, ‘if we take into account that at one time all the efforts of the investigation department were solely directed at ferreting out revolutionary organizations, catching terrorists and looking for forbidden literature. Until the revolution got under way, revolutionary organizations were so conspiratorial that catching them was more difficult than catching criminals.’

‘But in the revolutionary period,’ Sherlock Holmes interrupted me, ‘the revolutionary organizations showed their cards far too openly, they operated nearly in the open, as a result of which agents of the security service were able to infiltrate them and this error they haven’t been able to correct even now. It goes without saying that investigations into political affairs require little or no effort these days, but concentrating mostly on political investigation leads to the worst elements in society not being under scrutiny any more. Just look, burglaries in Moscow amaze with their unusual and systematic effrontery. Often they are carried out in the town centre in broad daylight and it is only in rare cases that the police are able to solve these crimes quickly.’

It was a hot day. Strollers filled the boulevard. Dust rose all around us. Neither Holmes nor I liked crowds, preferring more quiet places for our strolls. Which is why, when the boulevard became crowded, we exchanged glances and, understanding each other without words, rose from our bench. Exchanging conversational trivia, we were about to make our way towards
Strastniy Boulevard, when we were overtaken by a crowd of drunken hooligans. We sought refuge in a cab.

‘There’s no getting away from them,’ said Sherlock Holmes angrily. ‘In general, my dear Watson, if we were to compare Russia with England, there is much to marvel at. You wouldn’t encounter a tenth of the number of beggars in London as you would here, even though the number of unemployed in London is several times greater than in Moscow.’

Saying this, he drew a cigar out of its case and threw himself back in his seat. ‘When a city or a government isn’t sufficiently concerned with the grey mass of people and is only interested in preserving the interests of the bureaucracy and the capitalist class, that’s what always happens. The grey mass, driven in on itself, sinks like a stone in water.’

In the meantime, our ghastly cabriolet with its metal wheels stopped outside the Moscow Grand Hotel. We settled with the unprepossessing driver and went to our room.

The first thing that we saw, as we came in, was a sealed envelope placed conspicuously in such a way that we could not miss it.

‘I can already anticipate something new,’ said Sherlock Holmes, opening and reading it.

‘Maxim Vasilyevitch Kliukin, publisher and book store proprietor, invites you, Watson, and me – to see him on an urgent matter,’ he added as he finished reading the letter and placed it back on the table.

‘And you, of course, are off to see him instantly.’

‘But, of course. After all, we haven’t done much this month and it wouldn’t go amiss to give ourselves a little shake-up. Let’s have a leisurely lunch and then make our way along Mohovaya Street, where he owns a store.’

We changed, went down to the restaurant, chose a table and ordered lunch.

At about five in the afternoon we came out on to the square where the Duma stands, turned into Tversky Boulevard, turned into Mohovaya Street and went in the direction of the university.

‘I think I can just about imagine what they’ll tell me when we get there,’ Holmes said as we walked along. ‘If you have read the news in the Moscow papers, you must have seen accounts of a whole number of robberies from major publishers during the last year. Kliukin’s publishing house, as well as his book store, are amongst the biggest in Moscow both as regards the number of publications as well as the variety on sale.’

‘He probably got taken for quite a lot,’ I interrupted, ‘but it seems strange that he decided to come to us.’

Sherlock Holmes shrugged, ‘In order for you not to be surprised, and to understand the reason, you have only to remember our conversation on Tversky Boulevard.’

Without much trouble, we found Benkendorff House in which Kliukin’s store was situated. We asked whether we could see the owner, to which the shop assistant pointed at a lean, darkhaired, middle-aged man sitting at a desk. The desk stood beside one of the display windows and was piled high with papers. We approached him.

‘I had the honour of receiving from you today a letter addressed to me at the Moscow Grand Hotel,’ said Sherlock Holmes with a bow.

The publisher immediately realized who we are. He shook us by the hand, asked us to wait a few moments and went into a back room.

‘My son will be here in a minute and I would ask you to wait for his arrival,’ he said when he returned. ‘This is not the place to talk about such matters. With your permission, we will adjourn elsewhere, where you will be told in detail everything concerning my request for your presence.’

Holmes bowed silently. Only a couple of minutes passed and a young man, wearing a school uniform, walked in and Maxim Vasilyevitch Kliukin handed him a set of keys, meanwhile asking us to follow.

We followed Kliukin for a couple of hundred steps along Mohovaya Street and found ourselves at the Peterhof tavern. Up the stairs we went and along a corridor with private rooms along it. We passed several doors and entered one of the larger rooms in which, to our great surprise, a fairly large number of people were already waiting. Several rose to meet us when we came in, and Mr Kliukin introduced us.

I don’t remember all their surnames, but I did remember Messrs Yefimoff, Karbasnikoff, Suvorin and others. All those present were either publishers or the owners of major book stores.

After the initial polite exchanges, Sherlock Holmes asked Mr Kliukin to come to the point without further ado.

‘This is what it is all about,’ Maxim Vasilyevitch Kliukin began. ‘I speak at the request and on behalf of all those present. We are ten publishers and store owners from which a considerable number of books have vanished this past year. We have searched and searched for them but, so far, to no avail. I accidentally heard of your presence in Moscow and decided to tempt fortune, to ask you for help.’

‘I am at your service,’ said Holmes.

‘You see,’ said Kliukin, ‘as I have already said, we have no direct evidence against anyone. Nevertheless, owing to certain considerations, we are led to suspect certain minor bookstore proprietors who are buying up goods stolen from us. So far, it is unclear to us who carried out the robberies and how, but we are able to give you the names of ten people who, we think, merit special attention.’

‘You will let me write down their names?’ asked Holmes and took out a notebook.

‘Of course,’ said Kliukin. He dictated the names of bookstores in various parts of town with their precise addresses.

‘And this is all you have for me?’ asked Holmes.

‘Alas, yes,’ said the publisher.

‘Another question.’

‘I am listening.’

‘Do you sell your books in complete form, i.e. including bindings?’

‘Of course, it would be strange if that were not the case,’ said the publisher in surprise.

We discussed a few more trivial details and, having carefully written down the addresses of the stores that had been robbed, we bade the company farewell and left the restaurant.

For the rest of the day and evening Holmes worked his way with painstaking care through a reference book, occasionally going downstairs to use the telephone. At the same time he called for a courier and told him to order notepaper with the heading ‘Ivan Ivanovitch Sergeyev, Publisher,’ and this was to be done as a matter of urgency.

Early the next morning the notepaper was delivered by the printer. Again, Holmes got to work on the telephone.

At the same time, I had to find out from all the publishers we had met the previous day what exactly they published and which books were principally stocked in their warehouses during the period of the robberies. A few hours of work and we had quite a list before us.

‘And now, Watson, we can get down to some real work,’ said Sherlock Holmes with a determined air.

Sitting down to our desk, we divided between us those book stores which the publishers had indicated as under suspicion.

We had four shops each. We each kept a copy of the list.

It is necessary to note that, at the request of Sherlock Holmes, the publishers who had been robbed were asked to give precise figures as to which books and what quantities had been ordered by those under suspicion. None of the figures was considerable. Each had ordered between one and three copies.

‘Remember, my dear Watson,’ said Sherlock Holmes, ‘we will have to visit all the shops and ask for precisely those books which have vanished at the same time. It goes without saying that, in every case, we will ask for a higher number of copies than those the firm ordered.’

I fully comprehended Holmes’s thinking. Indeed, this was the only way of coming across any trace.

At the same time, an error was possible and I couldn’t refrain from putting it before Holmes. ‘It might very well be that, despite the absence of the goods we ask for, the firm would tell us to wait a few minutes while they send a messenger to fetch them from the requisite publisher.’

‘Of course,’ answered Holmes, ‘your presupposition is more than possible. But we can always telephone the publisher and ask whether a messenger came, who sent him and how many copies he took.’

‘You are absolutely right!’ I had to agree.

‘So, let’s not waste any further time,’ said Holmes, reaching for his hat.

A few minutes later we had left our hotel and each set out on his route. We had to hurry. The day was slowly drawing to a close and the stores were going to shut in a couple of hours.

Having been to four stores, I returned tired and bad-tempered, with nothing to show for my efforts. In all four I got either a direct refusal or I was offered a lesser quantity than I had asked for, though I was told that if I cared to wait, my order would be filled in no time at all.

Moreover, the book store owners, when I told them that I
was opening my own business, assured me that if they were to get the book from the very same publishers I would have to go to myself, I wouldn’t be a kopeck worse off. The reason was that they were old customers, were given a sizable discount and they would pass the books on to me leaving for themselves a very small profit. But I’d be getting the books for the same price I’d have to pay the publisher. No matter how cunningly I tried, I could find nothing suspicious that could cast any light on the offer. Upset by my lack of success, I returned to my hotel room, took off my coat and lay down on the couch awaiting Holmes.

Darkness fell.

Sherlock Holmes returned at about eight. He came in with a bold step and from the look on his face I immediately saw that he was satisfied with his excursion.

‘A man’s eyes and face reflect his inner state,’ he said, looking at me with a smile, ‘and, hence, I am certain that you are angry at your lack of success.’

He hung his coat up and turned to me, ‘But that’s how it always is, dear Watson, we look for some item in ten places. It doesn’t mean it is in all of them at one and the same time. It has to be somewhere in a single place, and if two or three people were to go in different directions, one of them will certainly find what has been lost, unless, of course, someone has moved it somewhere else.’

‘From what you say, I conclude that your excursion has been, in any case, more successful,’ I said, feeling better. ‘No, really, Holmes, you’re lucky. Luck, real luck, dogs your footsteps whichever way you go. I really get to feel jealous, just thinking of your successes. Now, then, isn’t it just chance that on this occasion I got the four stores which had nothing suspicious.’

Holmes shrugged indifferently, ‘In solving crimes, blind chance often plays a leading role.’

‘And, so, my dear Holmes, I hope that you will share with me the results of today’s labours,’ I said.

‘With pleasure, dear Doctor,’ he answered, sitting down in an armchair and stretching his long legs as was his usual habit.

‘Fediukoff’s store, which I went to first, proved to be without suspicion,’ he began. ‘But the second, belonging to a certain Nikanoroff, somewhat did confirm my suspicions There, I found some books I was after, and although the quantity I asked for happened to be considerably higher than their purchase from the publisher, nonetheless, I was handed the quantity I asked for. But most interesting was the fact that several copies were not bound and still in loose-leaf. Imagine my joy! Needless to say, not a single publisher would deliver for sale in such a form. And how could one explain that this sort of goods is being kept in a store, except that it wasn’t bought directly from a publisher. To put it bluntly, the book in question must have been obtained directly from the printer and binder, who stole it page by page. I asked Nikanoroff how come the book was not bound. He became embarrassed, said the books had been delivered in a hurry, and offered me a considerable discount. I hope he is now in my grasp, and tomorrow we’ll investigate him properly.’