Sherlock Holmes in Russia (18 page)

‘The assistants now informed me that they couldn’t work here any longer. “It’s not your apparition that scares me,” said Smith Copton. “I just don’t want to breathe such foul air. You’re being pursued by some evil genie. It would be best for you to move. Do so, and you’ll get good staff. Stay here, you won’t survive the week.”

‘Both left, wishing me all the very best.’

Terehoff fell silent again.

Sherlock Holmes listened to him attentively, very taken by the
story. He refilled Terehoff’s glass and handed it to him. Terehoff drank.

‘How did it all end?’

‘After that last incident, my wife renewed her pleas even more forcefully for me to change premises,’ answered Terehoff. ‘Finally, I gave in and took the only premises left in the Commercial Centre.’

‘And then?’

‘As soon as I had vacated my premises, I still kept an eye on it. I think the apparition must have gone on strike. For a while the place remained vacant, but then some Greek called Alferakki took it over. He trades in eastern delicacies and fruit, both wholesale and retail.’

‘And how are things with him?’

‘He doesn’t know of any apparition and laughs at me when someone brings up my misfortunes,’ Terehoff said angrily. ‘Personally, I don’t believe in the supernatural. I am sooner likely to suspect some human trickery. In a word, I’m mentally confused. Then I heard that you are in Nijni-Novgorod and decided to seek your advice. Supernatural or otherwise, I want to get at the truth. I am prepared to pay you five thousand roubles.’

Sherlock Holmes smiled, ‘That would amount to five hundred pounds sterling.’

‘Absolutely so!’

‘In that case I am at your disposal. For me, as an Englishman, time and every action are measured in monetary terms. Although I took a lively interest listening to your story, I wouldn’t spend any time over it, unless I was remunerated. Please draw up a contract and … who knows? Perhaps I’ll be able to restore your former premises to you, but without the evil presence.’

The detective and the merchant sat down and began to draw up a contract.

Several days passed. It was late on 27 July. The shops had long since shut for the day. The drunken revelry for which the Nijni-Novgorod Fair was famous was in full swing. The old times are gone forever, as are the old music and dancing. It wasn’t so in those days. No sooner did the shops shut for the day, than the merchants hurried to the restaurants from whence music and women’s voices were raised in song. To the sound of them (part singers, part prostitutes), business deals were transacted. Mirrors were cracked. Then was yet the time, when drunken merchants still beat up waiters for any minor blunder.

That evening, the weather was terrible. The north wind blew all day. The rain poured in buckets. It was close to midnight, and everyone had taken shelter in restaurants.

Two men emerged from one of the restaurants in the park opposite the Commercial Centre. They made their way past the Flatch clock tower towards the Oka River wharf. Despite the pouring rain, the two men did not hurry. Engrossed in conversation, they spoke in undertones.

Following them out of the same restaurant, but at a distance, was a man in a hooded waterproof cape. This was Sherlock Holmes, the famous London detective. Three days and three nights spent at the fair were beginning to yield results. He had noted a few things here and there, and now wouldn’t let the two men out of his sight.

He sat down behind them on the ferry, but didn’t pick up anything useful. The two men were deep in conversation, but they were only discussing the Great Fair and the prices that had been established for certain goods. They disembarked at the Krashinsky Wharf, where they parted. Sherlock Holmes managed to overhear a phrase dropped by one of them, ‘And so, congratulations on the start of work. Goodbye.’

At this moment a dark figure approached Sherlock Holmes.
This was Dr Watson, who accompanied him everywhere. ‘Well, what?’ he asked softly.

‘Let’s go; I have to talk to you,’ said Sherlock Holmes.

‘What about those two?’ asked Dr Watson.

‘They’ll keep. I’m not interested in their doings when they’re apart.’

They took a coach and returned to the Post Hotel. Having locked the door, they began to share their findings.

‘I haven’t found out anything. I don’t even know the names of the pair you have been watching,’ said Watson sadly. ‘Just as you suggested, I spent two nights in the taverns along the Bentakurovsky Canal. Lots of suspicious types there. Two men entered Tarakanoff’s tavern while I was sitting there. What confused me is that they seemed alike in build to the pair you were interested in who were at the fair.’

‘Describe them?’ Sherlock Holmes interrupted.

‘One was dark, the other ginger haired. Both lean. Both with moustaches, but otherwise clean-shaven.’

Sherlock Holmes jumped up in excitement, ‘That’s them all right, the devil take them. Do go on, I beg you. Your efforts were not wasted.’

‘They sat down at the table adjoining mine and ordered an expensive wine,’ went on Watson. ‘This tavern didn’t have the brand they wanted. They insisted it must be sent for. They kept on repeating that there was some job they had to get under way, otherwise they could miss out on all this money intended for the fair. Nothing suspicious in that. But when they’d nearly got through the bottle they had ordered, one of them said, “If only we could get under way! After that, we’re all right on our own, and as for him—” Following this, they dropped their voices, though I did hear them mention the Bentakurovsky Canal several times. I suppose you know, Holmes, that this particular canal has an evil reputation. It passes through the distant countryside, along its banks are the taverns with the worst reputation,
the police often find corpses in its waters, in which quite a few crimes have been concealed.’

‘Yes, indeed, what you have to say is of great significance,’ Sherlock Holmes said thoughtfully. For some time he sat in silence, except for drumming his fingers on the table. His brows were knit in thought. Finally, he lifted his head.

Watson, anticipating that now Sherlock Holmes would relate what had happened to him, prepared to listen.

‘There’s not much for me to tell,’ said Sherlock Holmes after a long pause. ‘It was sheer chance that led you to the pair I was following.’

‘And they are—?’

‘The Englishman Smith Copton and the Greek Alferakki.’

‘Not the very same one who rented Terehoff’s shop in the Commercial Centre!’ exclaimed Watson, looking puzzled.

‘Indeed, the very same.’ Holmes nodded. ‘I began to watch the two of them, and soon enough I discovered a close connection between the new owner and the unemployed assistant. This was an important discovery and, as far as I am concerned, if Smith Copton really needed a job, his friend Alferakki would have given him one. After all, the Greek had hired another assistant with a poor reputation. But since he didn’t take on Copton, it could only mean the latter was not in need of employment.’

‘Damn it, your observations are, indeed, very interesting,’ said Watson.

‘Hold on,’ Sherlock Holmes stopped him. ‘It would appear that Copton’s claim to be in financial need was pure invention. But since they always met in secret, I came to the conclusion that they have some enterprise in common. Now put the following facts together: an apparition appears in Terehoff’s shop, Copton
goes to work for him, the simultaneous appearance of a foul smell, forcing the shop to be cleared and … Alferakki, who knows Copton well, occupies the premises.’

‘Indeed!’

‘This is how I see it, then,’ explained Sherlock Holmes. ‘For some reason, Alferakki and Smith Copton need Terehoff’s shop. There is a mystery here, and in the end we will solve it. I think a major crime is in preparation.’

‘Is that what you presume?’ Watson interrupted.

‘I am certain of that. And so they decided to squeeze out Terehoff, come what may. That’s why they did all those horrible things. I haven’t yet examined the old premises, but I presume that the trick was all of an optical nature, which means they are skilled. Utilizing the power of superstition, they got rid of the employees. But Terehoff was still being stubborn. That’s when Copton appeared, and his task was to create the final outrage, which forced out Terehoff.’

‘So what did he rub into the wood?’ asked Watson. ‘I smelt it. Despite the passage of time, the odour had survived. I nearly went out of my mind, sniffing that wood at the police station.’

Sherlock Holmes smiled, ‘I was able to place that odour instantly. I came across it in South Africa some ten years ago. A tribesman wanted to get out of being a guide to a British detachment. He didn’t want to desert, which meant facing a firing squad. And so, one day, when he entered the camp, everyone nearly went out of their minds. Tethered horses tried to break away. Oxen tore through the camp and brought down tents. The men cursed and ran in all directions. That same odour came from him. The guide calmly paraded up and down the camp, claiming he had rubbed himself with an antidote against mosquitoes. He was ordered to get the hell out of there, or else.’

Watson laughed, ‘How very droll! And what was the antidote?’

‘Juice squeezed from African gorse. The plant only grows in southern and central Africa, and even so, rarely. But to continue. Copton was hired as a sales assistant, brought a jar of this foul liquid and rubbed some of it into the wood without being noticed. And achieved his aim.’

‘What then?’ asked Watson.

‘Then,’ answered Sherlock Holmes, ‘when Terehoff left, Alferakki immediately took over, while Copton left Terehoff’s employment for whatever more substantial task awaited him.’

‘Your conclusions are certainly logical,’ said Watson.

‘It is very likely that, by themselves, the pair cannot cope with the matter at hand,’ Sherlock Holmes went on developing his thoughts, ‘because there is talk of a third person. But they don’t want to share with him and, for some reason, consider him a danger to themselves. They probably promised him the earth to come in with them and, having used him, they’ll get rid of him. I can see another crime taking place here.’

‘Do you really think so?’ asked Watson.

‘Of that I am certain. I have a strange premonition of an irreversible tragedy.’ Sherlock Holmes was silent for a little while. ‘And so, my dear colleague, keep an eye on Copton while I do the same to Alferakki. We part now, but we must get under way early tomorrow morning. Some mysterious plot is being hatched before our eyes. It would be a shame if we don’t put a stop to it.’

‘With you on the case, success is bound to come!’ said Watson warmly. ‘Meanwhile, I’ll take your advice and get a sound night’s sleep to make sure I am full of energy in the morning. A very good night!’

‘Good night!’ Sherlock Holmes rose and shook his hand.

They parted, having first agreed on prearranged recognition signals and where to meet.

Soon after noon on the following day, a middle-aged man with a long dark beard and the looks and conduct of a merchant of average means entered the Commercial Centre of the fair and made his way slowly along the arcade. Outside Alferakki’s shop, he examined the sign above the door and then the goods in the window. He scratched the back of his head and went in.

‘Would you be wholesalers?’ he asked the owner standing by the till.

‘Wholesale and retail, both.’ The man locked the till and approached the customer.

‘So,’ said the latter, stroking his beard, ‘and where are your goods manufactured? Russia?’

‘Never,’ said the owner smugly. ‘Our goods come from Turkey, Greece and Italy. Allow me to ask whether you trade in such goods, too?’

‘Yes,’ said the visitor. ‘My business premises are in Yeltze and Orla, from where we export to other places. Kromi, for example, Karacheff, Griazi.’

‘Very glad to make your acquaintance,’ Alferakki smiled and bowed. ‘I am sure our goods will give you satisfaction. Do look for yourself.’ And with a broad gesture he indicated the counters and shelves.

‘Won’t buy unless I try,’ smirked the buyer. ‘I take it, you’re in business, not just for idle chatter.’

‘Goes without saying,’ said the owner.

The buyer began to examine and try the goods, making observations that showed his familiarity with the business. He went round the shop slowly, from time to time asking to see this or that item from the shelves. He then asked for samples of a quarter pound in weight of each item. He paid, promised to return in a few days, and left.

Who would have recognized Sherlock Holmes in this buyer!
Leaving the shop, he glanced at his watch and made his way to one of the restaurants in the park opposite the Commercial Centre. Watson was already there, at a table by the window.

They shook hands and asked the waiter to show them to a private room, where they ordered lunch. They were on their own there and could speak freely, though they had to keep their voices down.

‘Have you been following Copton?’ asked Sherlock Holmes.

‘Yes,’ answered Watson. ‘He met Alferakki today. Part of their conversation was inaudible. Part incomprehensible. But I did manage to catch one phrase. Copton asked Alferakki if he’d managed to remove the cinematograph—’

Sherlock Holmes jumped at this word with a look of pleasure on his face. ‘Hurrah!’ he exclaimed. ‘So that’s the use to which this appliance was first put in Russia!’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Watson, looking puzzled.

‘Oh, haven’t you read anything about this remarkable new invention. It’s a so-called living and moving photograph.’

‘I’ve read about it,’ said Watson, sounding aggrieved. ‘What’s it got to do with the matter at hand?’

‘You’ll see,’ said Sherlock Holmes smugly.

[For the information of readers, the cinematograph had already appeared elsewhere, but in Russia it wasn’t widely known yet.]

‘Did you not note, Watson, a metal box nailed to the door of Alferakki’s shop?’ asked Sherlock Holmes.

‘I did see it,’ answered Watson. ‘I presume it is a ventilator or an electric meter.’

‘That’s what anyone is likely to think,’ Watson nodded. ‘Who would think that a projector, as yet unknown in Russia, is hidden inside. This is where a hole was knocked through the wall for a ventilator and it is through this hole that the light passed from the appliance in the metal box. From what Terehoff had to say, the shelves at the back of the store were covered with
a large linen sheet at night. This sheet was the screen. All those demons, prancing skeletons, coffins, were projected on it.’