Sherlock Holmes in Russia Read online

  ‘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.

  V

  ‘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.

  *

  VI

  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?’<
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  ‘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.’

  ‘But how did they get the appliance to work?’ asked Watson.

  ‘It works automatically; the tape winds automatically. I remember now, traces of electric wires on the box to get the mechanism going. Well, my dear Watson, you certainly didn’t waste time and effort today. Keep on at it, do, and I’m sure you’ll come up with more of interest.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ answered Watson. ‘That’s all that I have for you. Now it’s your turn.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ said Sherlock Holmes. He lit up a cigar, drank a glass of Benedictine and, chasing it down with black coffee, began to speak.

  VII

  ‘I examined Alferakki’s shop closely today. Even a cursory examination caused me to reconsider the whys and wherefores of the box you took for holding an electric meter. Thanks to you, all became clear, but I won’t labour the point. I was able to look over all the counters, but especially the shelves, and I made a significant discovery. The wall along the left side of the shop, with the exception of a little section at the back, is totally concealed by a huge cupboard filled with shelves. But, if you look at the depth of the shelves and the sides of the cupboard, its back does not touch the wall. The depth of the shelves, judging by the sides, is considerably less than the depth of the cupboard. What it means is this. There is a gap between the back of the cupboard and the wall, and you can get into that gap by way of the left-hand back corner of the shop.’

  ‘Hmm! That is, indeed, some discovery,’ exclaimed Watson.

  ‘But that is only the first part of what I discovered,’ said Sherlock Holmes. ‘The major discovery is that behind the wall of the cupboard there are building works in progress.’

  ‘What sort?’

  ‘Going through that shop, I glanced at the floor under the furniture supports. Someone had brought tiny bits of brick and mortar in on their shoes. There were more of these behind the counter, especially to the left and behind. Our friends are working on that wall to get at something. There is a textile shop to the left, but … hmm. We have to find out what’s going on no later than tonight, or we will be too late.’

  Sherlock Holmes lapsed into a deep and thoughtful silence. ‘Well, Watson,’ he said finally, ‘time for you to change and check the taverns along the Bentakurovsky Canal. I, too, have one or two places to check up on. I’ll be in Vertunoff’s tavern in two hours. You’ll know me by the torn boots I’ll be waving about.’

  They parted, each going his own way. It was six in the evening when three men entered one of the taverns along the Bentakurovsky Canal. There was the Greek Alferakki, Smith Copton and Alferakki’s sales assistant, Ivan Veskoff. They were followed along the canal by a typical vagrant, waving a pair of boots about. Right by Vertunoff’s tavern, he was joined by a porter. These were Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson, who had changed their appearance so that nobody could recognize them.

  ‘They’re in there,’ Sherlock Holmes indicated the tavern door through which the three men had entered. ‘Ivan Veskoff is nine sheets to the wind already, and the other two are pretending to be, too. Watch them closely. In the meantime, let’s go inside.’

  They stood outside, made a show of swearing at passers-by, and went in. But the men they sought were not there. They’d probably taken a private room. They sat down for a little while and Sherlock Holmes gestured to a waiter, ‘Hey, there, lad, find us a proper stall!’ His voice was rough and hoarse.

  The waiter looked at them with questioning eyes, ‘Not enough space for you hereabouts?’

  Sherlock Holmes grinned and winked slyly.

  ‘Don’t be difficult, you little pipsqueak. I’ve enough to grease a palm, and I feel crowded here,’ he said smugly.

  The waiter’s attitude changed instantly. He was used to vagrants and thieves and knew that if a thief was celebrating, something would rub off on him.

  ‘Money up front!’ said Sherlock Holmes, still smugly.

  This definitely convinced the waiter that these guests were all right, and had carried off some piece of business. He got positively friendly.

  The tavern had three separate small rooms, which the tavernkeeper called cabins and the vagrants referred to as pigpens.

  Sherlock Holmes followed the waiter. From one of the cabins they heard voices. Naturally, they took the adjoining one. They called for a bottle of vodka, food and beer. And they, too, began to celebrate. They spoke loudly, roared out songs at the top of their voices and swore. But they listened attentively to every word from the adjoining-room.

  Alferakki and Copton were encouraging Veskoff to drink up.

  Veskoff had drunk quite a lot already. He yelled, sang at the top of his voice and carried on in the most boisterous manner. Suddenly, Veskoff yelled, ‘To hell with it all! Just one more swing with a crowbar and a little push with the saw … and we’re rich, rich, rich!’

  ‘Shut up, fool,’ hissed one of his companions.

  At this moment Sherlock Holmes sang drunkenly. Curses sounded from the other side of the wall. Sherlock Holmes was silent. The drunken sales assistant tried to say something, but his companions wouldn’t let him. They poured more wine and cognac down his throat.

  It grew dark. Night fell. In both cabins the conversation went on. Now the conspirators fell silent, and snores came from their room.

  Copton, making out he was drunk, summoned the waiter, ‘Give us the bill!’ There was an argument over how much had been consumed. The waiter collected the money and returned with their change.

  Watson ran out and settled with the cashier. When he returned, there was a row going on next door. The drunken sales assistant wasn’t able to come to, breathed heavily, groaned while his two friends tried to get him out. It sounded as if he was being forcibly dragged out by his armpits.

  Half a minute, and Sherlock Holmes and Watson followed on silent feet. Outside it was so dark, you couldn’t see a human silhouette two steps ahead.

  VIII

  Both pairs moved slowly along the shore of the Bentakurovsky Canal. It was quiet, except for the occasional vagrant making noises in his sleep. There were no streetlights, no police. At this time of night, hardly anyone ventured here. With every step it got quieter and quieter and grimmer. Suddenly, out of some pit, came a hoarse, sleepy voice, ‘Someone’s coming. Let’s at ’em.’

  Footsteps sounded. Sherlock Holmes stopped Watson and, bending close to his ear, whispered, ‘The vagrants recognize strangers. There’s going to be a fight.’

  Hardly a minute later, and the same hoarse voice yelled harshly, ‘Stop, or you’re dead.’

  For about five seconds, the silence of the grave. Then the sound of bone-shattering blows. Two bodies fell to the ground and their groans echoed up and down the canal.

  ‘Got your bit, have you?’ came Copton’s sarcastic voice. ‘Lie still. Won’t take much to finish you off.’

  And the first pair moved off. Holmes and Watson followed, shortening the distance behind the others to ten steps. Now the footsteps in front of them were silent.

  ‘Here’s OK,’ came the very quiet voice of Smith Copton.

  Holmes and Watson froze, hands on revolvers. The two in
front of them carried out a whispered consultation, but in the silence of the night their voices carried.

  ‘One blow and he’s finished,’ said Alferakki.

  ‘What for? I hate shedding unnecessary blood,’ answered Copton. ‘He’s drunk and I’ve slipped him a Mickey Finn. Just toss him in. He’ll drown.’

  ‘And if he wakes?’ asked Alferakki.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, do you think I’m doing this for the first time?’ said Copton impatiently. ‘A pail of water would be enough. Shove his head in it and hey presto. It’s not as if he can move.’

  ‘You sure?’ asked Alferakki, sounding sceptical.

  ‘For sure! Come on, into the canal with him. It’ll be daylight any minute. The staff will be there at ten, and we’ve got to be well away by then.’

  There were careful footsteps and the noise of a body being dragged along.

  Holmes whispered so softly Watson hardly heard him, ‘Stay here. Follow them. As soon as they’ve tossed him in and fled, fish him out. With luck it won’t be deep. Resuscitate him. Take him to the nearest police post. Then hurry to the branch of the State Bank at the fair. Ask for me.’ He gave Watson a gentle shove and stood waiting.

  There was a heavy splash. Then all was still except for the sound of hastily retreating footsteps. Sherlock Holmes followed some fifteen steps behind. But when streetlights appeared, he fell back. All he wanted was to see the direction they took.

  Seeing that Alferakki and Smith Copton were heading in the direction of the Commercial Centre, he turned and swiftly made his way through a side street. Outside a handsome residence he rang the bell at the main entrance. The policeman on point duty rushed over and glared at his dirty bare feet, ‘Who are you?’