Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," said Sherlock Holmes.

Many persons of singular appearance and bizarre background have passed through the door of the room in Baker Street. And yet the apparition that now entered was by far the most grotesque of all those who came to seek the advice of Mr Sherlock Holmes; whatever I had expected, it was not the figure that now stood before us. I venture to say that even Holmes himself was taken by surprise, although he showed no sign of it. For the visitor who came from so far afield resembled nothing more than a mediaeval monk. His 'habit' was of good quality cloth, but there was no belt or rope round the waist, and the man's head and face were completely obscured under a huge cowl. Incongruously, the right hand held a black cane. A moment later the effect was abruptly transformed, when our visitor lifted his hands and threw back his hood over his shoulders, revealing the ruddy face of an old man with a luxurious white beard and moustache, neither of which bore any trace of the yellowing that comes from years of smoking. He was a man of at least eighty years old, yet still halt and hearty, of average height and build and on his head he wore a round astrakhan hat, which he now removed.

"Mr Sherlock Holmes?" he said, looking at my friend, "Permit me to introduce myself; I am Orman Pasha, personal emissary of His Imperial Majesty the Sultan and formerly Commander of the Ottoman Armies in Europe." He came across the room and shook hands with Holmes.

"This is my friend, Dr Watson, who has assisted me in many of my cases," said Holmes.

"Ah, Dr Watson, the chronicler," said our guest, with a smile, as he shook hands with me.

"Pray remove your cloak and have a seat beside the fire," said Holmes.The old man took off his extraordinary cloak-habit and I was astonished to find that he was wearing full dress uniform, complete with golden epaulets and a maximum of gold lace per square inch on his chest. He sat down slowly on the chair indicated by Holmes and turned his gaze upon us. Beholding this old man, with his shrewd but kindly eyes, all feelings of unease left me, but my curiosity as to the purpose of his visit increased.

"Orman Pasha," began Holmes, "your letter reveals nothing about the nature of your mission. Perhaps you could begin by furnishing us with the details of the case, before telling me how I can be of service to your sovereign." The old Turk was silent for a few moments, before he began his narrative.

"You will be aware that the political situation in the Balkans, ever since the war between my country and Greece in 1897, has been in turmoil. Several of our Balkan neighbours have fomented trouble in our cities, most especially the agents of the Bulgarian Government. Three months ago, a Bulgarian emissary, one Anton Simeonov, arrived in London in order to seek support from the British Government in the matter of Bulgarian claims upon Turkish territory in the province of Rumelia on the grounds that it has a large Bulgarian minority. The British Government gave him no encouragement in the matter, but the Russians have given him their full support and are themselves pressing the British Government to support his country's claim. My own Government has rejected all Bulgarian claims. Four weeks ago Simeonov narrowly escaped death, when he was attacked in the street by a masked man with revolver, as Simeonov was on his way home from the Bulgarian Consulate in the evening. The shot missed its target and Simeonov fled to safety. The incident, however, was seized upon by the Czar's Ministers, who have sent a note to the Turkish Government, accusing Turkey of employing assassins to murder Simeonov and claiming that this was an act of war against the Slavonic peoples, whom the Russian Government sees as being under its protection.

"At that point my sovereign lord the Sultan commanded me to come to England to enter into negotiations with representatives of those countries that have an interest in the matter, as well as the British Government, which is acting as mediator. Since my arrival from Constantinople two days ago, however, matters have taken a more menacing turn, for Simeonov was found murdered last night in Royston Manor, the home of Lord Eversden, the Foreign Secretary. It is only through the intense efforts of the British Government that the Czar has been prevailed upon not to declare was against Turkey. My Government denies any involvement in the matter. Nevertheless, if this mystery is not resolved immediately and the true villain not brought to justice, there can be little doubt that Turkey and Russia will be at war before the week is out, and that other countries in Europe will join on either side. I am here to ask for your help in solving this problem so that a catastrophic war may be avoided."

I whistled; the very idea of a war engulfing the whole of Europe was unthinkable. I looked at Holmes, who appeared totally/unmoved by our guest's disturbing narrative. "Pray tell us about the circumstances surrounding the late Mr Simeonov's death," he said.

Our guest resumed his narrative. "It took place, as I have said, in the home of Lord Eversden, Royston Manor, near Stoke Morden in Surrey. Lord Eversden has a great interest in Balkan affairs and he had invited a number of diplomats concerned with the current dispute to dinner at his house yesterday evening, with the purpose of discussing the matter in a relaxed and informal setting. Those invited were Count Balinsky, the Russian Ambassador; Mr George Leonticles, the Greek Consul; Mr Anton Simeonov; Baron Nopchka, the Austro-Hungarian Ambassador; Colonel Yusufoglu, the Turkish Military Attaché; and myself. All Lord Eversden's guests were to stay the night, and the atmosphere after dinner was, as far as was possible under the circumstances, quite agreeable. We had dispersed after the meal, some having gone to the smoking room, others to the library, while I had accompanied Lord Eversden to his study, where he was showing me a number of rare Persian manuscripts, an interest we have in common. At about half past nine o'clock, we were horrified to hear the loud report of a revolver being fired, followed by a dreadful cry of agony. The sound came from the upstairs corridor and Eversden and I rushed out of the study and up the stairs as fast as we could. Lying on the floor, just outside his bedroom, was Simeonov with a bullet hole through his chest. He was not dead and was gasping for breath, while Yusufoglu knelt beside him. Standing a few feet away was Leonticles, the Greek, with an ashen face, looking down at the dying man. Lord Eversden and I both knelt down on the floor, since it was clear that Simeonov was trying to say something. I said: "Who shot you?" He gasped for a few moments then, pointing at Yusufoglu, said, quite clearly: "The salon… the salon", then fell back and breathed his last. When I stood up I was aware that Count Balinsky and Baron Nopchka had arrived and were staring aghast at the corpse on the floor. A number of servants had also collected, and stood frozen into inaction, awaiting their master's orders. Lord Eversden instructed one of them to telephone the Bulgarian Legation and dismissed the others.

"Yusufoglu and Baron Nopchka removed the body to the deceased's bedroom, while the rest of us stood outside. Count Balinsky was as white as a sheet and was clearly trying hard to control his emotions. As soon as Yusufoglu emerged from the bedroom, Balinsky strode up to him and said, "This is your doing, you murderer!" Then turning to me, he said, "You and your country will pay for this! You have massacred enough

people of my race and you will pay! You will pay!" He was quite out of control and, as if this was not enough, Yusufoglu, who is a man of a rather brooding temperament, shouted back: "I am not a murderer, you know the truth, ask yourself who is the murderer!" He took a step forward, but I placed a restraining hand on his arm and Balinsky, who was shaking with rage, also made a move towards Yusufoglu, but Lord Eversden stepped forward and planted himself between them. "I beg you to calm down, Count," he said in a firm voice, then, turning toYusufoglu, he said, "Colonel, please!" Balinsky pushed his way rudely past Eversden and went swiftly down the staircase.