Alex Auswaks - Sherlock Holmes in Russia

‘So, my dear chap, what have you to say to that?’ asked Holmes putting down the newspaper.

‘I can say that the perpetrator carefully considered every possible way in and out,’ I answered.

Holmes nodded, ‘I agree with you completely and, frankly, I wouldn’t have stopped upon this crime were it not for those strange references to abnormal traces left by the strangler firstly on the neck of the victim and then by the wall in the garden below.’

‘My dear Holmes, from what you have said before and your reading of this account, I conclude that you wish to take up this case,’ I said with a smile. Knowing full well the character of my friend and his inordinate interest in every sort of mysterious crime, I knew Holmes could not pass up such a case.

‘Do have in mind,’ I added, ‘that this case has intrigued not just you, but me as well. Hence, I volunteer in advance to be your assistant.’

‘Oh, I didn’t have the least doubt on that score,’ exclaimed Holmes, gleefully rubbing his hands, ‘and anticipated that you would make the offer first and since you know me so well, you knew I would get on with it without more ado.’

Instead of replying, I rose and began to put on my coat.

Seeing this, Holmes smiled and picked up his hat. ‘You are an indispensable assistant, my dear chap,’ pronounced Holmes with one of those good-natured glances that so gladdened me, ‘and when I am with you, the work advances thrice as quickly as with any other person.’

‘Just one thing,’ I asked, ‘are we going out of town now?’

‘Yes,’ said Holmes, ‘I have to look at the scene of the crime and see everything for myself. That’s why we are off to the Nikolayevsk station to undertake a short trip to not-so-distant parts.’

Chatting thus, we went out and hired a hackney to take us to the station. We didn’t have to wait long for a local train. We were told to get off after two stops and that the estate of Sergey Sergeyevitch Kartzeff was just over three miles from the station.

The journey passed swiftly. Getting off the train, we hired a coach to take us to Silver Slopes, the name of the estate belonging to Sergey Sergeyevitch Kartzeff. We arrived to find everyone rushing hither and thither in a scene of total chaos. Last night’s crime was still too fresh in everyone’s mind and, moreover, the corpse was still there amidst the chaos and the bustle.

The investigator was there, as were the local chief of police and Boris Nikolayevitch Kartzeff, who had come from home when informed of his uncle’s sudden death.

Boris Nikolayevitch turned out to be a handsome man, some thirty-five years of age, with the outward appearance of a rake and gadabout. He was tall, with dark hair, an energetic look and a muscular body. His uncle’s death had evidently upset him and he now issued orders nervously and absent-mindedly.

A moment before we came in, Holmes whispered in my ear, ‘Remember, Watson, we mustn’t own up to our real names. Let’s pretend, say, that we are real estate agents here for the purchase of the estate. Dear uncle is dead, nephews are stepping into their inheritance, and this seems the appropriate moment to ask whether they are prepared to sell as soon as it is in their ownership.’

I nodded in agreement.

Our arrival was noted. Boris Nikolayevitch approached us first, asking who we are and what is our business.

On being told we are real estate agents working on commission, he involuntarily shrugged his shoulders. ‘Aren’t you a little premature? You come to the funeral like carrion crows!’

Somewhat rude, but under the circumstances, still understandable. In any case, something even a well-mannered man might say. But in the confusion round the corpse, we were soon ignored. This was enough for Holmes to start investigating. He left me to myself, bidding me to keep out of sight, and left to return all of an hour later. He took me by the elbow and said, ‘Let’s go, my dear chap. I’ve done everything I needed, but for the sake of appearances, let’s intrude on Boris Nikolayevitch with our original inquiry.’

Boris Nikolayevitch was pacing hither and thither, so intercepting him did not take long. But when we posed the same question to him again, he looked at us irritably and replied sharply, ‘It wouldn’t come amiss if you were to make yourself scarce. But just in case, leave your address.’ Having said this, he looked intently at Holmes. He stared for some seconds, then his lips widened slightly in a little smile, ‘Perhaps I am wrong,’ he said, ‘but I suspect you are not whom you make yourselves out to be. There is something about you which reminds me of someone else I came across accidentally during my travels abroad.’

For a few seconds Holmes was silent and now it was he who gazed intently at Boris Nikolayevitch Kartzeff. ‘I’d be interested to know where,’ he finally said.

‘England,’ answered Kartzeff.

‘In that case, no point in concealing our identities any further,’ said Holmes. ‘You guessed correctly and it is a great tribute to your memory. I am Sherlock Holmes and this is’ – indicating me – ‘my friend Dr Watson.’

A look of unutterable joy came over the face of Boris Nikolayevitch Kartzeff. ‘So I was right. The reason that I recognized you was that I saw you in London when you were a witness in an important case. But I felt too embarrassed to say so right away, and then I was completely taken aback by your superb Russian.’

He came close and shook our hands warmly.

‘But since this has happened and since you are here at your own initiative, it seems fate has brought you to our help and I cannot tell you how relieved I am, knowing full well that the villain who perpetrated this foul deed will not escape you. As of this moment, you are the most welcome, the most longed-for guests in this house, and I now beg your permission to present you to our investigator and the police authorities who are here.’

Holmes bowed his consent. With an exchange of pleasantries we went into the dining-room which was full of people.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present Mr Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson,’ Boris Nikolayevitch said loudly.

Our names created a sensation. Investigators and police jumped to their feet as if we were their superior officers. Compliments rained on Sherlock Holmes’s head.

‘This gives us fresh hope!’ was heard on all sides.

We joined the company and the conversation soon turned to the murder. As was to be expected, there were many presuppositions, but they were to such an extent without foundation that neither Homes nor I paid much attention to them.

From their conversation, we learned that several people had been arrested, amongst them the valet, cook and maid.

‘Are you sure that the valet and the cook together smashed a door definitely locked from within?’ Homes asked the investigator.

‘Oh, yes,’ the man answered with total conviction. ‘There is absolutely no doubt, as you will see for yourself from so much as a glance. Only a locked door could have been mangled in such a way.’

‘Then why did you arrest them?’ Holmes asked in astonishment.

‘More as a matter of form,’ was the answer. ‘I’m sure we’ll have to let them go in a few days.’

Having questioned the investigator and police chief concerning certain details, Holmes asked whether he could examine the dead man’s room without wasting any further time. Needless to say, the request was granted, though I couldn’t help but notice the smirk that appeared momentarily on both their faces.

We all went to the dead man’s bedroom. It was just as we had been told. The door was smashed in and the key still stuck from the lock on the bedroom side.