Alex Auswaks - Sherlock Holmes in Russia

Having examined this closely, Holmes said softly, ‘Yes, there is no doubt the bedroom was locked from inside and the door smashed in, in its locked form. This is apparent from the fact that the lock is twisted and the key is so jammed as a result that it would only be possible to take it out if the lock were to be taken apart.’

Having done with the door, Holmes next approached the bed in which Sergey Sergeyevitch had been strangled and, taking his magnifying glass out of his pocket, he proceeded to examine the bedclothes closely. Knowing my friend as well as I did, I couldn’t help noticing that he looked puzzled as he examined them.

Some minutes later he bent down to the floor and again began to examine something the others had missed. From the barely perceptible nod he gave, he had evidently found something.

We all watched with intense curiosity. From the bed he moved to the window. Here he pottered about for quite a while. It would appear he examined every little bit, even a little spot left by a fly. Gradually his face became more puzzled and more serious. And when Holmes finally moved away from the window, I could see that he was intensely absorbed.

Questions came at him from all sides.

‘Not just yet, not just yet,’ Holmes said absent-mindedly as he turned to his questioners.

‘Surely you don’t intend to keep us in such a state of uncertainty?’ asked Boris Nikolayevitch. ‘We’re all closely connected to each other and to the case.’

‘There are certain matters it is sometimes premature to discuss,’ Holmes answered.

‘But at least can you not point to anything suspicious, which may be a clue?’ the investigator asked impatiently.

‘Yes, there are one or two things,’ said Holmes enigmatically. ‘But, gentlemen, I repeat that, owing to certain considerations, I must refrain from further explanations.’

Everyone shrugged at this reply and a brief look of distrust appeared once again on the faces of the investigator and the police chief.

And so silently and evidently very unhappy with Holmes, everyone returned to the dining-room. The rest of the evening passed in conversation to which neither Holmes nor I paid any attention. After eleven o’clock Holmes asked for us to be assigned a room and we retired.

When I awoke the following morning, Holmes wasn’t in the room, although it was still early. As I had expected, he had been up at five, gone off somewhere and only returned at nine. This I found out only later from his own words. When he returned, I was awake.

‘My dear chap, I didn’t want to wake you,’ he said. ‘You were sleeping so soundly and so peacefully, I had no wish to disturb your slumber, but now that you are awake, I must ask you to dress quickly.’

Much as I would have wanted to go on sleeping, I could hardly do so in the face of his demand. I jumped out of bed, washed and we sat down to breakfast which had been sent up to our room.

‘Are we leaving?’ I asked.

‘Not entirely,’ answered Holmes. ‘It is very likely that we’ll have to return, but in the meantime, I’d like to accept the kind invitation extended by Boris Nikolayevitch for us to visit his estate.’

Chatting away, we drank several glasses of tea and when, at last, Boris Nikolayevitch knocked on our door, we were ready to leave.

Boris Nikolayevitch still appeared depressed, but was courteous and attentive. ‘I hope you slept well,’ he said, entering the room.

‘Oh, yes, for which we wish to thank you,’ Sherlock Holmes answered on behalf of both of us.

‘Is there anything else you would like,’ he asked. ‘Perhaps you are used to a hearty breakfast in the morning.’

‘I must confess that ham and eggs wouldn’t go amiss,’ Holmes answered with a smile.

Boris Nikolayevitch Kartzeff was all attentiveness and a few minutes later returned with a servant carrying our breakfast and a bottle of sherry.

Thus fortified, we thanked our cordial host and rose from the table.

‘Do you wish to come with me today,’ asked Kartzeff, ‘or do you wish to rest a while?’

‘With your permission, we’d like to accept your invitation this very day,’ answered Sherlock Holmes. ‘We are very pressed for time and it is very likely that we have to return to England in a few days.’

‘In that case, I shall give instructions for the horses to be made ready as soon as the funeral is over,’ said our cordial host.

As he was about to leave, Holmes stopped him, ‘Another little request. With your permission, I’d like to see your late uncle again before we leave.’

‘But, of course,’ answered Boris Nikolayevitch. ‘Shall we do so this very minute?’

Holmes nodded. We left our room and made our way into the hall where the funeral service was in preparation.

Approaching the coffin, Sherlock Holmes carefully lifted the muslin cloth over the face of the dead man and proceeded to examine the corpse. Several minutes passed before he tore himself away. But when he moved away, one couldn’t gather anything from the expression on his face.

Then the priests arrived and the usual service for that sort of event began. The reader began his doleful chant. The priest recited the service monotonously. And all was as if it was being done on a factory floor, unhurriedly, in a fixed manner but yet to some mysterious beat. Not particularly involved in the sacred service, we each stood sunk in his own thoughts.

The service over, we went out for some fresh air into the garden round the house. The garden was over ten hectares, i.e. nigh on ten acres in area. It was fully planted with fruit trees and truly magnificent. Here and there flowerbeds were scattered from which brightly coloured blossoms struck the eye. Yellow sand neatly covered the pathways and sculptures added to the sense of proportion of this lordly manor garden. We strolled silently through the alleyways and, from the look of intense concentration on the face of Sherlock Holmes, I could sense that a secret thought had lodged like a thorn in his brain.

A half hour later Boris Nikolayevitch followed us out. After the funeral service his mood seemed to have lifted. ‘I hope you won’t refuse to attend the burial today,’ he said pleasantly. ‘We don’t intend to let it drag on for long, especially as there will be no women present. I’m not particularly sentimental and am always against the dead being detained for long in the house of the living.’

‘How right you are,’ said Holmes. ‘The presence of the dead in a home is depressing, and as far as we in England are concerned, we always try to remove the body as quickly as possible to its place of burial.’

‘I’m sure you will excuse me for leaving you now,’ Kartzeff apologized. ‘I’m sure you will understand that all funeral arrangements are exclusively my responsibility.’

‘Oh, but of course,’ Sherlock Holmes nodded. ‘We’ll stay here while you see to your duties and I beg you not to concern yourself with us.’

Boris Nikolayevitch Kartzeff bowed himself away politely, while we continued our aimless meandering.

Several hours passed. At about two in the afternoon Boris Nikolayevitch again reappeared and said that the body would be carried out in a quarter of an hour. We followed him inside.

We saw the corpse lifted up on a long piece of cloth and, accompanied by the clergy and choir, the sad procession moved to the village cemetery.

I won’t describe the details of the burial as they are too well known to all. To the sad strains of the service and the wailing of the choir, the body was lowered into the ground. Heavy clods of damp earth thudded on the coffin lid and soon it vanished from sight. More and more damp earth was unevenly heaped over the grave and then, under the skilled hands of the gravediggers, evened out into the usual tidy mound.