Alex Auswaks - Sherlock Holmes in Russia

‘Oh, that’s no problem,’ answered Sherlock Holmes.

‘I’ll give instructions for you to be driven to the ferry. It belongs to me, by the way. From there, the same horses will take you to the station.’

‘Excellent!’ said Sherlock Holmes.

We thanked him again and went inside, where we chatted with Nikolai Nikolayevitch and Boris Nikolayevitch who occasionally dropped in on us. Nevertheless, hour after hour went by and no horses appeared.

At a convenient moment, when both brothers were out of the room at the same time, Holmes whispered to me softly, ‘I forgot to tell you another little detail. This morning a sock went missing. I deliberately placed my boots outside the door and stuffed my socks inside them. Tell me, why do you think a sock went missing?’

‘I haven’t a clue. Now why should he need an old sock of yours,’ I said with a smile.

‘All the same, it is a serious matter,’ said Holmes. ‘I am nearly certain that he needed the sock for that ape to scent.’

Dinner was served at five and went off normally. It was another two hours before the host informed us the horses were ready and awaited us by the porch. But even here there was a delay. Kartzeff examined the carriage and claimed it hadn’t been properly oiled. He gave instructions for it to be oiled all over again. It was clearly a deliberate attempt to delay us further.

Night was beginning to fall when, at last, we thanked the brothers for their hospitality, bade them farewell and departed. After a mile along the road, the carriage entered a forest. Now the sun set and it became completely dark.

‘Be even more on your guard and hold on to your revolver,’ Holmes whispered.

As we drove into the forest, the driver slowed down.

Holding his revolver in his hand, Holmes looked back and ordered me to do the same. The precaution was not wasted. A couple of miles into the forest, Holmes pressed my hand forcefully. Leaning over the seat with his outstretched hand holding a revolver, it was as if he was expecting some invisible foe. And suddenly, despite the darkness, I saw the fairly large, dark silhouette of some strange creature. It sped along the road after us in silent leaps. I had hardly become aware of what was going on, hardly had the thought flashed through my mind that this might be the ape-strangler, when the terrifying creature caught up with us and made a colossal flying leap.

Simultaneously, our shots rang out. The damned creature crashed to the ground.

At exactly the same moment the driver tumbled head over heels off the coach-box and vanished amongst the trees. The horses surged forward, only to be stopped by Holmes’s powerful grip. He quickly passed the reins to me and, revolver in hand, jumped off the carriage. He ran a few quick steps towards the animal lying on the ground and a third shot rang out. He returned dragging the dead ape along with him. He threw it in, jumped on the coach-box, seized the reins and we galloped away. We raced through the forest with the speed of lightning. The foaming horses pulled up by the ferry.

We yelled and yelled, but nobody appeared. We had no idea how the ferry operated and ended up wasting the best part of an hour in fruitless activity, jumping on and off it and then alongside.

‘The devil!’ said Holmes fiercely. ‘He’ll catch up with us.’

We made another desperate attempt and this time success crowned our efforts. Just as we managed to find the end of the mooring rope, we heard the sound of horses galloping, but we had hardly managed to cast off when a troika came straight for us and into the water.

Two men leaped out and before we had time to gather ourselves together, they scrambled on board.

‘Aha, so that’s what you are up to,’ we heard a hoarse voice rage. In that moment I saw Boris Nikolayevitch leap like a cat at Holmes standing by the mooring rope. I threw myself to help him but powerful hands pinioned me.

The ferry forged ahead at full speed and there was nobody to see the life-and-death struggle being waged on board. We fought with every ounce of strength we possessed, we fought tooth and nail as we rolled over and over. In the heat of the struggle I couldn’t see what was happening with Holmes. I gathered up my last reserves of strength, seized my opponent by the throat and with every ounce of strength bashed his head in the darkness against the wooden planking. He, too, made a desperate effort, slipped out of my hands to roll over and vanish beneath the waves.

I leapt to my feet to help Holmes. But it was too late. I was nearly at his side, but he was in a deathly embrace with Kartseff and they went overboard together. Holmes vanished out of sight.

I kept on yelling and screaming for him, but the river was as unresponsive as the grave. Somehow I managed to steer the craft to the opposite shore and at the first village I raised the alarm. I invoked the help of the villagers, and entreated them to find my friend.

All night and day we searched and searched. We even requested the help of the village downriver, but all was in vain. Holmes had irrevocably vanished. We searched a further five days but to no avail. I set off for Moscow, where I laid everything before the police. Soon I departed for England, grieving the premature end of my best friend.

‘Surely you notice, my dear Watson, that revolutionary times in Russia affected townspeople and citizens of the Russian Empire generally much more so than those who, up until such times, kept out of the limelight and emerged to show themselves only with the greatest care.’

‘Surely that was to be expected,’ I replied. ‘The turmoil that accompanies revolution invariably deflects conservative elements. In their drive to quell revolution, these elements fail to see the mass of riff-raff who live by theft, robbery, burglary, blackmail and suchlike shady means.’

The conversation between us took place as we sat on a bench along the Tversky Boulevard, where Holmes and I had gone out for some fresh air.

‘When I look at the chronicle of current events set out in the local press, I am simply amazed at the sheer number of daring and impertinent robberies systematically carried out in Moscow. You would think that, having regard to the improved strength of the investigation department instituted with the first revolutionary outbursts, it would be possible to cope with ordinary crime! But it looks as if the opposite is the case.’

While he was saying all this, Holmes drew Kabbalistic symbols in the sand with his cane, while pensively looking up at the investigation department, directly opposite which we sat.

‘I think that the reason is clear,’ I said, ‘if we take into account that at one time all the efforts of the investigation department were solely directed at ferreting out revolutionary organizations, catching terrorists and looking for forbidden literature. Until the revolution got under way, revolutionary organizations were so conspiratorial that catching them was more difficult than catching criminals.’

‘But in the revolutionary period,’ Sherlock Holmes interrupted me, ‘the revolutionary organizations showed their cards far too openly, they operated nearly in the open, as a result of which agents of the security service were able to infiltrate them and this error they haven’t been able to correct even now. It goes without saying that investigations into political affairs require little or no effort these days, but concentrating mostly on political investigation leads to the worst elements in society not being under scrutiny any more. Just look, burglaries in Moscow amaze with their unusual and systematic effrontery. Often they are carried out in the town centre in broad daylight and it is only in rare cases that the police are able to solve these crimes quickly.’