Sherlock Holmes in Russia

I

This happened in 190*.

Sherlock Holmes had come to Nijni-Novgorod partly on holiday, partly to acquaint himself better with faraway Russia, of which the English have only a vague notion. Although there were no professional reasons for his visit, nevertheless, it was still noted locally. No matter how hard he tried not to be noticed, to remain aloof as he strolled around the town, he was followed by a bevy of curious citizens and heard his name whispered behind his back. Of course, he thought that all this attention was idle curiosity, but things turned out otherwise.

He was staying at the Post Hotel (by the Black Pond). On his third day, returning to his room, he was told by a porter that a gentleman had asked for him, and when told that he was out, had requested that he leave a message to indicate at what time he would be available for consultation.

‘When is he coming for my answer?’ asked Holmes.

‘This very evening,’ the hotel porter answered.

‘Splendid!’ said the detective. ‘I wasn’t intending to go anywhere in any case.’

The porter went off and Holmes stretched himself out on the settee with a local newspaper.

Here it must be said that the famous English detective had once spent two years in Buenos Aires, where he had boarded with a family of Russian émigrés. This close association with them resulted in his being fluent in Russian, both as regards knowledge of the language and pronunciation. Of course, he could never get rid of his English accent, but he spoke with such clarity, and his knowledge of the language was so profound, one would have thought he had spent an uninterrupted ten years in Russia.

Having read one newspaper, he picked up another, but soon his lids grew heavy. He covered his face against flies with a newspaper and dozed off.

II

A light tap at the door woke him. He must have slept for some time, because it was already dark outside. He rose, changed swiftly and said in his resonant voice, ‘Come in!’

The door opened and a thickset, middle-aged man came in. He was a man of some presence, wearing a summer coat cut in the latest fashion. In one gloved hand he held a felt hat and a silver-handled gold-monogrammed cane. He bowed courteously and asked to be excused for having called without an appointment.

‘You must be the gentleman who called earlier,’ said Holmes.

‘Indeed I am! I was here some hours ago but, unfortunately, missed you. I do beg of you to hear me out—’

‘I am at your service,’ Sherlock Holmes bowed. ‘I presume that you need my assistance in some matter, but I am surprised how you found out who I am, and that I am here at all.’

‘Oh!’ exclaimed the stranger. ‘The whole town is talking about you. In any case, your fame has crossed the sea and it is not surprising that, hearing of your arrival, I immediately decided to meet you.’

Flattered by such a response, Sherlock Holmes smiled and bowed. ‘Do take off your coat and make yourself comfortable.’

The guest threw off his coat and approached the detective, ‘Allow me, then, the honour of presenting myself. Ivan Vladimirovitch Terehoff,’ he said, giving his name, patronymic and surname. ‘I am a local merchant and a member of the First Guild.’ He gave a little bow.

‘Very pleased to meet you,’ answered the detective. ‘How can I be of service to you?’

Terehoff sank into an armchair, lit a cigarette and began his story. ‘I sell linen, lingerie and fashionable goods of every sort. My father and grandfather were also in the same line of business. Ours is an old and well-established family business. Usually, I trade in town, but every summer we have a fair. Our fair dates from the thirteenth century and traders come from Central Asia, Siberia and many, many other faraway places. For the period of this Great Fair I rent premises in the Commercial Centre. That is where I now have a shop, along the right-hand side of the arcade.

‘Up until this year everything went well, and I had nothing to worry about. But this year, a whole series of unusual events have shocked not only my employees, but also my prospective customers who, by the way, are already gathering for the fair.

‘Before the shop was ready to open, my three assistants and I were putting away merchandise on the shelves and decorating the display windows. We had worked by the light of electric lamps. I had opened the shop myself and locked it up myself, first having switched off the electric lights when we were done for the day. I put the locks on the door and the metal grill over the windows. I turned to go, when the senior shop assistant leapt to my side. His face was as pale as our linen. He was trembling.

‘“What’s happened?” ‘ I asked in alarm.

‘“For God’s sake,” ‘ he whispered. ‘“For God’s sake, look in the display window.” ‘

‘I looked, and stepped back in horror.

‘Some sort of creature resembling a human figure wrapped in a shroud danced as if possessed inside my shop, shaking itself all over as it danced.

‘The two other shop assistants were struck dumb. They were as terrified as my senior assistant and I were at that moment.

‘We stood there for several minutes, rooted to the spot.

‘I’m not timid by nature. I’ve been educated abroad, and I’m a university graduate. I’m not one to believe in black magic.

‘But even I was a little afraid. Not for long, though.

‘I recovered, took myself in hand and began to undo the locks.

‘But just in case, I sent one of the shop assistants to fetch a policeman and ordered the senior assistant to watch the apparition through the window.

‘Hardly had I taken the second lock off, when he yelled out, “Gone! God preserve us sinful creatures.”

‘He said that it had vanished all of a sudden and the shop was plunged into darkness again.

‘The policeman now appeared with the assistant sent for him.

‘“There is someone in the shop,” I said to the policeman. “Come in with me and let’s look.”

‘I unlocked the door, switched on the lights and with great difficulty persuaded the assistants to follow me inside. The shop was exactly as we had left it. There was no trace of the apparition, no sign of revelry. The five of us searched every nook and cranny. We searched under the counters, in drawers and boxes, turned over the entire stock. A mouse would not have eluded us. But … all our exertions were in vain. Was it a figment of our imagination? I decided that that was the case.

‘Evidently my staff thought otherwise.

‘The next day we continued with our work.

‘But in the evening, just as I locked up the shop, the entire incident was re-enacted.

‘The pale apparition shook and pranced about. Now I had a chance to look at it. There was no face, just a skull and a set of terrifying bared teeth.

‘The apparition skipped in a paroxysm on the same spot, threatening us with a long knife, which it held in one bony hand.

‘We trembled in terror. We wanted to run.

‘I made a superhuman effort and again unlocked the shop. That very instance the apparition vanished.

‘Inside, it was as if nothing had happened.

‘My employees fled and a crowd of people from neighbouring shops gathered round me. The whole of the Commercial Centre was there. Everyone was terrified, confused, bewildered, dismayed. Some of those present had caught a brief glimpse of the apparition. They were now describing it to the others who, in their turn, were torn between fear and curiosity.

‘Someone said to sprinkle holy water inside the shop and conduct prayers.

‘The more courageous went in with me and, again, the shop was searched. And yet again, nothing and nobody.

‘The third day was the eve of the opening of the Great Fair.

‘Ignoring my pleas, my employees flatly refused to enter the shop. Holy water had to be sprinkled, religious rites had to be carried out, before they relented. I had also taken the precaution of asking the help of the Chief of Detectives. Two detectives were assigned to the shop. They searched it thoroughly before I locked up, tested the floor and walls, but found nothing.

‘It was only after I switched off the lights and put the locks on the door that the two detectives themselves and my employees stepped back in horror from the display window through which they had been peering.

‘“It’s a corpse!” someone screamed in an inhuman voice.

‘My hair stood on end.

‘There in the shop, I saw a large coffin, inside which a loathsome skeleton sat, holding on to the edges with skeletal fingers. The others told me that I had missed the part when the lid of the coffin fell open and the skeleton sat up.

‘The shroud no longer covered it.

‘And then the skeleton suddenly bounded out of the coffin, and once on its feet, began a frenzied dance. Next, a thick column of smoke blew out of the coffin and everything vanished as if by magic.’

III

Ivan Vladimirovitch Terehoff fell silent and asked for a drink.

‘A drop of port is just what is called for,’ said Sherlock Holmes, and poured him a drink.

Terehoff reached for the glass and drained it.

‘Your story intrigues me more and more by the minute,’ said the English detective. ‘Do go on.’

‘I think I got to the point where the apparition vanished,’ Terehoff resumed his account. ‘My employees made themselves scarce. I screwed up what little courage I had left and, together with the two detectives, we re-entered the shop.

‘This time we actually raised the floor but, again, found nothing suspicious.

‘It was midnight before I returned home. I felt beaten, racked by evil forebodings.

‘My wife, thoroughly frightened by all these happenings tried, for the third time, to convince me that the place was cursed, that it would bring bad luck, and I should move my shop elsewhere.

‘The appearance of the coffin she regarded with superstitious awe.

‘As for me, I have to admit that I found it all horribly oppressive. All through the night, I was pursued by nightmares in which countless coffins appeared. In my waking hours, I was distracted by melancholia. My heart ached constantly.

‘I hated the thought of abandoning the familiar surroundings in which I had traded so long.

‘Those of us whose business lies in the Commercial Centre can depend on regular trade there. Anyone would have to look long and hard and yet not find anything as well suited for that purpose.

‘There was a vacancy at the other end of the arcade, but it was too small for me and, besides, surrounded by smaller stalls that all but hid it from view. The rest of the Commercial Centre was occupied by well-established firms. It was unlikely any one of them would be available in time for the opening.

‘I decided to sit it out.

‘My old shop assistants flatly refused to continue working for me. I had to find new ones.

‘I found only two fellows brave enough to work for me, and they demanded double wages. Since I didn’t know them personally, I had to make enquiries about them.

‘One of them had worked a year for some major manufacturer, but had been dismissed for bring rude. His name was Simon Reshkin. The other was an Englishman, Smith Copton. He had worked for a Russian bank some time ago, but resigned in high dudgeon. A large sum of money had gone missing and he had objected to being searched. Quite a few employees had been searched and they’d not made a fuss over it. But this proud Englishman had taken umbrage. He had been held in high esteem by his superiors, who had tried to talk him into staying, but he left nevertheless.

‘Since then things had been hard for him, but he preferred to eke out a living from the little money he had saved. Anything, not to work at a job in which he would be treated badly again.

‘He was particularly recommended by the director of the bank in which he had been employed.

‘The Englishman didn’t immediately agree to work for me.

‘It was only when I told him the whole story of the apparition, that he announced, with a grin, that he was drawn out of curiosity and a desire to earn his fare home.

‘The Great Nijni-Novgorod Fair opened.

‘We opened up in the morning and had just taken our places, when all three were forced to flee as though driven mad.

‘It was the smell.

‘Not just an ordinary sort of stink. This was a loathsome, acidic smell which caused our heads to spin and bile to rise in our throats.

‘It wasn’t that the smell was strong. Its effect was awful, so awful that we couldn’t stay inside the shop, nor even stand beside it in the arcade. It seemed to have penetrated every nook and cranny. It filled the air.

‘Customers approaching the shop or walking past it seemed to break out in some kind of paroxysm followed by headlong flight, holding on to their noses, cursing.

‘Our neighbours, reacting to the fuss, ran out of their shops and then, at a distance, yelled at us to lock our jinxed shop and get the hell out of there.

‘The fuss grew by the minute.

‘At the risk of passing out, I got to the door, slammed it and locked it shut.

‘The noise brought the police. The senior of them, when what had happened had been explained to him, lost his temper. “What’s going on here!” he shouted. “Everyone else is behaving normally but here, as if on purpose, there’s all these senseless goings-on.”

‘I tried to justify myself, but he refused to listen.

‘I unlocked the door for him, but before he could go in, he backed away as if scalded, holding his nose. “What are you up to?” he screamed at me. “What have you been sprinkling inside?”

‘But I could only tell him what I knew.

‘Both shop assistants confirmed my story and the police officer drew up a protocol.

‘To determine what the odour was, a chemist and a doctor were summoned, but the moment they poked their noses inside, they rushed out, as though driven mad.

‘Retreating some distance from the door, they stared at each other with bulging eyes, spat and finally announced they had never come across such a foul smell in either chemistry or medicine.

‘Neither of my assistants being prepared to enter the shop, it became necessary to call out the fire brigade. They smashed the windows leading out on to the street. When the air inside had cleared somewhat, they came in to determine the source of the foul odour. Even though the shop had been ventilated somewhat, they couldn’t stay long. Emerging, they said that the odour came from the outer facing of one of the counters. The counter was then smashed and the pieces thrown out. But there were horses outside. They began to breathe hoarsely and then took to headlong flight, dragging their carriages with them … followed by the curses of the coachmen.

‘The assistants now informed me that they couldn’t work here any longer. “It’s not your apparition that scares me,” said Smith Copton. “I just don’t want to breathe such foul air. You’re being pursued by some evil genie. It would be best for you to move. Do so, and you’ll get good staff. Stay here, you won’t survive the week.”

‘Both left, wishing me all the very best.’

Terehoff fell silent again.

Sherlock Holmes listened to him attentively, very taken by the story. He refilled Terehoff’s glass and handed it to him. Terehoff drank.

‘How did it all end?’

‘After that last incident, my wife renewed her pleas even more forcefully for me to change premises,’ answered Terehoff. ‘Finally, I gave in and took the only premises left in the Commercial Centre.’

‘And then?’

‘As soon as I had vacated my premises, I still kept an eye on it. I think the apparition must have gone on strike. For a while the place remained vacant, but then some Greek called Alferakki took it over. He trades in eastern delicacies and fruit, both wholesale and retail.’

‘And how are things with him?’

‘He doesn’t know of any apparition and laughs at me when someone brings up my misfortunes,’ Terehoff said angrily. ‘Personally, I don’t believe in the supernatural. I am sooner likely to suspect some human trickery. In a word, I’m mentally confused. Then I heard that you are in Nijni-Novgorod and decided to seek your advice. Supernatural or otherwise, I want to get at the truth. I am prepared to pay you five thousand roubles.’

Sherlock Holmes smiled, ‘That would amount to five hundred pounds sterling.’

‘Absolutely so!’

‘In that case I am at your disposal. For me, as an Englishman, time and every action are measured in monetary terms. Although I took a lively interest listening to your story, I wouldn’t spend any time over it, unless I was remunerated. Please draw up a contract and … who knows? Perhaps I’ll be able to restore your former premises to you, but without the evil presence.’

The detective and the merchant sat down and began to draw up a contract.

IV

Several days passed. It was late on 27 July. The shops had long since shut for the day. The drunken revelry for which the Nijni-Novgorod Fair was famous was in full swing. The old times are gone forever, as are the old music and dancing. It wasn’t so in those days. No sooner did the shops shut for the day, than the merchants hurried to the restaurants from whence music and women’s voices were raised in song. To the sound of them (part singers, part prostitutes), business deals were transacted. Mirrors were cracked. Then was yet the time, when drunken merchants still beat up waiters for any minor blunder.

That evening, the weather was terrible. The north wind blew all day. The rain poured in buckets. It was close to midnight, and everyone had taken shelter in restaurants.

Two men emerged from one of the restaurants in the park opposite the Commercial Centre. They made their way past the Flatch clock tower towards the Oka River wharf. Despite the pouring rain, the two men did not hurry. Engrossed in conversation, they spoke in undertones.

Following them out of the same restaurant, but at a distance, was a man in a hooded waterproof cape. This was Sherlock Holmes, the famous London detective. Three days and three nights spent at the fair were beginning to yield results. He had noted a few things here and there, and now wouldn’t let the two men out of his sight.

He sat down behind them on the ferry, but didn’t pick up anything useful. The two men were deep in conversation, but they were only discussing the Great Fair and the prices that had been established for certain goods. They disembarked at the Krashinsky Wharf, where they parted. Sherlock Holmes managed to overhear a phrase dropped by one of them, ‘And so, congratulations on the start of work. Goodbye.’

At this moment a dark figure approached Sherlock Holmes. This was Dr Watson, who accompanied him everywhere. ‘Well, what?’ he asked softly.

‘Let’s go; I have to talk to you,’ said Sherlock Holmes.

‘What about those two?’ asked Dr Watson.

‘They’ll keep. I’m not interested in their doings when they’re apart.’

They took a coach and returned to the Post Hotel. Having locked the door, they began to share their findings.

‘I haven’t found out anything. I don’t even know the names of the pair you have been watching,’ said Watson sadly. ‘Just as you suggested, I spent two nights in the taverns along the Bentakurovsky Canal. Lots of suspicious types there. Two men entered Tarakanoff’s tavern while I was sitting there. What confused me is that they seemed alike in build to the pair you were interested in who were at the fair.’

‘Describe them?’ Sherlock Holmes interrupted.

‘One was dark, the other ginger haired. Both lean. Both with moustaches, but otherwise clean-shaven.’

Sherlock Holmes jumped up in excitement, ‘That’s them all right, the devil take them. Do go on, I beg you. Your efforts were not wasted.’

‘They sat down at the table adjoining mine and ordered an expensive wine,’ went on Watson. ‘This tavern didn’t have the brand they wanted. They insisted it must be sent for. They kept on repeating that there was some job they had to get under way, otherwise they could miss out on all this money intended for the fair. Nothing suspicious in that. But when they’d nearly got through the bottle they had ordered, one of them said, “If only we could get under way! After that, we’re all right on our own, and as for him—” Following this, they dropped their voices, though I did hear them mention the Bentakurovsky Canal several times. I suppose you know, Holmes, that this particular canal has an evil reputation. It passes through the distant countryside, along its banks are the taverns with the worst reputation, the police often find corpses in its waters, in which quite a few crimes have been concealed.’

‘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?’

‘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?’

‘Quiet,’ was the answer. ‘Can’t you tell CID?’

Nevertheless, the policeman wanted to see some ID, and on being shown identification, calmed down. Holmes, of course, as soon as he had undertaken the job, had gone to the police and had been issued with the requisite documents.

In the meantime, a voice came from the other side of the door,

‘Who’s there?’

‘Sherlock Holmes, the detective,’ answered Holmes.

‘Who else?’

‘It’s me,’ said the policeman. ‘I’m on point duty here. Open up, Ivan, it’s OK.’

Ivan, the valet, evidently knew him well enough to recognize his voice and opened the door. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, letting them in.

‘Is the director here, the director of the State Bank’s fair branch?’ asked Sherlock Holmes.

‘Yes. What’s happened?’ asked the valet anxiously.

‘So far nothing, but I need to see him on an important matter,’ Sherlock Holmes interrupted him sharply. ‘And if you go on trying to indulge your curiosity instead of announcing me, I’ll make sure you get the blame.’

The frightened valet asked Sherlock Holmes to wait in the sitting room and went off.

The bank director appeared a moment later. He’d been entertaining all night and was fully dressed. He was middle-aged, sturdily built. His hair was an iron grey and he wore a Vandyke. He looked thoroughly perplexed. Probably warned by the valet, he didn’t seem bothered to see a barefoot vagrant.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked anxiously.

‘Does anyone else know I am here to see you?’ asked Sherlock Holmes.

‘No, nobody. This room is only for official visitors. But why are you here?’

‘Your bank is under threat. I am asking you to telephone and order two armed men to be sent there. You have to get hold of the cashier or whoever holds the keys to the strongroom and follow me. I’ll explain along the way.’

The director had his wits about him. He didn’t ask further questions, but picked up the telephone. Orders were swiftly given. The valet ordered a horse and carriage.

The director and Sherlock Holmes set off for the main entrance of the Commercial Centre of the fair. This entrance was shut to the public, because the office of the provincial governor, the offices of the State Bank and other government departments were on the top floor.

‘Did you take a revolver?’ asked Sherlock Holmes as the coach moved off.

‘Yes,’ said the director, ‘but you did promise to explain.’

‘With pleasure,’ answered Sherlock Holmes. ‘The matter is very simple. A temporary branch of the State Bank is opened for the fair and very large sums of money are kept in anticipation of the fair.’

‘Indeed,’ said the director.

‘Well, a couple of men decided to do something about it. Just under the floor of your premises there are two shops. A manu-facturer and Alferakki, ex-Terehoff.’

‘Indeed that is so,’ confirmed the director.

‘No doubt you have heard of the mysterious goings-on at Terehoff’s.’

‘Of course.’

‘It’s like this, then,’ said Sherlock Holmes. ‘Alferakki and his colleague needed that shop, because it is right under your storeroom and safe. I determined that as soon as I paid a visit to you. By means of trickery, they managed to get rid of Terehoff and to take his place. They’ve already knocked a hole just under the safe between their ceiling and your floor. According to my calculations, the break-in should take place today.’

‘Oh, my God!’ said the director.

‘That’s why our appearance at the bank must be carried out as quietly as possible,’ added Holmes.

The coach, by this time, had arrived near enough to the main entrance to the Commercial Centre. Sherlock Holmes ordered the coachman not to pull up, but to go a little further. They got off quietly and opened the door. Inside, they went up the stairs to the security guards. ‘There’s a major crime being planned here,’ the director addressed the head of security. ‘To prevent it, we need absolute quiet. One of you has to let me into the storeroom. As soon as you hear a whistle, bring the sentries with you. We’ll wait inside. The door must be shut but not locked.’

‘Yes, sir,’ bowed the officer.

The cashier, three policemen and Watson arrived, all summoned by telephone. ‘All our own people,’ said Holmes. ‘Everyone, take your shoes off. We must not be heard.’

The whole party entered the bank. The door to the storeroom was unlocked, the seal taken off the strongbox containing the money. The director was made to sign a receipt.

Holmes switched on the light. They were inside a small storeroom. The walls were of thick stone. Metal leaf was nailed down to cover the floor. In the middle of the room, a large metal trunk was fixed to the floor. It had a flap with a metal grill nailed over it.

Sherlock Holmes shook his head. ‘They’ll have to work at getting to the money.’ He placed everyone in position. He and Watson hid behind the strongbox. The others were told to wait outside. ‘If you hear me whistle,’ he whispered, ‘rush inside and if you don’t see me, go for the strongbox.’ By way of explanation he added, ‘It is likely, and more than likely, that the thieves have sawed an aperture into the storeroom from below the strong box, and nobody would see it from any angle.’

‘Indeed,’ said the director, looking at the proceedings with great interest, and awe at Holmes’s part.

Holmes looked around, ‘Well, sirs, take your places and not a sound. The slightest noise, a cough, a movement of the hand or leg, and all is lost.’

Everyone did as they were told. Holmes asked the director to unlock the strongbox. The director then left. Holmes and Watson were left alone in the strongroom.

IX

Left alone with Watson, Holmes opened the strongbox. It was filled with gold and bank notes. They dropped down behind it and switched off the lights.

Everything was still. Placing their revolvers beside them, they lay down silently on the floor. Time dragged on leaden feet. There wasn’t a sound from down below to give away the presence of the thieves. Nearly an hour passed.

But then, at last, somewhere in the distance, from under the floorboards, a slight rustle came through. At first it didn’t come through very clearly, but after a while, more and more. At last a light creak came through, as if someone had stepped on the precarious step of a ladder. This sound came not so much from under the trunk laden with money, but as if from a corner of the storeroom. Then the sounds ceased for a few moments.

Sherlock Holmes bent right up to Watson’s ear and whispered very softly, ‘There is a passageway through the wall, and then it goes between the floor and the ceiling.’ He was silent again, and pressed his ear to the metal flooring to pick up the slightest sound.

Someone moved softly under the floor, and from under the trunk laden with money, a tool scraped. Then, another. Under the trunk, two people were working purposefully.

Sherlock Holmes crawled towards the trunk and placed his palm over the bank notes to feel any movement beneath them.

Below them, two people were filing away uninterruptedly. Approximately another hour went by. It was very likely that the files were constantly oiled. That’s why the sounds were so weak. And that’s why the watchman outside could hear nothing.

But now all was still again. It was still for a couple of minutes, but then there was a rustle under the floor, as if mice were scurrying about. And then, all of a sudden, Sherlock Holmes felt the money under his palm shake and begin to go down. He realised at once what was happening.

He touched Watson gently on the shoulder, took his hand and shoved it into the trunk. ‘The moment I pull you by the sleeve, jump right into the trunk,’ whispered Holmes.

He rose quietly to his feet, bent over the trunk, using his palm to monitor its descent together with the money. The very moment that the upper layer of money was down to the level of the surrounding floor, Holmes tugged at Watson’s sleeve and with one quick movement switched on the light. Both leaped into the trunk.

A sharp whistle sounded the alarm.

That very moment, the bottom of the trunk, which the thieves were lowering with their hands, collapsed under the weight of Holmes and Watson. The thieves were caught by surprise from the weight of the two bodies. Unable to hold the metal floor on which the trunk had stood, they let go and fell in different directions.

All this took two or three seconds. Now events followed one upon another with the speed of lightning.

The drop was not far. It was a mere three feet or so between the floor of the upper storey and the ceiling below. It was only the suddenness which stunned thieves and detectives, and then only slightly. A moment, and both sides had recovered so that a life-and-death struggle began in that narrow space.

X

As soon as Sherlock Holmes and Watson felt they had fallen on something solid, they drew their revolvers and threw themselves on Compton and Alferakki. Those two, in their turn, thought there were only two in pursuit. So they, too, threw themselves at their adversaries. Several shots rang out.

But at this moment help arrived from above. Three policemen and the full complement of guards were already clambering through the aperture, rattling their arms.

The thieves realized the game was up as far as they were concerned. They fired a couple of shots at random, to stop their adversaries for half a minute, and threw themselves through the passageway in the wall, hoping to make their escape through the shop below.

Watson, wounded in the arm, fell with a groan.

Alferakki was already at the entrance, but Sherlock Holmes brought him down with a flying tackle, while a couple of soldiers piled on top of him.

Compton was less lucky. Lightly wounded in the leg when the shoot-out began, he fell behind his companion and for a moment was surrounded by his pursuers. Seeing that there was no way to save himself, he decided to sell his life dearly. With wild curses, he thew himself into the thick of his opponents and laid low two soldiers with three shots. But at this moment, one of the Centre’s watchmen, driven by the ferocity of what was happening, stuck a bayonet in his face. The blow was so fierce the bayonet went through his skull and he fell dead.

Alferakki was tied up. Guards were placed over the scattered money and a cashier assigned to count it. The criminal was led off to the police station.

The news of the attempt on the bank was all over the police station, and Sherlock Holmes was accorded a hero’s reception. Thanks were heaped on him.

The third member of the gang, the cashier Veskoff, was also brought to the police station. He had fainted, but a doctor had been summoned to bring him to, and when he was told how his partners-in-crime had intended to deal with him, he made a clean breast of things.

Alferakki and Veskoff were placed in shackles and led away to await trial.

The very same day, Sherlock Holmes stopped by to visit Terehoff at home. ‘Your old premises are available again and it is unlikely any apparition will appear,’ he said with a smile. ‘But you’ll have to repair the wall.’

And he told the merchant the whole story. The happy Terehoff instantly laid out the promised sum of money, saying he’d pay Watson too. And he hastened to the Commercial Centre.

XI

A search of Alferakki’s apartment only confirmed Holmes’s suppositions. A projector was found, tools and correspondence which led to a whole gang of criminals being apprehended.

But a search of Compton’s apartment led to an unexpected finding. The ‘poor’ Englishman had 60,000 roubles hidden in his mattress and proof that he was directly responsible for the theft of money from the bank in which he had been employed. The stolen money was returned to the bank, which presented three thousand roubles each to Sherlock Holmes and Watson as a reward.

Watson recovered from his wound in a matter of days.

And a month later, the police were able to establish the identity of Alferakki. It turned out that he was David Gabudidze, an escaped convict, a brutal robber, once the terror of the Caucasus.