Sherlock Holmes in Russia

by Alex Auswaks

  ‘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 Wa
tson’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.

  7

  THE MARK OF TADJIDI

  P. Nikitin

  I

  The search for a major criminal brought Sherlock Holmes and me to Kazan. We spent approximately a month here, returning by way of a two-berth cabin on a boat owned by a company called ‘The Flying Service’. We intended to sail along the Volga as far as Yaroslavl and catch a train to Moscow from there. It was peaceful sailing on the river. The weather was good. We spent all our time on deck, admiring the beautiful shores of the Volga.

  Sherlock Holmes grew more cheerful and his ill humour at times vanished. I looked at my friend and was glad for him from the bottom of my heart. Several days passed in this way.

  The boat sailed past Nijni-Novgorod and a day later we arrived at Kostroma. Here we were to load a large cargo and the captain announced we could rely on being there a good two hours.

  ‘Would you like a stroll through the town, my dear Watson,’ Sherlock Holmes suggested as our boat was made fast.

  I readily agreed and we set off. But there was nothing of interest there, and after we had strolled about less than an hour, we returned to the pier.

  Here all was bustle. A score of stevedores, carrying heavy bales, filed aboard the boat, bearing cargo from the warehouse on the pier.

  We stopped at the entrance to the warehouse and silently watched all this activity. Twenty minutes or so went by. A few words, suddenly uttered behind us, caused us to prick up our ears and turn our heads.

  The foreman was talking to a representative of the shipping line, ‘—hasn’t been collected for a while. I turned up yesterday – terrible smell. Couldn’t figure out where it came from. Seemed to come from some corner … This morning I turned over the whole warehouse, all the baggage, and found—’

  ‘What was it?’ asked the representative of the shipping line.

  ‘It came from a basket,’ answered the foreman. ‘Unbearable stink. A large basket sent as baggage to Kostroma from Kazan. It was unloaded five days ago, but the recipient hasn’t collected it.’

  ‘Let’s take a look,’ grumbled the representative of the shipping line unhappily.

  Some instinct pulled us after them, and we followed them into the warehouse. The stink was something awful.

  The representative of the shipping line made a face and spat frantically. ‘The devil knows what it is,’ he swore. ‘Turf out this disgusting basket. It’s probably full of rotting meat. A formal protocol will have to be drawn up, the river police called in and it has to be thrown away. Be a good chap, get the river police.’

  The foreman ran out and was back soon with several river policemen of different ranks. The shipping line representative announced that the basket contained putrid cargo, that it had made the air in the warehouse foul, and that the basket would have to be opened. Interested in the goings-on, we approached the group. The basket was untied and the lid taken off. A loathsome smell came from it.

  Inside the basket, a bale was tightly wrapped in a heavy tarpaulin. The tarpaulin was cut away on three sides and lifted off. Everyone jumped back in horror.

  A corpse, chopped into pieces, was packed into the tarpaulin. There was no doubt that it was a human corpse. A wrist, sliced away from the corpse, lay on top.

  ‘The devil!’ said Sherlock Holmes, approaching the basket. ‘A cargo that’s been around for a while.’

  ‘I’ll ask you to get the hell out of here,’ a police officer, just noticing us, threw the words at us somewhat fiercely.

  ‘And why not simply say, “leave”?’ said Holmes lightly.

  Such simple words maddened the policeman, unused to being reproved.

  ‘Just you wait and I’ll have you down at the police station,’ he yelled, and for some reason opened his briefcase, as if about to prepare a charge sheet.

  ‘You’re quite in order to do so,’ answered Holmes calmly. ‘Would you like my name? Sherlock Holmes.’
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  What a picture! The police officer was hopelessly embarrassed, confused and began to utter embarrassed apologies. As for the others, hearing the name of the famous detective, they silently examined him with wide-open eyes, forgetting all about the basket and its grisly contents. As if nothing untoward had occurred, Sherlock Holmes turned on his heels and left the warehouse without a word. I followed.

  II

  We returned to our boat and went to the dining room, intending to have a bite to eat. But hardly had our waiter approached us when the local Chief of Police, two policemen, and the police officer who had come down on us in the warehouse came hurrying in. Someone must have pointed us out, because the Chief of Police came straight over to our table.

  ‘I would like to proffer my deepest apologies for the slight lack of tact on the part of my subordinates,’ he said politely, addressing Holmes, ‘but in the heat of the moment and under similar circumstances, a man may lose his composure.’

  ‘Precisely what a policeman ought not to do,’ Holmes shrugged. ‘In England it is a severely punishable offence.’

  ‘You are completely in the right,’ agreed the Chief of Police. ‘But I do beg of you most earnestly to overlook this untoward occurrence.’

  The Chief of Police sat down at our table and spoke so pleasantly and in such a friendly manner that Holmes finally gave up. ‘Very well, then. Consider it long forgotten. After all, travelling through Russia, if I were to remember every slight large or small, to which we English are subjected and to which we aren’t used – why, I would’ve had to leave long since.’

  The atmosphere changed and the conversation turned to the crime. However, at that moment the third whistle was blown and we had to bid each other farewell. We left Kostroma and, a day later, were already in Moscow. But the events which had taken place continued to interest us very much. The newspapers gave daily reports, but the news only revealed that the investigation wasn’t progressing and the outcome was unlikely to be a positive one.