And so he did. As soon as the lecture was finished and the girls had applauded long and enthusiastically and bowed many more times, Holmes accosted the headmistress and earnestly sought her assistance.
“Miss Biddle, you are most welcome,” Holmes replied to her effusive words of thanks. “Might I ask for your assistance in a small matter that I need to resolve immediately?”
“Why, of course, Mr. Holmes,” the good lady answered. “I cannot imagine what our school might do to assist a famous detective, but we shall be honored to help in whatever way we can.”
“Ah, you are most kind, Headmistress. You see, in a few days I am scheduled to give a lecture to the Japanese Society of Mathematicians and I confess, I do not know a co-sign from a derivative, and I am frightfully afraid of looking like a fool in front of such an august gathering. Would it be possible to seek the confidential advice of your math teacher? Could she be spared for a few minutes from her duties?”
“Why, of course, Mr. Holmes, we can look after you and happy to do so; except that our math teacher is not a ‘she’ but a ‘he.’ Mr. Lobachevesky is a highly renowned mathematician who, for unfortunate political reasons, is in exile from his own country. But we are most fortunate to have him as a member of our faculty. And I must say, the senior girls and some of my young lady teachers are quite smitten with him,” she said, smiling.
We were led into the austere teachers’ workroom and waited at a plain table until the door opened and a tall young Slav entered. He was smiling broadly and eagerly approached Sherlock Holmes. I feared for a moment that he might engulf my friend in the infamous Russian bear hug, but he refrained and extended a large hand at the end of a long arm.
“Gospadin Holmes,” he said pleasantly. “I am Nicolai Ivanovich Lobachevesky. It is to me honor very great to meet you. If help I can be to you, it for me is very good, yah.”
He sat at the table, stretched his long legs under it, and sloped at a forty degree angle to the floor.
“So good of you to come to our assistance,” said Holmes. “We shan’t take up too much of your time. If your students are anything like our British schoolboys, they should not be left on their own for more than five minutes or all sorts of mischief will ensue.”
The math teacher let out a loud belly laugh. “Gospadin Holmes. Japanese girl student could not be more unlike English schoolboy. Girls here, very smart. But are excellent sheep. Cannot imagine they do not behave. Not is problem.”
“Are you telling me,” asked Holmes, his eyebrows rising, “that a Russian novelist would have nothing to write about in Japan?”
Another belly laugh burst out. “Ah, Gospadin Holmes, you know well Russian writers. If they cannot find crime and punishment or war and peace, what is to write about? Behavior of good Japanese students does not work for Russian writer.” He laughed again.
“Very well then, sir. Permit me then, without fear of a student uprising, to seek your advice. It is a small thing, but I need to come up with the name of a valuable mathematical treatise to use as an example of something that might be stolen or become a cause of a crime amongst mathematicians. As I have only a very weak knowledge of your field of expertise, and I dread the thought of appearing like a fool, especially since I am representing His Majesty’s Government, could I ask you to help me? Is there a famous work of mathematics that I could use as such an example?”
Mr. Lobachevsky nodded immediately. “I give you name of very famous recent publication that not only is famous but also has been stolen. Very big story in world of mathematicians. Called it is Analytic and algebraic topology of locally Euclidean metrization of infinitely differentiable Riemannian manifold. Japanese professors all know this paper.”
“Wonderful. And from whom was it stolen?”
The teacher raised his head and spoke to the top of the far wall. “Written it is by Nicolai Ivanovich Lobachevesky. That is I. Stolen from me it is by the agents of the Devil, the Great Oppressor of the People, Czar Nicholas. It is very great crime. All mathematicians are knowing about it, and if they know not, they must be made knowing about it. This is good example for you, yah?”
“Ah, excellent. Watson, did you get the name of that treatise? You have it? Yes. Splendid.”
Here Holmes paused and looked quizzically at the Slav. “Forgive me, Doctor Lobachevesky,” he said, “But as you know, I am a detective, and I cannot resist being curious when some data come my way that is unexpected. Would you mind terribly if I asked you about your history? You have said some things, enough to whet my appetite. I perceive that there is a story behind the presence of a famous Russian mathematician who is no longer teaching in an academy in Moscow or St. Petersburg, but is found in a school for Japanese girls. How, doctor, did this come about? I do hope you don’t mind my asking.”
“Not sir, at all. I honored by your interest.”
He again looked up at the wall, folded his long arms across his chest and took in a slow breath. “I am never forget that day, it is three years ago. I am teaching in the University of Vladivostok. I am only lecturer but on my way to be great professor of mathematics at best university, like you say, in Moscow or St. Petersburg. I am just publish my paper, my treatise on which I am working very hard for three years. But we have at university a soviet, how you say, a small committee that is struggling to bring freedom to proletariat, to all Russian people. I am member of this committee. We are making peaceful requests of change in university, in local government. We do not want revolution, only we want reform, like they have in Germany or your England. We hold public meeting and tell working people about need to unite and bring change. That night, at midnight I hear knock on my door. I have friend in police force, and he is at my door. He say me that I must run away or agents of the Czar will kill me or send me to gulag. They are waiting for me in morning to come to university. I say him no, is not possible. But I see he is serious and afraid for me. He say me that boat is leaving in three hours from Vladivostok port to go to Japan, and I must get on. I say I do this, and maybe I return if problem goes away. Problem does not go away. I arrive Otaru, and I wait, and I hear that other members of soviet are made to disappear. Letters come from friends and tell me do not come back. Not safe. My treatise is stolen and plagiarized by old professor in Moscow who is friend to third cousin of Czar. I have nothing. On streets of Sapporo, I meet American missionaries who are good to me and give me food and clothes and I say them my story. They say me come to Tokyo, and they find job for me in American Christian school. I come here. They welcome me and I teach mathematics to girls. It is very humble, but I am grateful. My career as professor is over until, maybe, there is revolution in my country and I can return. For now, I am happy here. Students like me. Teachers like me. I teach very simple things. In Russia, I am good athlete, and so they give me post of athletic coach to senior girls. It does not need brain, but I am safe. That is my story, Gospadin Holmes.”
He smiled and shrugged his wide shoulders.
Holmes returned the smile and rose from his chair. “I regret, doctor, that I am only a humble detective and cannot bring about the great changes your country is crying out for. But I assure you that my hopes are with you, and I look forward to the day when you can return to your calling.”
“You are good to me, spacibo moi drug. It, as you say, is honor to me, to help you and have you listen to story.” He stood as well and this time did not refrain from placing Sherlock Holmes in an enormous bear hug that was held for several seconds longer than I knew Holmes could tolerate. Then the fellow left the room, smiling and thanking us several more times before closing the door behind him.
Holmes sat down again and instinctively reached for his cigarette case. I quickly reached out and put my hand on his arm.
“Holmes, you cannot smoke in here. The Quakers would shoot you.”
He scowled and put the case back in his pocket. “Very well then, Watson, we shall contemplate without the aid of tobacco. So, tell me. What did you conclude concerning our
teacher?”
“A rather tragic story, I must say.”
“Good heavens, Watson. You cannot be seriously saying that you believed him?”
I was quite taken aback, since I, in fact, had believed him. “Apparently, Holmes, you did not.”
“Elementary, Watson. It is not without cause that there is a common riddle concerning Russians that is known throughout Europe.”
“I’m afraid I am not familiar with it.”
“It goes, ‘How can you tell when a Russian is lying?’ Can you guess the answer?”
“No, I fear I cannot.”
“His lips move.” Holmes followed these words with a thin, smug smile. “Really, Watson, can you not see that the course of events described has been just a bit too convenient and coincidental to be believed? Please observe what we were told: A young professor of mathematics, which is a highly desirable trait as perceived by the Japanese, desperate as they are to become a modern, industrial world power, just happens to arrive in Japan immediately prior to the outbreak of hostilities between Japan and Russia. He coincidentally meets up with sympathetic Americans shortly after fleeing from the nearest major Russian city, and they recommend that he take a post at a school in Tokyo which just happens to have an appropriate opening, just happens to be American and protected from Japanese aggression, just happens to be associated with the new wife of the British Envoy, who just happens to have immediate family and, no doubt, current relatives who just happen to be from Vladivostok. It beggars belief that such coincidences could all be the result of mere chance.”
“Hmmm. I suppose you have a point there, Holmes. But I still think the chap came across as rather guileless.”
“No Watson, he came across as a master of guile. And I am quite certain that if we are able to review and decode the messages sent to him from Mrs. Munro, we shall be able to break their conspiracy wide open.”
Chapter Eight The Green Ribbon
DURING THE NEXT FEW DAYS, we delivered several more lectures, including one, hastily arranged, to the Japanese mathematicians. They gave due respect to a famous foreigner but were otherwise not particularly enthusiastic. When Holmes made reference to the stolen treatise by our Russian, he drew completely blank stares and quickly switched his example of a nefarious theft to one in which a professor purloined a bottle of vintage sake from the desk of a colleague. This brought forth nods of recognition.
The weekend brought the first of the three British-sponsored athletic events. The lofty goals were clear: First, promote Japanese interest in the approaching 1908 Olympics; second, recruit brilliant young runners to attend Oxford and then have them represent our Empire; third, inspire sufficient independence in young Japanese women to have them leave the farms and join the factories.
The twelve-mile run—three times around the grounds of the Imperial Palace—would be demanding but only because of the distance. The course itself was entirely flat. The prizes, a ceremonial green ribbon and medallion, a select green kimono, a scholarship to Oxford, and all due fame and renown, had served to attract a large crowd of runners. Entry was open to all comers for this first race. The second and third races, however, would only be open to those who had qualified in the preceding races. It brought patriotic joy to my English heart to see the streets lined with watchers, waving small Union Jacks held in the same hand as the flag of the rising sun.
It appeared to me that well over a thousand young men had gathered for their race, and perhaps as many as five hundred women. As with all things we had observed so far in Japan, women were honored and respected, but men were favored and took precedence. And so the men’s race began in the cool of the early morning, followed by the women’s at ten o’clock. Holmes and I were present at the finish line and watched the runners stagger towards it. Before the top three could be presented to the visiting dignitaries, their coaches helped them don a kimono, as it would not have been seemly to have them appear in front of us, especially with photographers present, in their athletic attire. Several officials from our Legation were present, as well as the top brass of our overseas industries. I was somewhat surprised that our Envoy and his striking American wife were not on hand for the winners of the men’s race, but showed up in time for the women’s.
“As I said, Doctor Watson,” said Mr. Munro, “we are doing our part to enhance the independent role of young women. The would-be shoguns and daimyos in the Diet are counting on us.”
The three winners of the women’s race were all mere wisps of girls, none more that ninety pounds. The top two hundred finishers were recorded, as they were then permitted to participate in the second race. There were a few taller girls in the lot but, again, the great majority of them were tiny things that a strong wind would blow away. Mrs. Munro took the time to congratulate every one of those who completed the race, regardless of how long it took them. Her warm praise appeared to me to be utterly sincere.
“Now gentlemen,” said Mr. Munro, placing his hands on the shoulders of both Holmes and me. “I believe that a pleasant lunch, courtesy of His Majesty, would be in order. What say, men? The Rokumeikan puts on an excellent spread, and it is just a few blocks from here. Will you be my guests?”
He asked most graciously but, of course, it was not an invitation we could refuse.
“The Olympics,” began the Envoy over the first course, “will be held in Rome in three years from now and a great deal of national pride is at stake. The last round, hosted by the Americans in St. Louis, was a fiasco, and all of Europe is determined to make a better go of it this time. The Japanese are determined to show that they can compete on the world’s stage and, given the present state of war with Russia, show that they can stand up on the track as well as on the battlefield. Over the next three years, they will select the men who will be citius , altius, forties to represent the land of Nippon.”
“And the women, Jack,” added his wife in a friendly rebuke.
“Of course, darling, the women as well. There will be several more events for them this time around.”
“And someday,” she added, “they will have the same number of events open to them as the men. Isn’t that right, Jack?”
“Yes, yes, darling. Entirely correct, darling. Entirely correct.”
As I sportsman, I had a genuine interest in the topic. Holmes was not and had none. He feigned interest, however, as he had noticed our Russian agent in the crowd of male participants.
“I could not help but notice,” he said, “that one of the teachers from the Quakers’ school we visited a few days ago was in the race. I had not thought of that sect as being particularly competitive in athletics.”
I noticed an involuntary reaction from Mrs. Munro, and I was quite certain that Holmes had seen it as well.
Without missing a beat, she coolly replied, “As a matter of fact, Mr. Holmes there were three teachers and ten students from Furendo Gakuen. Which of them did you recognize?”
“Ah, the math teacher. Yes, I believe it was math that he said he taught.”
“Oh, you must mean Nick. I hear you had a chat with him after your lecture. He is not a bad runner himself, and he coaches the girls’ team. They let him know that if they had to run in the British races, so did he. He’s a good sport and so he jolly well ran the race. Some of his girls came in early enough to qualify for the next round, and Nick just made it in himself. Knowing him, he probably had to stop at least ten times for a cigarette. If he shows up for classes next week, I will be surprised.”
She added yet another of her infectious little laughs when she finished. I could see that Holmes was more that a little nonplussed by this woman’s triumphal confidence.
“Ah, yes, madam. That was the chap. You appear to be quite familiar with the school.”
“My wife,” interjected Mr. Munro, “is a member of their advisory board and keeps close track of what all is going on over there.” He was quite beaming with pride as he spoke.
“Ah, are you?” replied Holmes. “I did not know that
you were a member of that sect.”
Here she laughed again and smiled back at Holmes. “Oh really, Mr. Holmes. I’m sure you know perfectly well that I am anything but a peace-loving Quaker. I’m a Baptist and in America we are far removed from the Society of Friends. We pray regularly for their enlightenment and salvation. But over here, scarcity of all brands of Protestants compels us to get along.”
Again she smiled, even though she had caught Holmes out on his feigning of ignorance. I was starting to quite enjoy the emerging battle of wits that was happening in front of me. So far, the lady was winning.
“I have no doubt you are quite right, madam,” said Holmes. He then wisely changed the subject and moved back to idle chat about our lecture tour and the next two races.
“Yes, right,” began the Envoy. “The next race will be held in four weeks, on the fifteenth of May. It will be shorter that this one, but much more demanding. By Jove, it will separate the men from the boys.”
“And the women from the girls, Jack.”
“Yes, yes. Of course, darling. And the women from the girls. Are you familiar, Mr. Holmes, with the small mountains they call Takeo and Jinba?”
“No, Excellency, I cannot say that I am.”
“Right. Well, sir, you are going to be, since you will have to be present at the top of Jinba to award the prizes and I am afraid that the only way to get there is to hike. The runners have to run up the trail to the top of Takeo and then through the forest until they reach the summit of Jinba. How far is it, darling? What would you say?”
Sherlock Holmes Never Dies- Collection Four Page 29
