Sherlock Holmes

by Keisuke Matsuoka

  “I will now ask Captain Minezaki to explain the details,” Sonoda said. “Captain, if you please.”

  Minezaki, standing next to Sonoda, looked to be in his thirties, with a sturdy, florid face. Minezaki pointed to a small scrap of paper that had been folded into four. “This is a ticket for Kirin beer. They are distributed by a drinking house in Kyobashi to customers who want to pay in advance. The ticket has the name and address of the person to whom it was delivered. This particular ticket’s owner had hidden it inside a doll’s clothing, as he did not wish his family to scold him for his drinking. The doll was stolen mid-month. We determined that this ticket was recently turned in to a police box in Chofu Village. It had been found on the ground in a nearby field. The ink has been smeared—likely from sweat, from being in a man’s pocket as he ran away.”

  Ito walked over to Sherlock. “You must find this boring, unable to understand what they are saying. Shall I translate?”

  “Not at all,” Sherlock said, remaining seated as he let out a puff of smoke from his pipe. “I can surmise his meaning well enough from his gestures. That ticket was secreted in one of the items that was stolen, and was then later found at some other location.”

  “You have it precisely.” Ito redirected his attention back toward Minezaki.

  Minezaki was tracing the tip of a pencil along the map. “The ticket was found in this area. A foreign trader lives not a hundred yards from the spot. Furthermore, the foreigner in question is a young male of Russian origin. Based on other information we have received, it is possible that this is the revolutionary known as Olgert Bercerosky, who may have been involved in the attack perpetrated by Sanzo Tsuda. As this man is suspected of serious crimes, I urge you all to exercise caution…”

  “What is he saying?” Sherlock asked.

  “A Russian trader lives near where the ticket was found.”

  Sherlock suddenly stood up, exasperated. He approached the table. Minezaki was in the middle of an animated explanation. He broke off mid-sentence, disconcerted.

  “Mr. Holmes,” said Sonoda in English. “Is there something you wish to add?”

  Ito joined Sherlock, who was staring down at the map. Chofu Village was a mixture of housing and farmland. A mark, which indicated the field where the ticket had been found, was placed on a location a little over a hundred yards from Tama River. The home where the Russian trader lived was not far.

  Sherlock picked up one of the pencils and drew a small circle around a point on the opposite shore of the river. “Here. I think you shall find much local gossip about this vicinity, due to the inhabitant’s frequent and unusual chemical experiments.”

  A gasp spread through the room. Sonoda looked puzzled. “Nakabaru Village? There is nothing there but pear orchards and a few farmhouses.”

  Sherlock was undeterred. “Then if a foreigner is living in the area, he shall certainly stand out all the more.”

  “Impossible,” Minezaki said in Japanese. He frowned sharply. One of his men had been interpreting into his ear while Sherlock spoke. “The Tama River is far too wide, and that location is nowhere near the Maruko Ferry Crossing. After carrying out robberies in Kyobashi, why would he go to the trouble of making a detour through Chofu? Nothing was even stolen from Chofu.”

  “None of the foreign traders on our list live in Nakabaru,” an assistant inspector said, staring down at a bundle of papers.

  “It may be a temporary address,” Ito said in Japanese. “Or he may have lied about his profession.”

  Sherlock interrupted. He may not have understood Japanese, but he could guess well enough what they were saying. “I asked you to search for foreign traders residing in Kanto, but I was not suggesting that the culprit could only be a merchant. Though highly probable, it was merely a starting point from which to begin our investigation.”

  Sonoda hesitated. “I will contact the Kanagawa police force, and ask for their cooperation…”

  “Private detectives,” muttered Minezaki, disgruntled. “In the end they are all amateurs.” He stalked off in a huff.

  “Would you like me to translate what he said?” asked Ito.

  “Consulting detectives are all amateurs, or something to that effect I assume.”

  Ito seemed surprised. “You understood his Japanese?”

  “Of course not,” Sherlock said, chewing his pipe nonchalantly. “I have heard the same often enough before.”

  29

  Ito also insisted on joining the investigation party. Police Chief Sonoda was none too thrilled by this. It was not so much the danger as the fact that Ito’s attendance meant that he, too, would be forced to go.

  But because Sherlock would be coming with them, Ito wished to ascertain the truth with his own two eyes. They would perform their raid early in the morning, so as not to interfere with the remainder of the day’s work—of course, assuming that everything went smoothly.

  An early mist hung in the air. Several police carriages travelled along a rutted wagon road that connected the pear orchards beside the Tama River.

  Ito was in the rearmost carriage, with Sherlock sitting next to him. The detective’s eyes remained closed throughout the entire ride. He showed no signs of tension. Ito glanced at Sherlock’s profile and sighed. It almost looked as if he was sleeping. Considering that Sherlock had never been to the area before, Ito would have thought he’d be taking a closer look at the surroundings. What happened to the importance of observation?

  The carriage slowly ground to a halt. Sherlock opened his eyes. Ito, likewise, glanced out the window. Several policemen were now disembarking from the lead carriage. Some feet away from where the carriages had stopped, a crude, single-story wooden structure jutted from the earth. Captain Minezaki gave orders to secure the area.

  Four days had passed since the meeting at the police headquarters. After several inquiries, the Kanagawa Police Department had learned of a foreigner in the area who was renting the storehouse of a certain farm. Interviewees had spoken of strange smells in the area. The man’s name was Yevno Tzybin. Supposedly he was using the storehouse to pursue oil painting. According to the rental agreement, Tzybin lived somewhere else, but the residential address listed proved to be nonsensical. It did not exist.

  Though Minezaki had at first been disgruntled, he rose to the occasion without reservation. It did seem unlikely that these circumstances could be mere chance. That said, he had yet to fully warm up to Sherlock.

  Not that one could blame him, thought Ito. When Minezaki had asked Sherlock to explain how he had identified the location, so they could get a warrant, Sherlock had offered nothing. He absolutely would not explain what had led him to his conclusions.

  In the end they were forced to come without a warrant. This meant they would have to ask Tzybin to speak with them as a witness. They had no other choice.

  The raiding party, however, was as large as it would have been were they planning to make an arrest.

  Ito exited the carriage. Although it was September, the morning was comparatively warm.

  Sonoda approached and whispered in his ear. “We’ve secured the perimeter. Not a single ant could pass through.”

  Sherlock had also disembarked from the carriage. He walked swiftly toward the storehouse. “Let us proceed.”

  Minezaki and several policemen waited in front of the closed sliding door that led into the building. Sherlock joined their party. Though Ito wanted to go to them as well, Sonoda pleaded with his eyes for the chairman to stand further back.

  Finally, one of the policemen banged on the door. “Good morning! May we have a word?”

  The bar could be heard lifting from the other side.

  The door slid open. A man’s face peeked out. He had blue eyes, was balding, and past 50. He had a somewhat dazed expression, as though he’d been woken up by the knock. He was dressed in serge fabric, similar to a European fa
ctory worker.

  For some reason the man stared at Sherlock first. He seemed almost insensible to the presence of the police officers.

  “Good morning, Mr. Tzybin,” Sherlock said, in English. “Perhaps you will join us at the station?”

  Tzybin did a double take. In a panic, he attempted to slide the door shut. The policemen who rushed forward to stop him did not make it in time. The man shut the door; then, he must have lowered the bar again, for as much as the policemen pushed, the door would not budge.

  Minezaki pounded on the door in irritation. “If we had a warrant we could just kick the door down. Hoy, Tzybin! Come out, we want to speak with you!”

  After a few moments of yelling, a noise could be heard inside. Had the bar been removed again? Minezaki took a step back.

  The door flew open, and then Tzybin appeared, waving a towel in the air. The police men flinched, immediately turning their faces.

  And then something entered Ito’s eyes! Pain! The pain was excruciating! He couldn’t see a thing!

  This was the opening Tzybin had been hoping for. “He’s making a run for it!” Ito heard one of the policemen shouting.

  He stumbled aimlessly around in pain. Sherlock, meanwhile, was wiping furiously at his own face. The policemen seemed to be in a similar predicament.

  “After him!” Sonoda shouted, blinking furiously. “Don’t let him escape!”

  Tzybin had broken through the dragnet and was sprinting toward the pear orchards. Several policemen, however, charged after him at full speed. One of them tackled Tzybin from behind, sending the man flying. Soon more policemen caught up with them and joined the pile. The dramatic chase had come to a rapid end.

  Finally, Ito managed to open his burning eyes. “What was that?” he muttered. “My eyes won’t stop watering.”

  Sherlock’s eyes were also bloodshot. “Cayenne pepper in an oil solution, I believe. I have tried my hand at preparing something similar. Tzybin has clearly hit upon a clever formula. It is quite effective.”

  “Tried your hand? You’ve made this stuff yourself?”

  “Purely in the interests of research, I assure you.” Sherlock pointed at the door, which had been left wide open. “Ito, look there.”

  The storeroom was filled with random objects. It was packed so densely with these items that it was hard to believe that a grown man could actually fit inside. Not a bit of open space remained. There were pots and vases like you might find in any common household, as well as ichimatsu dolls and hina dolls, woodblock prints encased in frames, round fans and folding fans, kimonos, straw and wooden sandals…The room was simply overflowing. Glass instruments housing cloudy liquids were also scattered about. A gas lamp sat on its side, its fire extinguished.

  “It is just as you said,” Ito said, delighted.

  But Sherlock looked troubled. “This makes no sense. The man is just a common thief.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He is hoarding the items, he has no plan for how he will sell them. And he has been completely careless in their storage.”

  “Why has he stolen them, then?”

  The policemen had restrained Tzybin and now returned with him in tow. He had interfered with official business; they needed no warrant to arrest him for that. He stood sulking, perhaps realizing that he had dug his own grave.

  Sherlock stared at the man. “I gather that you can understand English. If you possess a modicum of intelligence, you should be able to answer my questions. Olgert Bercerosky? No, you are not Olgert Bercerosky, are you? Does the name mean anything to you?”

  “What is this bother?” Tzybin spat in English. He had a strong Russian accent. “Call a lawyer. A Russian lawyer! I say nothing!”

  “Indeed.” Sherlock put up a hand. “As you wish, Mr. Tzybin—so I shall call you, for I do not know your real name. However, I do know that you were forced to go to Vladivostok after your involvement with the Narodnik movement. From there you were hired to travel to Japan. Your employer prepared the papers for your voyage. You have never met the man who rented this storeroom for you, however you were promised a considerable payment for your services. You were directed to gather goods of a typically Japanese nature, and to do so without discrimination. You previously had the means of contacting your employer, and have begged at least once to know when payment for your services might be expected.”

  Tzybin did a double take. Then he lunged at Sherlock, as though to take a swing. A policeman twisted his arm and kept him from moving. Tzybin’s face grew apoplectic. “Bastard, he mocks me! Who is he? Tell me who this is!”

  “I am the one asking the questions. The truth is I had no prior knowledge of your history. I see an unusual mark upon your hand, as if from a previous bruise. You were struck by a farming instrument, I believe. You went to the villages as a Narodnik, to incite the peasants, but were instead beset by vigilantes. As the son of I assume an at least middle class family, you received formal education in English. After the Narodnik movement failed, however, you were hounded by police and found it impossible to obtain regular employment. You are desperate to receive your payment, thus you opened the door so quickly upon our knock. You froze when you first saw me. Until I spoke you were unaware that I was an Englishman, and as you had never met your employer in person believed I might be him. But you are clearly not very bright—it should be obvious that your employer would not arrive in the company of the police.”

  Tzybin kicked at the air repeatedly in unconcealed rage. As the police held him firmly, however, none of his kicks reached anywhere near Sherlock. He spewed a stream of Russian invectives.

  “But how did you know he had a means of contacting his employer, and had begged for payment?” Ito asked.

  “Previously he had stolen only household decorations and furnishings. He later turned to clothing and personal items. Obviously he had asked for payment before, but had been forestalled with a directive to steal different items instead.”

  “He could have been told to do so in advance.”

  “No. No long-term plans guided our thief. He thought payment would arrive in a matter of days. If not, he would have lived in less shabby surroundings. Only look at the manner in which he has stored his ill-gotten gains and you will agree.”

  Tzybin’s cursing switched to English. “English pig, you think you are something!”

  Minezaki sighed. “We’ll question him at the station. Bring him along.”

  The policemen hauled the man away. He made no attempt to resist, but continued to glare at Sherlock. Minezaki and Sonoda went with them.

  Ito remained behind. “He was only hired, then? How can you be sure?”

  “Because that is the only possibility,” Sherlock said, his tone dejected. “Anyone searching for Olgert Bercerosky would search first for suspicious Russians. Naturally a Russian man holed up in the countryside and supporting himself through a series of thefts would draw particular attention.”

  “You mean he was only a smokescreen for Bercerosky?”

  “Yes, a smokescreen, or perhaps we should say bait, for the police. Once Tzybin had drawn police attention, Bercerosky would realize he too was is in danger. I have just blundered into the criminal’s trap.”

  “You’re saying Bercerosky planned this whole thing?!”

  “Quite brilliantly, I should say. He even anticipated what we would think about the different items being stolen. He is a clever opponent.”

  “And the beer ticket? Was that also bait set by Bercerosky?”

  “No. The ticket was discovered on the opposite shore. The Japanese police are not capable enough to have identified this location on their own. I’m sure Bercerosky would have realized that.”

  Ito was not sure whether to take this comment as condescension or conceit. “How did you identify the location, then?” he asked.

  Sherlock jerked his head toward
the open door. “Do you recognize that piece of rope, lying there?”

  Ito blinked in disbelief. There was a long piece of rope inside the storeroom, with a flask tied into the middle.

  “I see it! It’s a sling. Hand-made, but a sling.”

  “Tzybin discovered a piece of paper, folded in four, in the clothing of one of the dolls he had stolen. A piece of paper that appeared to include a name and address, written in Japanese. How would he have reacted? As a professional thief, he would know better than to travel far to dispose of the paper. He might have been stopped while carrying it, which would have provided evidence of his crimes. Dropping it into the river, meanwhile, would have led investigators upstream.”

  “So instead he threw it all the way across the river? But how could a piece of folded paper fly so far?”

  Sherlock walked through the door. He kicked one of the chemical vials lightly, sending it rolling across the floor. “When saltpeter is dissolved in water it absorbs the surrounding heat, cooling the water. The addition of common table salt creates ice. It is an elementary chemical experiment. All the necessary equipment is here now. The ticket was encased in a clump of ice. Likely a ball of it, to ensure it would fly.”

  “So that is why the ink on the ticket was smeared.”

  “He used the sling to throw the ball of ice with the paper inside. Naturally he did so at night. Much better to dispose of the paper this way, though it would take some time to create the ice, than to risk carrying it about with him in order to dispose of it by hand.”

  “As a foreigner he would have drawn attention. With all the thefts, there was a high risk he might have been stopped by the police for questioning.”

  “By aiming for those fields he ensured the noise of the ice hitting the ground would remain unnoticed. And with the recent warm weather, the ice would have melted by morning. These beer tickets are as valuable as money. The Japanese are very civic-minded and whoever discovered such a ticket would likely surrender it to the police. Though far from certain, such a discovery might seriously disrupt the investigation. The opposite shore of the river would appear to be the least likely location for a suspect—it was excellent cover.”