Holmes coloured very faintly, the clearest sign of embarrassment I have seen in him. It is not an emotion familiar to him. Nor did he often leap to conclusions, even better-founded ones than this.
“I tell you,” Golkov continued, “because such things are of importance to many people, including Hugo Carburton, the father of Miss Helena Carburton, with whom I am most deeply in love. And until today, I had believed she also was with me, in spite of my reputation for having been . . .” He shrugged very slightly in a gesture of regret. . . . “a little generous with my favours in the past. I was young, and easily flattered. I do not think back on it with pride. My head was turned when so many pretty young ladies could not tell the difference between the music and the musician.”
Holmes frowned. “I sympathise with you, Mr. Golkov, but I cannot assist you to raise yourself in Mr. Carburton’s regard.”
“No, no!” Golkov waved his hands. “Of course not! That is not why I have come. Something happened today which is of an entirely different nature, and for which you are my only hope. I am a stranger, a foreigner here in London, but even in Paris, or Rome, or Berlin your name is known, also that you are a lover of music, especially of the violin.”
Holmes was mollified. I could see it in the softening of his expression, even though I believed he had not entirely forgiven Golkov for cancelling his concert without the least notice. Personal matters should not intrude upon the musician’s professional obligation. The art should override even a broken heart, let alone the slight consideration of the dislike of one’s lover’s father.
Golkov was quite apparently labouring on the grip of some intense emotion. He could barely keep still, and his face was a picture of acute distress.
“This evening someone stole my violin!” he burst out. “My Stradivarius!” It was a cry of such pain it was as if he had lost a limb of his own body.
Holmes was truly appalled. The colour blanched from his cheeks and his body jerked to rigidity.
“This is terrible! Tell me everything, every circumstance to the tiniest detail. Omit nothing whatsoever.”
I considered asking Mrs. Hudson to bring us tea. I could most certainly have used a cup myself, but I could see that neither Holmes nor Golkov were even aware of their physical surroundings, let alone requiring sustenance or comfort of such a practical nature, so I abandoned the idea.
“I have lodgings in Dudley Street,” Golkov explained. “I keep the violin there, with me at all times.”
Holmes nodded. “Of course.”
“This afternoon, Helena came to see me. . . .”
“At what hour?” Holmes interrupted.
“Approximately half past four,” Golkov replied. “She had been trying to soften her father’s attitude towards me, without any success whatever. If anything, he seemed to be even more determined that we should not meet at all, much less that he would entertain the thought of permitting her to marry me.”
Personally I found Carburton’s feelings easy enough to understand. Golkov was one of the most brilliant violinists of the latter part of the century, but a flamboyant and somewhat questionable character to whom to give one’s daughter in marriage. His art took him all over Europe, fêted and idolised by all manner of people. It was an uncertain life, and Helena Carburton might find herself miserable and in totally unfamiliar surroundings, among strangers, and entirely dependent upon a man who might turn out to be charming but completely irresponsible. However, of course, I did not say so.
“And the Stradivarius?” Holmes was ever on the point which mattered.
“In its case in the sitting room, where I had been practising,” Golkov replied. “I went through to the small kitchen where I set the kettle on the hob and waited for it to boil. It was extremely cold and I wished to make Helena a cup of tea. It is something I always do. After a few moments she joined me.”
“Naturally.” Holmes moved his hands slightly in impatience for Golkov to reach the crux of the matter.
“We were there some ten minutes or less,” Golkov continued. “The kettle boiled, I made the tea and we took it back to the sitting room and spoke some more about the same subject. She seemed determined to defy her father whatever the cost, and to marry me—in Paris, if that should be necessary.”
“And then?” Holmes pressed.
Golkov’s face darkened. “And then I bade her goodbye.” His whole body tightened. “She kissed me,” he said hoarsely, as if the memory of it were still on his lips. “And she left.” He swallowed. “I returned to my violin. I opened the case. There was a violin there, but the instant I looked at it I knew it was not the Stradivarius. It was of moderate quality, a dead thing in comparison!”
Holmes was amazed. “She took it! But you would have seen her walk out with it! Did you leave the door unlatched while she was with you?”
“No!” Golkov denied hotly. “I turned the key in the lock when she was in, and again as she left. I am very sensible of the value of my violin, Mr. Holmes. Do you imagine I would have kept it so long, were I careless with it?”
“But it was there before Miss Carburton arrived, and the moment she had left, it was not there. I assume had she brought another violin with her, you would have mentioned it?”
“Of course. She had only a small reticule, sufficient for a handkerchief, no more. She is even obliged to walk to visit me, since her father has cut off her allowance as punishment.”
Holmes’s frown deepened. “Then while you were in the kitchen, she opened the door to someone,” he deduced. “It seems the only explanation to answer the facts.”
“That is not all,” Golkov said wretchedly. “Within the half hour a boy came with a note for me. . . .”
“A ransom!” Holmes exclaimed. “You have the note?”
Wordlessly Golkov produced it and passed it into Holmes’s outstretched hand.
Holmes read aloud for my benefit.
“Mr. Vassily Golkov, if you wish to see your Stradivarius violin again, you will pay to me the exact sum of money which is raised for the Babcock Orphanage at the concert to be given tomorrow evening.
“I require that you hand such money to me, at a time and place I shall name when I read in the newspapers that you have been charged with the theft. If you do not do so, I shall make matches to light my household fires out of your violin.
“Need I say that any attempt to involve the police, or a similar body, in this affair will bring the same conclusion?”
Holmes looked up, his face strained, his eyes wide.
“The man is a monster, I could say a barbarian, but that is to insult the savage races who destroy only because they do not understand. This creature knows and understands only too well, and yet will still destroy. But leave it to me, Mr. Golkov! Dr. Watson and I will conceive a plan. You must do exactly as I tell you. Will you trust me in this?”
“Of course! Of course!” Golkov said eagerly. “You see, I am in the divided stick, as you say! I cannot steal the money that belongs to the fatherless. What monster would do such a thing? And yet if I do not,” he could barely speak, “then my beautiful violin, the voice of my soul, will be destroyed. . . .”
“Return tomorrow at two in the afternoon,” Holmes commanded. “In the meanwhile Watson and I shall think, and deduce. Tomorrow I shall come to your rooms. Be there. Now return home and sleep. Tomorrow evening we have a concert to attend, and much to do before then.”
“I shall sell everything I can,” Golkov promised. “All the gifts I have received, everything I have with me, but even so it will do no good! It is not the money he wishes, but to ruin me!”
“Yes, yes,” Holmes agreed. “So much I perceive. But by all means gather what you can. Now, my dear sir, leave us to think and to plan. Good night to you.”
As soon as he had gone I spoke.
“Surely this is Hugo Carburton’s plan to ensure that his daughter does not run away and marry Golkov! He will not allow the violin to be destroyed, and if he meets Carburton’s plan to ransom
it, then he will almost certainly be caught by the police, tried for the crime of theft, and imprisoned. Even if he could get away with it, what woman of the slightest moral decency would marry a man who would steal money from orphans, whatever the reason? And above all, he would have demonstrated exactly where his values lie! No young woman desires to be second in a man’s affections, especially to a musical instrument.” I rather fancied I had some understanding of women, perhaps more so than Holmes, who seldom, if ever, sought their acquaintance.
“That much is obvious, my dear fellow,” he said dismissively. “Of course it is Carburton’s plan. What is disturbing is that she appears to have been party to it. I do not wonder that poor Golkov is distressed. If she is indeed, then it seems she is determined to put him to some sort of test of his love for her, which I find despicable. I cannot see any answer to that which will not cause him the utmost disillusion. It would be a cruel and quite pointless exercise, sprung not in the least from love, but purely from vanity.”
“Then you can hardly help him,” I said, deeply disappointed. I am not sure what I had hoped, but certainly a better answer than this.
He looked at me sharply. “I am not beaten yet, Watson! I had thought you knew me better than that! Tomorrow I shall investigate the manner in which the indifferent instrument replaced the priceless one. Tonight I must address the issue of how we are to solve the problem of meeting Mr. Carburton’s demands without spoiling young Golkov’s honour or having him end his career in prison.” His mouth pulled into a thin line. “I hardly feel like playing any music myself. I believe I play well, but compared with Golkov I am a squeaking door. I shall instead light my best pipe and smoke for some considerable time. Please do not disturb me. Good night Watson—sleep well, because I believe I shall need all your courage and resource tomorrow.”
In the morning Holmes and I set out for Golkov’s rooms in Dudley Street.
They were, as he had said, very gracious and well maintained. There was a porter in the cavernous hall who observed everyone coming and going and entered it in a book.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said pleasantly, but making it quite apparent we should not pass him with explaining ourselves. He had an almost military bearing.
“Good morning,” Holmes replied cheerfully. “We have called to see Mr. Vassily Golkov. Would you be so good as to direct us to his apartments?”
“I would, sir, when I have sent the lad up to see if Mr. Golkov is in, and receiving this morning. Who may he say is calling?”
“You will send up a boy?” Holmes said with some interest.
“That’s right, sir.”
Holmes nodded his approval. “While we wait for the boy to return, perhaps you would be good enough to answer a few questions for us. My name is Holmes, and this is my colleague Dr. Watson.”
The porter’s eyes widened. “Sherlock Holmes, sir?”
“The same.”
“I don’t know of any mystery here, sir, far less any crime!”
“There may not be one—yet,” Holmes replied. “I am hoping we shall prevent it. Did anyone visit Mr. Golkov late yesterday afternoon?”
“Yes, Mr. Holmes, Miss Helena Carburton came at almost quarter to five, or a little earlier.”
“You know her?”
“Indeed, sir. She has visited Mr. Golkov more than once. A very nice young lady, and seems very fond of him.”
An expression of distaste flickered across Holmes’s face, as if he had bitten into a lemon. “Can you please describe exactly . . .” he emphasised the word, “. . . what you saw on this occasion. Omit nothing.”
The porter looked a little worried. “I hope no harm has come to her,” he said anxiously. “A most charming young lady, and Mr. Golkov is quite devoted to her.”
“As far as I know she is in excellent health,” Holmes said impatiently. “Please describe her visit yesterday—precisely.”
“Yes sir. Miss Carburton came in. . . .”
“How was she dressed, do you recall?”
“In a dark blue cape with a fur collar, sir. White. Very becoming, it was.”
“Was she carrying anything?” Holmes asked keenly.
“No sir, except one of those tiny little bags ladies have. At least, the first time.”
“The first time! She came twice?”
“Yes sir. Came back again about ten minutes later. She had a violin case the second time. The boy carried it up for her, and let her in, seeing as how the door was locked again and she said Mr. Golkov was in the kitchen and wouldn’t hear her knock.”
“A violin case!” Holmes seized the fact, but I could see in his expression that proof of what he most surely knew already gave him no satisfaction.
“Yes sir. I didn’t see her leave the first time. It must have been when the boy was standing in for me. But I saw her leave the second time, about a quarter to six.”
“With the violin case, or without?”
“Without, sir, just like she came the first time, with nothing but the little bag. The white muff and the bag. She said goodnight to me very polite, like usual.”
Holmes frowned. “So she went up, came down when the boy was on duty, went up again with a violin case, again when the boy was on duty, and came down a final time?”
The man thought for a moment. “That’s right, sir. I was gone for about ten minutes, for my break.”
“And she came down and returned up again in that time?”
The boy returned from his errand to say that Mr. Golkov was not in.
“You were a long time,” Holmes observed, regarding him critically.
“Up three flights o’ steps,” the boy defended himself. “Can’t do it no quicker, sir. Sorry.”
“Three flights!” Holmes seized on it. “Mr. Golkov lives at the top of the house?”
“Yes sir.”
“How interesting! How very interesting. I begin to see the glimmering of an idea, Watson! I think there may be hope.” He turned to the boy. “Now tell me, young man, when you saw Miss Carburton visit Mr. Golkov yesterday evening, what was she wearing? Please describe her as minutely as you can.”
The boy glanced at the superior.
“Go on!” the porter urged. “This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes! You tell him anything you can.”
The boy’s eyes widened appreciatively. Apparently Holmes’s fame had spread even this far.
“Yes sir!” He screwed up his face in concentration. “She were wearin’ a dark blue cape wif a white fur collar, an’ a skirt underneaf, an’ very nice boots all shiny and very clean, like she never ’as ter walk across roads wot in’t bin swept like. An’ an ’at, o’ course.”
“Marvellous!” Holmes exclaimed. “There is hope, Watson. Indeed there is. Thank you, gentlemen. You have been of the utmost help.” He flashed them a smile of gratitude, then turned to me. “Home, Watson, we need to make some enquiries about the Carburton family. I have great hope that we may solve this case to everyone’s satisfaction—except that of Mr. Hugo Carburton, that is. Come—there is no time to be lost!”
Our investigations on that score did not take long. A simple enquiry of a gentleman well placed in society, for whom Holmes had done a considerable favour, elicited precisely what he had wished to hear.
Hugo Carburton was of an old and well respected family. His son had married the third daughter of a duke; his elder daughter, Miss Jeannie Carburton, was betrothed to the second son of an earl; but sadly his younger daughter had taken a fancy to a foreign violinist of questionable origin and unfortunate reputation with women.
“Placing the family honour in jeopardy?” Holmes exclaimed.
“Regrettably so,” his friend agreed. “No doubt her father will be able to deter her, though she is a headstrong young woman. Allowed rather too much liberty since her mother died. Very sad. Still, for her sister’s sake, I dare say she may be prevailed upon.”
“Watson, I have a plan which may save everybody!” Holmes said when we had returned to Baker Street an
d were sitting beside the fire trying to warm ourselves from the cold and gloom of the weather outside. At least I was; he did not seem to be aware of it, so consumed was he with his enthusiasm.
“However, my dear fellow, I shall require your fullest participation—at some risk to yourself, I am afraid. Here is what I propose!”
Some of what happened later I know only because Holmes recounted it to me afterwards, when it was all over, but for the sake of clarity so you may understand the events in an order which makes some sense, I shall relate them to you in the sequence in which they occurred.
The concert to raise money for the children of the Babcock orphanage, so that they might have a Christmas of warmth and good food, was held in a large hall off Shaftesbury Avenue. A number of artists had offered to give their talents free of charge and it was something of a society occasion. I was not able to attend, because I was fulfilling my part of the plan. However Holmes was there in evening dress and cutting a conspicuous figure with his lean, tense body and face so fiercely alive with expectation. Vassily Golkov also was easily seen, his hair even wilder than usual and he was clothed in a green velvet jacket and flowing cravat, somewhat melodramatic in appearance. It was part of the scheme that they should both afterwards be remembered. Were Golkov not to be blamed for the theft, all we did would be in vain. That abominable piece of vandalism, the destruction of the Stradivarius, would still take place. I cannot think how a man who believed himself civilised would commit so wanton and destructive an act, whatever the provocation, short of the saving of a life.
Half of London society was showing its benevolence by attending. Everything was a swirl of colour beneath glittering lights. Women wore magnificent gowns and jewels. There was laughter and the buzz of conversation as people milled about and then began to pour into the auditorium to take their seats. It was the day before Christmas Eve and excitement and goodwill filled the air.
Outside in the foggy streets, the gas lamps burning like baleful moons, I was preparing to enact a very different scene. I was most uncomfortably cold, and, I confess, not a little apprehensive that something might go wrong. I might fail to execute my part successfully, and end up injured, or worse, in prison. I hope I am a brave man, but this thought required of me all the courage I possessed. There is something uniquely terrible about disgrace before your fellows, and the society to which you belong and owe your loyalties.
More Holmes for the Holidays Page 2