Sherlock Holmes in Russia

by Alex Auswaks

  He bent low and crept to the pile of goods belonging to the Red Cross, covered with tarpaulin. Soon enough, we saw the silhouettes of three men, amongst whom I recognized that of Bakhtadian. We crept nearer, ducked under the tarpaulin and began to listen. ‘You don’t have much to sell, have you?’ Bakhtadian was asking quietly.

  ‘As far as we are concerned, we have army quartermasters as part of us, which means we can let you have quite a lot,’ said another voice. ‘Everything you take, we can show as having been forwarded but destroyed during the retreat. We’ve come to an agreement over this with most army quartermasters. But you have to take the stuff as soon as possible, before the commission checking on remainder quantities gets to work.’

  ‘So where do we get the stuff from?’

  ‘Partly here, partly in Harbin.’

  ‘What have you got?’

  ‘Mainly tinned goods, canvas, leather of all sorts, ready-made boots, oats, barley, flour—’

  ‘And where do we discuss prices?’

  ‘See me. I arrived today and I’m staying with the quartermaster.’

  ‘Very well, but how do you aim to bring the cargo from Harbin?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. We live in harmony with the railways and share everything.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll see you tomorrow morning,’ said Bakhtadian.

  And evidently now turning to the third man, he said, ‘And how about you?’

  ‘The same as with them,’ the third voice answered. ‘There’s a lot you can buy from us in the Red Cross, sugar, underwear, wine, cloth, tobacco, tinned goods—’

  ‘Where can they be picked up?’

  ‘Also here, then in Goon Ju Lin, Harbin.’

  ‘No fear of discovery?’

  ‘No fear. We’re dealing with people who won’t talk.’ He proceeded to name names, which Holmes quickly wrote down under the light of a concealed torch.

  ‘So how did you find me?’

  ‘Ivan Nikolayevitch recommended you to me.’

  ‘Yes, I was the one who told Trudin,’ a third voice confirmed.

  ‘Hmmm,’ lowed Bakhtadian. ‘Come to Ivan Nikolayevitch tomorrow morning, agree on a price and then start moving the stuff.’

  ‘Done!’

  We heard all three depart while continuing their conversation. We left our hiding place and began to return, but Holmes didn’t go to the station. ‘I have to ascertain one or two things,’ he said, ‘so, tonight, you’re on your own.’ We shook hands and he vanished.

  XIII

  The following day at about noon Holmes came home excited and happy.

  He said not a word, but seized a sheet of paper, dashed off a telegram and rushed off to the telegraph office.

  ‘Well, my dear Watson,’ he said, when he returned half an hour later, ‘now I’ve got them all firmly in my hands. In three days time, all the stolen goods will be freighted from everywhere.’

  ‘You’ve seen something?’ I asked.

  ‘More than necessary,’ said Holmes cheerfully. ‘When we parted, I went to the home of the quartermaster. His orderly was outside and we fell into conversation. He told me that there was a guest, an official of the Harbin quartermaster. This official’s name is Ivan Nikolayevitch Bravoff, who has been assigned a corner room with windows leading into the garden. When the orderly went to bed, I climbed up to the roof without any problem and slipped into the attic through the dormer window. I found the area above Bravoff’s room and drilled a hole in the ceiling. I sat there quietly without moving all night. At about eight, peeking through the hole, I saw Bakhtadian appear, then Trudin and, finally, a fellow called Verkhoveroff, an assistant stationmaster. They all began to haggle without any constraint, naming many names participating in the business, all of which I was able to write down. Amongst them were generals, and engineers, and agents empowered to act on behalf of the Red Cross. The discussion was so frank and open, I was really convinced that without the indirect help of such people, neither Bakhtadian, nor Trudin, nor Bravoff was in a position to do anything or would have to limit themselves to trifles. Some of those named were in such high positions, they themselves had such powerful patronage (protexia, as they call it hereabouts), that they could have any investigation or prosecution against themselves suppressed. But that, Watson, is none of our business. In three days time, the delivery to the secret depot from their nearest points begins. Then, from the furthest to the nearest, which will now serve as intermediate points. It looks as if this gang is so sure of the power of the people at the top that the members operate openly. Well, we’ll see. The day after tomorrow sees the arrival of Zviagin with gendarmes in disguise.’

  *

  XIV

  For two days we quietly held ourselves ready, continuing to watch Bakhtadian. At the end of the second day Zviagin arrived with eight disguised gendarmes. Like them, he, too, was in civvies. They went by train to the nearest station and walked from there. They arrived late at night and, so as not to attract suspicion, settled themselves in a shed in our yard.

  Holmes told them in minute detail everything that had happened in the meantime. They made notes all night, but I noticed both fear and indecisiveness reflected on Zviagin’s face.

  We were all up early. Bakhtadian arrived at about nine. He told us that, in a day or two, he’d be delivering a vast amount of goods to us and, asking us to prepare space and money, he left.

  The rest of the day I spent with Holmes at the station. Dressed as labourers, we attracted no attention and were easily able to watch four freight cars standing on the outward route being loaded in preparation for departure, while Bakhtadian and the depot manager looked on from a distance. The cargo for these freight cars was brought on Chinese carts from a small village.

  At the same time, a freight train arrived from the east. The chief conductor came up to Bakhtadian and, having said something to him, poked a finger at three successive carriages at the rear of the train.

  Holmes looked at them and smirked, ‘They’re not sealed, but are bound to have goods inside.’ And as if to confirm his observation, the door of one opened and out jumped Bravoff and Trudin.

  With the help of the Chinese, they began to unload the three freight cars and transfer the chests to the still-empty freight cars on the outward route which had been loaded up by Bakhtadian. There was now one long line of rolling stock.

  ‘Let’s go home,’ Holmes whispered to me.

  Zviagin was already waiting. He was gloomy and deep in thought.

  ‘Captain, three gendarmes by cart to the tunnel I told you about,’ said Holmes hurriedly. ‘They are to take their positions at the eastern exit and, when the alarm is raised, detain everyone.’

  Zviagin issued the necessary orders.

  ‘Now, sir,’ continued Holmes, ‘the other gendarmes are to hurry on their carts and make haste to the tunnel. But they have to conceal themselves not far from the western entrance, so that they can see the trains. As soon as they see three flashes from a torch coming from one of the trains, they must hurry, but very carefully, into the tunnel. As for us, we have to hurry to the station.’

  We checked our revolvers and new torches and set off for the station. The train, now fully loaded, stood on the outward route. The three of us hurried towards it.

  Holmes left us for a few minutes and when he came back, whispered, ‘There are eight of them. Four are on the platform in the rear of the first carriage and four on the fourth. There’s nobody on any of the other platforms.’

  The locomotive was now attached to the train and the full complement moved slowly forward. The three of us jumped on one of the end carriages and we were off. We passed a station and Holmes observed that the stationmaster let it through although it wasn’t travelling by any timetable. The train wasn’t even examined and simply moved on. All this was done openly.

  The train went through several tunnels and then began to go uphill. Before we got to the tunnel we wanted, Holmes flashed his torch thrice.

 
Approaching the tunnel, the train slowed down to such an extent that it would have been possible to keep up with it at a walking pace. Then, when the last carriage had entered the tunnel, the train ground to a complete halt. We threw on our dark cloaks and, at a signal from Holmes, jumped off our platform and cautiously moved along the tunnel.

  Light appeared on the other side of the freight car and voices could be heard. The carriage doors began to open. Someone was issuing orders and, one after another, chests tumbled off the trains and thudded on the ground, where they were picked up.

  We crept into one of the niches and, squatting on our heels, we watched how the work proceeded on the other side of the wheels.

  Half an hour passed. Suddenly there was a rustle from the western side. Holmes took out his revolver, rushed off in that direction and vanished in the dark.

  Our nerves tense, we awaited the appearance of the unknown people from the west. And then, suddenly before us, as if he had sprung from the ground, Holmes appeared with a bunch of people in tow. These were the gendarmes who had responded to the agreed signal. At a signal from Holmes, they, too, hid with us in the niche and we waited.

  All of a sudden a clear voice broke the silence, ‘Take the train back. Everything’s been unloaded. Too crammed to work here.’ The wheels clattered and the train began to crawl back.

  We pressed ourselves to the wall, our cloaks held together to ensure we weren’t seen from the locomotive. But the driver must have been looking the other way and never even noticed us when the sparks from the train and its lamps lit us up. Another minute and the train was gone. We threw off our cloaks.

  It was an unusual scene that we saw! Eight people, looking like underground spirits, were working in a darkness lit up by crimson and purple flares. We saw how Bakhtadian moved towards the side of the tunnel, inserted a small rod into it and part of the wall fell back, leaving what appeared to be an entrance. A bright light came through it and lit up the tunnel. All eight energetically fell to shifting the chests towards it.

  ‘Forward!’ ordered Holmes.

  Revolvers at the ready, we threw ourselves towards the opening. The sound of our footsteps alerted the robbers. Bakhtadian tried to make a run for the entrance that had just yawned open, but Holmes’s revolver rang out and he fell prostrate to the ground.

  ‘Don’t move, if your life is dear to you,’ barked Holmes loudly.

  But the robbers only fired back. They had recovered, moved together and were firing as they retreated towards the east.

  There came a fierce exchange of fire in this underworld domain and in the near-absolute darkness, someone must have been wounded. We heard him moan in pain. Cries intermingled with curses and gunshots.

  ‘Gendarmes Petroff and Sidorchuk, action,’ barked Zviagin.

  Two shots echoed from behind the robbers.

  ‘Don’t shoot!’ Zviagin shouted. The gunfire from behind them panicked the robbers. Cries for mercy came from among them. One after another, they threw down their arms and begged for mercy. With our torches on, we approached them slowly, our revolvers at the ready.

  ‘Two gendarmes on the train and stop it leaving. One stand guard by the cargo!’ Sherlock Holmes gave the order.

  And turning to the robbers, he said coldly, ‘And as for you, the wisest course is to let yourselves be tied up. There’s more of us than you think and the eastern exit is guarded. Hurry up, Mr Bravoff, and you, Mr Trudin.’

  The men from the Red Cross and the quartermaster stood silently, their heads lowered.

  ‘Gendarmes, take them!’ ordered Zviagin.

  At the word ‘gendarmes’, a shudder went through the robber band. Up until now they must have thought they were dealing with another robber gang. But as soon as the word ‘gendarmes’ sounded and the disguised men moved forward, several members of the robber band raised their revolvers in a desperate resolve.

  ‘Aha! So that’s how it is!’ shouted Holmes, raising his revolver.

  In the same moment, seven gendarmes fired in coordination and four ruffians fell to the ground covered in blood and filling the tunnel with their cries. Bravoff fell with them. That was their last attempt to defend themselves. Their numbers down, their morale gone, the remaining robbers stood there shaking in fear.

  XV

  ‘Take ’em!’ shouted Zviagin and rushed forward. The robbers were tied up in no time.

  ‘God help us!’ suddenly a desperate cry burst from Holmes. We turned to look at him. He was moving like lightning towards the entrance to the underground warehouse. He got as far as some object lying on the ground when there was the sound of a blow and we saw Holmes, his face distorted, dragging an unconscious Bakhtadian away.

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

  ‘A few more seconds and this villain would have blown himself up and us with him,’ answered Holmes. ‘We paid no attention to him because he was wounded. He realized there was no escape, so he gathered up all his strength, dragged himself to the spot where there is a fuse coming from a mine inside the wall. I seized him just as he lit the match to light the Bickford cord. Just as well I got to him in time to prevent him blowing us all to kingdom come!’

  The wounded groaned in pain.

  Out of my pocket I took bandages and my campaign first aid kit with all the items needed for caring for the wounded and began to tend to them.

  We left men to guard the gang and the three of us, with two gendarmes, went to examine the underground storage chamber. The entrance was a first-class piece of workmanship. It was made up of four large stone slabs. They were fixed into a thick iron frame so skilfully that the closest scrutiny couldn’t distinguish them from the tunnel walls. Once through them, we were in a vast underground grotto carved out of the rock.

  The grotto was lit up by ten bright lamps, whose light fell on mountains of chests filled with the most varied goods. In one corner there was a small office desk with a thick notebook on it. Entered up in it with absolute precision were the supply and delivery of goods, with notes indicating from whom delivered and to whom sold.

  ‘This is all we need,’ said Holmes, taking the book. He turned to Zviagin, ‘I’ve done my job. Here is a list of all those mixed up in this business. One hundred and ninety-two major figures and, as for small fry, probably ten times more.’

  Zviagin took the list and with a frown began to scan it, ‘These are VIPs,’ he said, looking troubled and confused. ‘How does one get to them?’ He fell silent.

  Holmes looked at him ironically. ‘The root of the evil must be sought at the top of a rotten bureaucracy for which some little man is usually made to carry the blame. If in all seriousness you wish to get rid of this evil, you will only be saved by a just and correct Parliamentary system.’

  ‘And that’s already not up to me,’ said Zviagin coldly.

  ‘But, surely, the fact that such people participate in such matters proves the necessity for public control by the people and not bureaucratic control out of which these people emerged,’ Holmes persisted.

  ‘I would ask you not to say such things in the presence of lower ranks,’ Zviagin interrupted him curtly and added, ‘Our job is done. The sentries are in place. We can go.’

  We came out, got aboard the train waiting near the tunnel and ordered ourselves to be taken back.

  *

  XVI

  Several years have passed since then. We read the accounts of trials. We knew that the case brought to trial was subject to considerable alteration. Many, many were brought to book, but it was the small fry who paid the price, plus a few secondary officials in various departments.

  The First and the Second Governmental Dumas, the Russian attempt at a Parliament, were dissolved before either could get to the happenings in Siberia and Manchuria. The Third Governmental Duma was so overwhelmed with legislation and so occupied with good intentions, that it had absolutely no time for Siberia.

  3

  THE STRANGLER

  P. Nikitin

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  Sherlock Holmes was reading the papers when I came into his hotel room. Seeing me, he put aside the newspaper he was reading and said, ‘In the sort of life we lead, either we are asked to do something or, for some reason or another, we do it of our own accord.’

  ‘You are speaking of—’ I prompted.

  ‘I am speaking of our profession. More often than not, we are approached for assistance by others, but there are times when something crops up and investigating it is a positive joy, despite the fact that nobody has asked us to look into the matter.’

  ‘Do I take it that you’ve found something interesting in the papers today?’ I asked.

  ‘You are absolutely right, Watson,’ Holmes answered. ‘Today’s papers are full of a particularly mysterious crime committed yesterday not far from Moscow and, if you are interested, let me read you one of the accounts of it.’

  ‘But, of course,’ I answered. ‘You know perfectly well that I am always interested in anything that interests you and you would be doing me a great favour if you were to read to me whatever it is that could intrigue you so much.’

  Instead of answering, Holmes picked up one of the newspapers and, finding the required item, began to read out aloud.

  ‘Last night, 25 May, at 11 o’clock in the evening, the police began to investigate a highly mysterious crime which took place near Moscow on the estate of a member of the gentry, Sergey Sergeyevitch Kartzeff.

  ‘At three o’clock in the afternoon, Sergey Sergeyevitch Kartzeff locked himself in his bedroom to rest, as he always did after having dined at home. Normally, his valet would wake him by knocking on the door after a couple of hours. This time, despite several attempts by the valet, there was no answer. Surprised at his master’s failure to respond, the valet knocked harder, but there was still no response. The valet now became anxious, ran to fetch the cook and maid, and all three of them began to beat on the door, but there was still no response. Fearing that something untoward might have occurred, they broke it down and found Sergey Sergeyevitch Kartzeff dead. He was lying in his bed, his eyes bursting out of their sockets and his face blue. The district police and an investigator were immediately sent for and on arrival at the scene of the crime pronounced that Sergey Sergeyevitch had been strangled to death. A close inspection of the scene yielded only contradictory and incomprehensible results. First, it was established that at the time the crime was committed, the room was locked from the inside, though the lock was damaged because the staff had had to use force to break in. The window had been sealed for the winter and only a hinged pane in it could be opened, so small that a seven-year-old child could hardly squeeze through it. The room was on the second floor, and it had no other openings or apertures, even through the stove. Nevertheless, the old man’s throat showed clear traces of a strangler’s unusually long fingers. The face of the dead man was severely scratched in several places. An examination of the window, the windowsill and the ground beneath the window showed absolutely no clues of any sort. This might have been caused by a light drizzle which had been falling that day and most probably washed away all traces. The whole house stands in its own grounds. All that the investigators found were several strange traces on the wall outside of the room in which the corpse was found. These traces, most probably, belonged to some freak of nature whose fingers were inordinately long and left such strange prints. The staff were asked whether anyone in the house had deformed feet, but they all declared there never had been anyone like that. The investigators cross-examined the entire staff. Old man Kartzeff was a bit of a recluse, they said, enjoyed managing the estate, seldom received guests, visited neighbouring landowners and got along with everyone. He treated peasants and workers kindly, which ruled out revenge as a motive. Moreover, there is one other circumstance pointing to robbery as a motive. A drawer of the dead man’s desk was open and there were many papers and objects strewn all over the floor as if in haste. Asked by the investigators who had recently visited the deceased, the servants testified that since the end of winter there had only been two visitors. One was his nephew, Boris Nikolayevitch Kartzeff, who lived on his own small estate, Igralino, not too far away, and another nephew, Nikolai Nikolayevitch Kartzeff, brother of Boris, had dropped in a couple of times. The latter was by no means a rich man and occupied himself with some sort of private business in Moscow. Further inquiries established that both nephews had each spent the night in his own home. Thus the investigation has produced no results and it seems that catching the perpetrator will be no easy matter.’