Sherlock Holmes in Russia

‘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

I

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.