Sherlock Holmes in Russia

‘Perhaps you’d like me to accompany you,’ our host offered graciously.

‘Oh, no, we’ll find our own way. We don’t intend to go very far.’

We went out and for half an hour strolled round the house. I saw that Holmes missed nothing, not the slightest detail. Soon we had gone round all the outhouses and seen where everything stood and what was kept where. An old man passed by. Holmes hailed him and proffered him half a rouble to show us the grounds in detail. The old fellow was delighted at his good fortune and couldn’t thank us enough. He was a herdsman and told us he had lived there as long ago as the days of the late owner, the grandmother of Boris Nikolayevitch.

We wandered round the yard, examining whatever we saw, and eventually arrived in front of a small doorway. It was covered with metal and bolted with a large hanging lock. ‘Is this also a storehouse?’ asked Holmes.

The old man’s face took on an enigmatic appearance, ‘No, sir, not a barn. Mind you, when the late mistress was alive, oil paint was kept here for the roof, linseed oil as a base for varnish and other things. But since the new master took over, something strange seems to have appeared inside.’

‘Something strange, say you?’ asked Holmes. ‘What could it possibly be?’

‘How can I put it sir, since I don’t know and neither does anyone else.’ The old man lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Since the very day the new master arrived, none of us has been inside. I saw him drag in a huge chest, but nobody knows what was inside. He himself goes in twice daily, but none of us is allowed there.’

‘Well, I never!’ said Holmes in a tone of evident disapproval.

‘Oh, yes, sir! You can hear it moaning,’ whispered the old man enigmatically.

‘What is it that is moaning?’ asked a surprised Holmes.

‘Whatever is locked in that chest. Some folk say that a man who has lost his mind is hidden inside. Someone possessed. Might be related to the master!’

‘Where do you get all that from?’

‘I’ll tell you where from. Sometimes at night you can hear someone grunting or snarling. It is neither a human sound nor an animal’s either.’

‘Maybe someone got frightened and just said it,’ suggested Holmes.

‘Out of fright!’ said the old man, this time truly aggrieved, ‘I heard it myself.’

Holmes approached the door and looked at the lock. ‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘this is no ordinary lock. You wouldn’t easily find a key to fit it. In any case, if I were to decide to open it for myself, it would take a considerable while.’ He turned suddenly and looked at the big house.

I don’t know what made me, but I automatically followed his example and that very moment I noticed the figure of Boris Nikolayevitch jumping back from the window as soon as we turned around. Actually, I don’t know whether this was so or merely appeared so to me, but the expression on the nephew of the dead man was on this occasion particularly strange. It seemed to me that his eyes looked at us with an unnatural anger. But all this was only momentary.

Holmes turned away calmly from the mysterious shed and we continued on our way still interrogating the old man about any old trivia. Our stroll didn’t last more than an hour. When we had had enough of the yard, we went in again and this time, meeting nobody, went to our room.

VII

We had just about retired, when there was a knock at the door. It was Boris Nikolayevitch, come to ask whether we’d like to have supper before retiring for the night. He looked perfectly content to accept our refusal, wished us a good night and departed.

We began to undress, but before we went to bed, Sherlock Holmes locked the door, leaving the key in the door and, approaching the window, began to look out carefully at the grounds. He stood like that for nigh on a quarter of an hour. Then he reached into his pocket for his leather case, took out a few nails and once again very carefully nailed them into the frame of the pane.

Next he put out the light, came up to my bed and leaning down to my ear whispered very softly, ‘My dear Watson, have your revolver at the ready and under no circumstances let go of it. In the meantime, I suggest that you part the curtains carefully and give your attention to anything that occurs anywhere near our window.’

We tiptoed towards the curtains, parted them ever so slightly and put our eyes to the gap. A pale moon had risen and cast its mysterious light over the park. We tried to stand so quietly that the slightest move would not betray our vigil. A considerable time must have passed. I couldn’t check the time in the dark, but it must have been all of two hours.

I became bored by the long silence and finally just had to ask Holmes, albeit softly, ‘What do you suppose is going on?’

‘Quiet,’ he said. ‘This is no time for conjecture. We’ll know everything in the morning.’

And once again, hour after hour stretched past. My legs became numb from prolonged standing and I lost all sense of where I stood.