Sherlock Holmes in Russia

‘I think that the reason is clear,’ I said, ‘if we take into account that at one time all the efforts of the investigation department were solely directed at ferreting out revolutionary organizations, catching terrorists and looking for forbidden literature. Until the revolution got under way, revolutionary organizations were so conspiratorial that catching them was more difficult than catching criminals.’

‘But in the revolutionary period,’ Sherlock Holmes interrupted me, ‘the revolutionary organizations showed their cards far too openly, they operated nearly in the open, as a result of which agents of the security service were able to infiltrate them and this error they haven’t been able to correct even now. It goes without saying that investigations into political affairs require little or no effort these days, but concentrating mostly on political investigation leads to the worst elements in society not being under scrutiny any more. Just look, burglaries in Moscow amaze with their unusual and systematic effrontery. Often they are carried out in the town centre in broad daylight and it is only in rare cases that the police are able to solve these crimes quickly.’

It was a hot day. Strollers filled the boulevard. Dust rose all around us. Neither Holmes nor I liked crowds, preferring more quiet places for our strolls. Which is why, when the boulevard became crowded, we exchanged glances and, understanding each other without words, rose from our bench. Exchanging conversational trivia, we were about to make our way towards Strastniy Boulevard, when we were overtaken by a crowd of drunken hooligans. We sought refuge in a cab.

‘There’s no getting away from them,’ said Sherlock Holmes angrily. ‘In general, my dear Watson, if we were to compare Russia with England, there is much to marvel at. You wouldn’t encounter a tenth of the number of beggars in London as you would here, even though the number of unemployed in London is several times greater than in Moscow.’

Saying this, he drew a cigar out of its case and threw himself back in his seat. ‘When a city or a government isn’t sufficiently concerned with the grey mass of people and is only interested in preserving the interests of the bureaucracy and the capitalist class, that’s what always happens. The grey mass, driven in on itself, sinks like a stone in water.’

In the meantime, our ghastly cabriolet with its metal wheels stopped outside the Moscow Grand Hotel. We settled with the unprepossessing driver and went to our room.

The first thing that we saw, as we came in, was a sealed envelope placed conspicuously in such a way that we could not miss it.

‘I can already anticipate something new,’ said Sherlock Holmes, opening and reading it.

‘Maxim Vasilyevitch Kliukin, publisher and book store proprietor, invites you, Watson, and me – to see him on an urgent matter,’ he added as he finished reading the letter and placed it back on the table.

‘And you, of course, are off to see him instantly.’

‘But, of course. After all, we haven’t done much this month and it wouldn’t go amiss to give ourselves a little shake-up. Let’s have a leisurely lunch and then make our way along Mohovaya Street, where he owns a store.’

We changed, went down to the restaurant, chose a table and ordered lunch.

*

II

At about five in the afternoon we came out on to the square where the Duma stands, turned into Tversky Boulevard, turned into Mohovaya Street and went in the direction of the university.

‘I think I can just about imagine what they’ll tell me when we get there,’ Holmes said as we walked along. ‘If you have read the news in the Moscow papers, you must have seen accounts of a whole number of robberies from major publishers during the last year. Kliukin’s publishing house, as well as his book store, are amongst the biggest in Moscow both as regards the number of publications as well as the variety on sale.’

‘He probably got taken for quite a lot,’ I interrupted, ‘but it seems strange that he decided to come to us.’

Sherlock Holmes shrugged, ‘In order for you not to be surprised, and to understand the reason, you have only to remember our conversation on Tversky Boulevard.’

Without much trouble, we found Benkendorff House in which Kliukin’s store was situated. We asked whether we could see the owner, to which the shop assistant pointed at a lean, darkhaired, middle-aged man sitting at a desk. The desk stood beside one of the display windows and was piled high with papers. We approached him.

‘I had the honour of receiving from you today a letter addressed to me at the Moscow Grand Hotel,’ said Sherlock Holmes with a bow.

The publisher immediately realized who we are. He shook us by the hand, asked us to wait a few moments and went into a back room.