Sherlock Holmes in Russia

‘Yes, it happens to be one of my chief attributes,’ he said merrily, tugging a greasy black cap over his red wig. ‘I’m off this very minute on certain business and I’ll be back in a few hours. While I am away, will you find yourself an appropriate costume, well, at least one like mine. You’ll be more comfortable in it.’

He nodded and was gone. I began to dress. After breakfast I set off for Suhareff Tower and soon acquired all that was necessary.

Two hours later I was completely ready. I changed into my new costume, ordered a cold buffet with wine, and waited for Holmes. I didn’t have to wait long. Holmes returned at about ten.

‘Now isn’t this a treat!’ he said, looking at the table which had been set. ‘On my way home, I was thinking of a mid-morning snack. We’d best fortify ourselves as we might not be able to do so for some considerable time.’

We had a leisurely breakfast-cum-lunch while Holmes expounded on what he had been up to.

‘Yes, my dear Watson, you may compliment me on the wide circle of acquaintances amongst street bookstalls which I have made today. And getting to know the porter of the building in which Nikanoroff has his bookstore didn’t get in the way of progress, either. And just imagine what I discovered!’

‘Well?’

‘Nikanoroff is not Nikanoroff at all. He is actually Gabriel Voropayeff. The book store is registered in Nikanoroff’s name, but he is unknown to the smaller stallholders and is never seen there, not as Nikanoroff. Gabriel Voropayeff, the boss, is the chap I had the pleasure of dealing with yesterday and he is nicknamed Gavriushka. I gather, from hints dropped by others, that he is a somewhat shadowy figure. Luckily, there is a third-rate tavern opposite his premises and from it we’ll be able to observe who comes and goes in and out of it.’

He fell silent and set about polishing off the roast beef. Having eaten, we left the hotel, with the suspicious eyes of grand-looking porters and door-keepers examining us from head to toe.

VI

‘Perhaps I am mistaken, but I thought your absence was overlong,’ I said as we strode along.

‘Yes, I did stop off at a few more places,’ he answered. ‘I hope you won’t think it strange that as of today I am the assistant to the warehouseman of the publisher Dmitry Panfilovitch Yefimoff.’

‘Whatever for?’ I asked in surprise.

‘I had to do it to familiarize myself with his employees. Besides that, I was able to drop in on Kliukin, Karbasnikoff and other publishers who had suffered losses. I may now proudly say that I can easily recognize each of their employees.’

Thus, talking shop, we got as far as the book store outside which a black-and-white sign proclaimed: NIKANOROFF BOOKS. We crossed the road into an unclean, third-rate tavern, took a table by the window and ordered tea. Three hours passed in utter boredom and I cannot remember a single day of my life when I drank so much tea.

Although Sherlock Holmes did appear totally at ease, I could see that he never dropped his eyes from the place across the road, examining with a close eye everyone who went in or out. We were going out of our minds from sheer boredom and finally left.

Not being familiar with the employees of the publishers who had been robbed, I couldn’t tell whether any of them were the ones who had been to Nikanoroff. However, since Holmes was making little notes from time to time, he had probably found familiar acquaintances amongst the visitors.

Having left the tavern, we strolled about for an hour or so, returned to our observation post and again got to drinking tea. Sometimes, I still wonder how I managed to survive all that tea.

Little by little, darkness fell. At seven o’clock precisely the shops began to close down. An athletic-looking, dark-haired man with the face of a gangster appeared on the threshold of Nikanoroff’s shop. Two employees appeared with him and the three began to put up shutters over windows and doors.

‘Quite the sympathetic looker, not so?’ Sherlock Holmes whispered ironically, indicating the athletic, dark-haired man with a nod of his head.

‘I take it, from your previous account, that this is undoubtedly the owner of the store,’ I said.

‘Spot on! This is Gavriushka Voropayeff, whom we are yet certain to be dealing with,’ answered Holmes.

Having locked up, Gavriushka stroked his beard as if he had all the time in the world and, having said something to his salesmen, made his leisurely way towards the tavern. I saw Holmes’s eyes light up when the man came in. Fortunately for us, he sat down at an adjoining table and asked for tea. Some twenty minutes later, a middle-aged, crafty-looking man walked in. He looked round, saw our man, approached and greeted him, and sat down beside him.

‘Well, then?’ asked Gavriushka out of the side of his mouth.

‘All right, everything’s OK,’ was the answer.

‘Look out, Fomka, see that you take care. You know for yourself, there’s new measures being undertaken. See that nothing comes out.’