Sherlock Holmes in Russia

‘When the watchmen had gone off, the count summoned his steward, gave him a packet with instructions and announced to all that he was leaving. At this moment, we heard shots fired in the distance. That was the watchmen scaring off whoever it was, on the orders of their master. Our belongings were loaded and secured. With the staff looking at us in bewilderment, we drove through the gate and tore along the road as if we were crazed. The count personally indicated the route to be taken. We turned at the first crossroads and sped ahead, turning right and left by the minute, as if to cover our tracks. We covered about seventy kilometres, allowing the horses only a brief respite. When the horses were too weak to go on, the count ordered the spare horses to be harnessed and we sped off again. As the morning wore on, the coachman begged several times for the horses to be allowed to rest (the first troika we had set out with had simply been abandoned along the road), but the count was adamant. We sped on till the shaft-horse collapsed. The count ordered the coachman to mount one of the others and find, for any amount of money, the best possible horses. The loyal coachman (he’d served the count’s father) galloped off and an hour and a half later was back with three horses of lesser quality and their owner. He was happy to accept two of our exhausted horses with three hundred roubles in exchange for his. Our dead horse was left on the road. The horses were changed and we flew like the wind. At about five we heard a whistle and soon got to some railway station. You should have seen the count’s look of joy when he saw a train. I remember neither the line nor the name of the station. The count jumped out of the carriage, ordered the porters to unload and then wrote something on a piece of paper to which he affixed his seal. Then, I remember, he called the coachman and said, “Listen, Dimitri! Go where you wish, but remember, this girl’s life depends on your silence. Rest here for a while, feed the horses, and go anywhere, where you can sell the carriage and horses. This note and your passport formally attest that they are yours. And here’s another two hundred roubles. Go to your native province of Orlov. I know your village and I’ll get in touch with you there. Should anyone ask after me or the girl, don’t say where you dropped us off. Say nothing about us. Farewell.” ‘