Sherlock Holmes in Russia

Our gracious host ordered whisky and soda and we helped ourselves to an Englishman’s favorite tipple, while Holmes delved into the yellowed newspapers.

Over an hour passed. And then Sherlock Holmes joyfully struck the heap of newspapers with the palm of his hand. ‘That’s it!’ he exclaimed happily. ‘Come here, my dear Watson. Let me show you something very unusual, even though this newspaper is all of twenty years old.’

I hastened to his side.

‘In your opinion, my dear Watson, who could our beautiful client possibly be?’

‘The countess?’ I asked, my curiosity excited.

‘Yes!’

‘How am I to know?’ I shrugged my shoulders.

‘I expect you to say, a poor girl of mixed race, adopted by the count.’

‘Of course.’

Sherlock Holmes smiled enigmatically. ‘It would be a great mistake to think that,’ he answered. ‘Just imagine, Watson, that in her own homeland hers was a much higher status, and that she would have been infinitely richer, despite being a countess here, than the count’s fortune.’

‘Damn me, if I follow what you are saying!’ I exclaimed.

‘All this I discovered very simply,’ said Holmes imperturbably. ‘Surely, Watson, in listening to the countess’s account of her origins, you must’ve sensed considerable strains and gaps.’

‘Of course I have,’ I admitted. ‘But, then, what can a woman say who knows nothing about herself and can only describe her past from someone else’s account.’

‘You are quite right,’ Holmes agreed. ‘But doesn’t that mean that whoever told her of her past, lied. If he hadn’t lied, her story wouldn’t have suffered from such defects.’

‘True.’

‘That’s just it! Listening to the countess, it immediately occurred to me that the greatest doubt came over me only when she gave her maiden name, Benaliradjewa. Isn’t it strange, to give such a name to a child who is to be taken away to Russia, baptized and given a Russian education? Besides, the surname is a genuine one; it wasn’t made up. I remember too well the name which resounded up and down India in its time. And here it is again. Let me read something to you from days gone by ‘

Holmes lifted a yellowing newspaper sheet and read:

Telegram from the colonies.

India. Bombay.

The local population is tremendously upset by a particularly audacious theft which took place not far from Bombay from the palace of the rajah, Ben-Ali. Ben-Ali, much respected by all, famed for his riches and influence over the local population, went hunting, leaving his year-old daughter at home. Rajah Ben-Ali, a handsome man, is married to an Englishwoman from a good family. This is why Irra’s skin is more European than Indian. Irra, an only daughter, was worshipped by her family. When Ben-Ali was setting off for the hunt, Irra and her nurse were walking in the palace vicinity. When the nurse and baby hadn’t returned for some time, the alarm was raised. The nurse was found by the roadside, stabbed to death in her bosom. The baby had vanished. Now a full alarm was raised. Thousands of horsemen and men on foot were sent out in all directions, but in vain. Irra had vanished. The rajah returned, widened the search and offered a huge reward for his daughter’s return, but to no avail. The British police joined in the search.

Sherlock Holmes lowered the newspaper and looked at me.

I was visibly upset.

‘And you think—’ I began, but Holmes interrupted me.

‘Little Irra, daughter of Rajah Ben-Ali, kidnapped twenty years ago near Bombay, is found. The sole heiress of one of the richest men in India has become a Russian countess.’

Holmes fell deep into silent thought. Then, ‘Indeed, my dear Watson, we have to act with great care. There is a mystery attached to the life of this young woman and our task is to resolve it.’

Having spent a half-hour in the company of Mr Dewlay, we bade farewell to our cordial host and left.

IX

But we didn’t return to our hotel. Outside, Holmes seemed to consider something. ‘First of all, we have to fortify ourselves with a good portion of roast beef or something else. Let’s find a restaurant, Watson, before night falls.’

We found a restaurant, where we ordered cold roast beef and fried chicken with rice. Our appetite satiated, Holmes turned to me, ‘I shall ask you, my dear Watson, to spend the night at the home of the countess. Say nothing of our discovery. Watch the yard and street with great vigilance. I am off to the cemetery, and shall join you at the countess’s in the morning. She will have to tell the servants that you are a close relation of her husband and that you come from some other town.’

We parted. I carried out Holmes’s instructions to the letter. For some reason, it did appear to me that the countess was being watched, and I advised her to change her bedroom for the time being, to the other end of the apartment. She did as I suggested and moved into a small sitting room, which only opened into a second one.