Sherlock Holmes in Russia

‘Sssh,’ I whispered at this moment, seeing the dark silhouette of a man walking back and forth across the road.

Sherlock Holmes abruptly stopped his account and ran to the curtain.

*

XII

‘Now, then, my dear Watson,’ he whispered, ‘redouble your attenton.’

To the extent that the darkness allowed it, we saw that the man appearing to wander aimlessly opposite the house was above average height, well built, wearing a light well-fitting suit. Twice he walked past the countess’s home, stopped and turned his head to the right, peering into the darkness.

A couple of minutes later, a wagon, the kind used to transport furniture, drove from around the corner. It stopped some way from the house, and a man came from it and approached the man standing on the pavement.

The two exchanged a few words, after which one returned to the wagon, while the other remained standing on the pavement.

There were no passers-by.

‘Look! Look!’ whispered Holmes. ‘Look at the fence opposite.’

I looked in the direction he had indicated. A dark, half-rounded silhouette crawled over the top of the fence.

‘Someone is watching the man on the pavement,’ I whispered.

‘Yes, indeed!’ answered Holmes. ‘Slip off your shoes in case we have to move quietly.’

Meanwhile, the man on the pavement looked carefully on all sides and then swiftly crossed the street. Now he was under the window next to ours.

We froze, listening for the slightest sound, taking our revolvers out of our pockets, just in case. The poor countess sat there, more dead than alive, her heart beating loudly in the stillness. We now heard the noise of a cut being made.

‘Diamond cutter,’ whispered Holmes.

The sound was repeated several times and the glass cracked. The curtain billowed as the air blew in and we heard a rustle. Holmes jerked me nervously by the sleeve. I looked out on the street and saw a silhouette waist-high by the fence. The silhouette froze and a shot rang out.

The man on the windowsill gave a loud shriek and we heard his body collapse heavily on the pavement. At this moment, Sherlock Holmes swiftly flung the window open, leapt out and made for the fence.

I couldn’t very well leave him, so I threw myself after him, shouting to the countess, ‘Call the servants! Tie up the man lying outside if he’s lightly wounded! Send after that wagon!’

A moment later we were over the fence in pursuit of the killer. We were so quick that he was unable to run as far as the opposite end of the yard before we caught up with him. But to my surprise, he didn’t point his gun at us. On the contrary, he turned the barrel down towards the ground, waiting for us proudly, evidently not intending to defend himself.

Holmes aimed his revolver with one hand, and with the other took a torch out of his pocket and pointed the beam at the face of the criminal. The man who stood before us was of noble bearing with a handsome open face. He was pale as a sheet, but looked at us with the calm look of a man who had fulfilled his duty. It was the look of a man who had killed an opponent in a duel for insulting someone close or wounded his honour.

‘Count Piotr Vassilievitch Tugaroff, I arrest you,’ said Sherlock Holmes loudly and clearly, lowering his revolver.

‘I surrender,’ answered the count, ‘but I would like to know who I am dealing with.’

‘Of course,’ said Holmes, ‘I am Sherlock Holmes and this is my friend, Dr Watson.’

The count’s eyes lit up joyfully, ‘I am glad that it is you I have to deal with,’ he exclaimed. ‘You will understand me better than most. Let’s go to my house and should you still have any doubts about me, feel free to summon the police. I only ask that you hear my story before I am led away to prison.’

And he threw his weapon down.

‘I do believe you,’ said Holmes unexpectedly. ‘Let’s go. As for the police, they’re bound to be here any minute.’

We made our way to the count’s house. The shot had already disturbed the quiet street. In the distance we heard the trill of a police whistle. At the front door Holmes gave a strong pull at the bell.

‘Who’s there?’ asked the countess.

‘Holmes and Watson,’ answered the former.

The door opened and we entered the well-lit hallway. Seeing her husband, the countess started back, then, with a loud sob, threw herself at him. He embraced her silently, while tears cascaded from her eyes.

XIII

It was a good half-hour before the countess calmed down.

‘I would like to tell all first and then I shall ask you to summon the police,’ said the count at last. ‘But where is the man I shot?’

‘He is heavily wounded and we’ve carried him inside,’ answered Irra.

‘All the better,’ the count nodded his head. ‘But let Irra be the first to know her past.’

‘I already know,’ she murmured and blushed.

‘How?’ he answered upset.

Holmes gave a brief account of his investigations.

‘Hmm! Your fame still doesn’t do you justice,’ said the count, staggered by what he heard. ‘But what convinced you it wasn’t me in that grave?’