Sherlock Holmes in Russia (5 page)

We set off again, this time with Seltzoff tied up, though to keep him warm, we gave him another coat to replace the one we had taken away.

Forty-seven pounds of gold were recovered from it.

The story of how the gold stolen from the Brothers’ Mine was found spread like wildfire throughout the whole of Siberia. Sherlock Holmes’s name was passed from mouth to mouth, while tales of his exploits were so exaggerated that he became some sort of mythical hero. Often, he had to listen to the most incredible stories about himself, with which we were entertained on trains by fellow passengers who did not know our surnames. Holmes was terribly amused and entertained by such stories.

The following case occurred half a year after the withdrawal from Mukden, in north-east China, of troops who had participated in the Russo–Japanese War (1904–05). We were on our way to Harbin, also in north-east China, from where we intended to go to Vladivostok, Russia’s port on the Pacific Ocean, and then to return to European Russia via Khabarovsk, Blagoveschensk and Stretensk. This route would enable us to
visit all the principal cities of Siberia.

On a grey September day our train stopped at Baikal station, named after the great Siberian lake on which it stood.

The stopover was a long one, so we got off at the station to have lunch, to taste the famous Baikal salmon, extolled by Siberian exiles.

We had eaten this fish and the ghastly soup that was on the menu, when a cavalry captain, and officer of gendarmes, sat down opposite us. He looked at Holmes, and his brows puckered as though he recalled something.

Sherlock Holmes also looked at him and suddenly smiled, ‘I think you and I recognize each other, Captain,’ he said, raising his cap. ‘I had the honour of seeing you half a year ago at the headquarters of the Moscow police. As far as I remember, you were summoned in connection with counterfeit gold five-rouble pieces!’

‘Quite so!’ said the officer and saluted. ‘It took me a while to recognize you, but now I do. Aren’t you Mr Sherlock Holmes?’

‘Yes!’

‘And this is your friend, Dr Watson.’

I bowed.

On the one hand, Sherlock Holmes wasn’t shy or withdrawn when he met someone. On the other, he didn’t like to draw public attention to himself, which would have happened if anyone had heard his name pronounced aloud. So he suggested we adjourn to a separate little table in a corner of the station buffet.

A waiter moved our food and cutlery and we took up our new places.

‘You’ve been transferred here from European Russia?’ asked Holmes.

‘Yes, four months ago,’ said the cavalry captain.

‘And if I am not mistaken, your surname is Zviagin.’

‘Absolutely right!’

‘And are you satisfied with your new appointment?’ asked Holmes.

‘Not particularly.’

‘Boring?’

‘Oh, no! The problem is that pilfering on the railroad, and especially on Siberian railways, is on such a monumental scale that not a single consignor can be assured his consignment is safe. I was assigned to investigate this phenomenon but, alas, I reckon with horror that I cannot cope with it.’

‘Really!’ Holmes gave an ironic little laugh.

‘There is so much pilfering and it is all so cleverly organized, I’m simply lost as to which one to investigate first and how!’

‘Have you any idea of the monetary scale of the pilfering, say in one month?’

‘Oh, yes!’

‘And, as a matter of interest—?’ asked Holmes.

‘Well, for example, take July. One hundred thousand roubles worth of state-owned consignments haven’t reached Manchuria and Harbin stations. Private cargoes worth seventy thousand never reached their destination.’

‘I say!’ exclaimed Holmes, taken considerably aback.

‘This may seem considerable to you foreigners,’ said Zviagin with a little laugh, ‘but in Russia, and especially here in Siberia, we are quite used to such sums.’

At this moment, another officer of gendarmes came up to Zviagin.

‘From whence?’ asked Captain Zviagin

The newcomer named one of the larger Siberian cities.

‘Passing through?’ asked Zviagin.

‘Yes, I took some leave to get about a little.’

They exchanged a few words and the newcomer left.

‘There’s a lucky fellow,’ sighed Zviagin.

‘Who is he?’ asked Holmes.

‘Security Chief for his city. A year younger than me, a mere
twelve years on the job, gets a salary of six thousand a year, plus another thirty thousand expenses for which he doesn’t have to account.’

‘What!’ Holmes asked in total shock. ‘Thirty thousand a year for which he doesn’t have to account!’

‘Yes!’

‘For what purpose?’

‘Finding spies, etcetera.’

‘Dammit, my dear Watson,’ exclaimed Holmes, absolutely stunned. ‘What would our Parliament have to say if presented with this sort of thing!’

He turned to Zviagin again and asked, ‘Can one security department in a provincial town spend that on political investigation?’

‘Some have more,’ said Zviagin coolly.

‘I’ve never heard of any such thing,’ said Holmes, now thoroughly embarrassed. ‘One would think half your population are political offenders. But … if that’s so, the term loses its meaning.’

‘Not entirely,’ Zviagin answered with a smile. ‘In any case, talking to a foreigner about this is a waste of time. You do things your way and we do things our way.’ He gave another deep sigh and lit a cigarette.

A subordinate appeared. ‘Your Excellency, the freight car arrived at the next station with half its cargo missing again,’ he reported. ‘Mitayeff is just back from there.’

Zviagin swore, ‘See for yourself. You take up one case and at the same time you are presented with a second … and a fifth … and a tenth.’

He looked at Sherlock Holmes in despair. ‘I’d give half my life for your assistance,’ he exclaimed and gave the famous detective a beseeching look.

The idea seemed to have lodged itself in his head and he began to beg Sherlock Holmes and me to stay for a while to put
an end to these dreadful goings-on. ‘You can demand any payment,’ he exclaimed.

‘But we’re here only as tourists,’ countered Holmes.

‘That’s wonderful! I’ll show you the whole of the Baikal, the forests and bush land of the Varguzinsk taiga, and the penal servitude settlements. You’ll see much that’s interesting, things that you could never see otherwise when you travel by train. And what is more, we’ll split the reward half and half.’

Holmes turned to me, ‘Wouldn’t you say it’s worth thinking about, my dear Watson. What do you think?’

‘It’s certainly a very tempting offer,’ I answered.

‘But, of course, do stay on,’ Zviagin kept on insistently, encouraged by what my friend had said.

Holmes was considering something.

‘Well,’ the cavalry captain urged him.

‘It’s settled! I’m staying,’ answered Holmes.

‘Bravo!’ Zviagin exclaimed happily. ‘Hey there, waiter, let’s have a bottle of champagne and call a porter!’

Our luggage and other things were transferred out of our compartment and placed in the station waiting area, while we went back to our table on which champagne already foamed in tall flutes.

‘And so, I only ask that our real names should not be revealed to anyone,’ said Holmes, as he clinked glasses with Zviagin and me. ‘Let your people think we are ordinary detectives you have employed. We were looking for work on the railroad, we became accidentally acquainted and you made us a tempting offer.’

‘What about the railway and engineering senior staff?’ asked Zviagin.

‘Let them think we are your relations. We’ll see how we go.’

‘That’s why, in the absence of a hotel hereabouts, you can stay at my place, all right?’ Zviagin suggested.

‘Of course!’

Our initial conversation and any further talk about the case was now over. A second bottle was placed before us. After spending about an hour in the station buffet, we moved on to Zviagin’s place, put our things away and locked ourselves in with him in his study to plan what we would do.

‘How often do passenger trains pass through here?’ asked Holmes.

‘Twice a day,’ answered Zviagin.

‘And freight trains?’

Zviagin made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

‘When and how they please?’ asked Holmes.

‘Something like that,’ answered Zviagin.

‘Do you suspect anyone?’

‘Everyone!’ said Zviagin sharply.

‘What do you mean by everyone?’ asked Holmes in surprise.

‘It’s simply that I think everyone steals, starting with the bosses at the top, down to the signalman.’

‘If I understand the captain all right, my dear Watson, we will have to deal with half of Russia.’

‘At any rate, the whole of the railroad,’ broke in Zviagin angrily.

Having got some more information out of Zviagin, we took the maps and plans of the railway system going around Lake Baikal and beyond and went to our rooms.

I must have been long asleep while Holmes still pored over timetables and maps. And though he went to sleep after me, he was already at work when I woke up. His notebook, filled with a mass of notes, lay before him.

Seeing that I was awake, he nodded his head at me and said, ‘Get up, Watson. Today, we’re going for a little trip on a freight train.’

‘Now?’

‘No, we’ll spend the day examining the station and storerooms. In the evening, we’ll take a little trip beyond Lake Baikal and return tomorrow.’

It was an exhausting day. Sherlock Holmes examined the railway, warehouses, the railway station for freight trains, and drew the conclusion that the system was chaotic enough to make stealing mere child’s play. ‘It would be a miracle if there wasn’t any stealing,’ he said. ‘The first thing that hits you between the eyes is that none of the staff is in their appointed places. It’s a wonder that the station manager and district manager haven’t been stolen!’

‘Perhaps they are not worth stealing,’ I answered.

‘I quite agree, my dear Watson,’ said Holmes, laughing at this quip.

We took a nap after lunch and in the evening went to the railway station. The train conductors and the station staff in general didn’t know us yet, so we easily got the chief conductor of the freight train to let us ride first class round Lake Baikal for less than a rouble. Holmes deliberately rode as a passenger without a ticket, because a passenger without a ticket raised no suspicion.

At ten o’clock at night the train left. It was a dark night and the huge cliffs on our right added to the gloom. Vast Lake Baikal slept peacefully between its rocky shores. In the dark, they were nearly out of sight, except for the gleam of their dark steel reflection in the water.

The train climbed uphill, from time to time stopping at gloomy stations that looked like the lair of bandits, and diving in and out of tunnels.

We stood on one of the platforms at the rear of a carriage in the middle of the train, admiring the picture of a grim Siberian night. About three hours later we arrived at a small railway station. It was about 12.30 in the middle of the night.

Our legs were tired from standing or sitting still, so Sherlock Holmes suggested we stretch our legs along the station platform. Half the lights were out, probably for reasons of economy, and it was dark everywhere. We walked up and down waiting for the departure signal.

Suddenly, a loud male voice yelled in the darkness, ‘D’you hear, Burmistoff, send your locomotive to hell.’

‘I’m coming,’ answered a voice from the engine.

‘Come on, hurry, the vodka is waiting.’

‘But when will you let the train move on?’

‘When we’ve had enough to eat, that’s when I’ll let it go.’

The voices fell silent.

We went up to the locomotive and saw only the stoker inside.

‘When is the train departing?’ Holmes asked him.

‘Only after the engine driver has had his dinner,’ said the stoker imperturbably. ‘Didn’t you see him go off to dinner with the stationmaster?’

‘Did you hear that?’ muttered Holmes, confused and perplexed, when we had gone some way from the engine.

‘I did!’ I answered.

‘Is that what they call a timetable? Let’s see what happens now!’

It was a long wait. The engine driver took two hours over his dinner. Eventually, very unsteady on his feet, he emerged from the station house accompanied by an even more inebriated stationmaster.

‘—it’s those bastards, the correspondents, I fear,’ loudly resonated from the stationmaster, evidently concluding a conversation that had begun earlier. ‘Earlier on, that trash never bothered coming here, it being free-and-easy enough elsewhere.
Then came the war and they were here one after another, like evil spirits.’

‘Ye-es,’ drawled the engine driver in his deep bass.

‘But most important, you didn’t know where such fellows are likely to pop up from,’ the stationmaster continued. ‘You even find ’em amongst the military! Turn up, sniff out and disappear.’

‘You should’ve pushed one of ’em under the wheels … like it was an accident.’

‘Brother, you won’t get hold of one of ’em. Too quick, and they always come on a passenger train. How can you tell ’em for what they are? Just as well they don’t rummage about on freight trains or we’d be back in no time on just our wages.’

‘Bloody swine!’ swore the engine driver.

They moved towards the locomotive.

‘How about one for the road?’ suggested the stationmaster. ‘A little cognac?’

‘Why not!’

‘Hey, there, Ivan,’ called out the stationmaster. ‘Cognac and glasses here!’

The two friends disposed themselves on the grass and a few minutes later started drinking again.

We hid behind a carriage and listened.

‘How many carriages did you take?’ we heard the voice of the stationmaster.

‘From Aberyantz?’ asked the driver.

‘Yes.’

‘Two,’ said the driver.

‘Did you get much?’

‘Twenty roubles each,’ answered the driver.

‘Ah, yes, he did complain to me about you. He said it’s robbery.’

‘Let him! The other day you showed me those carriages, so I ordered them to be uncoupled from the rest of the train. He noticed and came along. “Who gave orders to uncouple those
carriages? They’re supposed to travel non-stop and they’ve been coming from Russia for all of four months. That’s a disgrace!” And on and on he went. So I tell him, “The train has to go uphill and is lugging too many carriages. The locomotive will never make it, so the hind carriages had to be uncoupled.” So that’s why he must’ve come to you.’