Sherlock Holmes in Russia (6 page)

‘Yes! Yes! Well, I told him the driver knows best. He yelled and yelled, threatened to complain. But I know these merchant types. In the end he paid up.’

‘Ha! Ha! Ha!’ laughed the driver.

‘What are you laughing about?’

‘I was thinking to myself, what would a merchant be prepared to pay for a carriage full of his goods and going at normal speed, to be delivered from Moscow to Harbin in China?’

‘I did try calculating it,’ said the stationmaster merrily. ‘According to my calculations, on top of the tariff, about two hundred roubles per carriage.’

‘It used to be more in war-time.’

‘Ye-es! I used to get up to a thousand. Let’s knock back a few more.’

‘Let ’im have it! Anyway, what we are getting should be enough!’

‘Tomorrow I’ll be making money out of Liu Pin Yuan’s freight cars,’ said the stationmaster.

‘Maintenance?’

‘Yes. I’ll tell him they’re out of order. I’ll tell him that they have to be taken to the depot, but the goods cannot be transferred as the seals were affixed in Moscow. A day or so on the alternate track and he’s bound to reach into his wallet. If he doesn’t, I’ll keep them there for a month!’

Both laughed merrily. The bottle gurgled. But half an hour later, the bottle must have been emptied and the inebriated engine driver, having farewelled his friend, clambered up into the locomotive.

The third bell sounded.

The train got under way with such a jerk Holmes and I nearly fell off the platform.

‘Nonetheless … hmm … riding these trains is more dangerous than chasing the most dangerous robbers,’ Sherlock Holmes complained.

The train went off in reckless flight. Carriages shook up and down and side to side as if they, too, were inebriated, and we had to hold on to the handrails for dear life, not to be shaken off the train.

‘Some way of doing things,’ Holmes went on complaining. ‘Any insurance company would be bankrupted if it were to insure trains and people from crashes. And what sort of administration have we here! How do you like it? To have your freight delivered in normal time, you have to hand out two hundred roubles in bribes alone.’

The sentry boxes of the railway security detail flashed past, one after another. And now, at last, the semaphore winked. The drunken engine driver began to slow down and slammed the brakes so abruptly several carriages nearly crashed into one another.

Half an hour passed.

‘Dammit! This is some halt!’ Holmes said indignantly. ‘My dear Watson, let’s ask when the train will move on?’

We headed for the station. The noise of revelry came through one of the windows, drunken singing, loud shouts.

‘Will the train be departing soon?’ Holmes asked some guard.

‘The engine driver and his assistant have to dine first and then it’ll go,’ came the answer.

‘What do you mean, dine!’ asked Holmes, beside himself with rage. ‘He’s eaten more than enough at the last station!’

‘Evidently not enough,’ was the phlegmatic rejoinder.

‘Phooey!’ Holmes spat out and moved back to the train.

‘I say, wouldn’t it be better to get off this train for another, whose driver isn’t so partial to dining out?’ I advised.

‘Hmmm … I’m beginning to think the same myself,’ muttered Holmes. But since no other train was available, we sat on the steps of our carriage and awaited developments.

On this occasion, the engine driver and his assistant took an hour and a half over dinner.

Dawn began to break. At last they appeared. But their appearance! The engine driver had dined so well, he couldn’t go under his own steam. Hence such a glorious procession. Two guards hauled the driver, his heels dragging along the ground. His assistant followed, just about managing to place one foot in front of the other, while singing a rollicking Russian melody.

Holmes gave me a little nudge. ‘My dear Watson, what do you think will happen to the train if this driver and his assistant decide to have another dinner. We may assume we won’t make it to another station after that!’

I simply gestured dismissively with my hand.

‘In any case, let’s have a look whether one of the rear carriages has a platform. It’d be much safer if the train crashes,’ said Holmes.

And so, while the driver and his assistant just about managed to get into the locomotive, Holmes and I got on the platform of the third carriage from the rear.

‘Now, then, Watson—’

Before Sherlock Holmes could finish the sentence, the train gave an incredible jerk and we grabbed at the handrail.

‘This is it!’ I said in horror.

But to our astonishment, we remained in the same place without moving. Holmes poked his head out to see what was going on and suddenly said in amazement, ‘My dear Watson, our train is gone!’

‘How?’ I asked in wonder.

‘Very simply! The driver fell asleep and his assistant gave such a sudden start to the train that the four rear carriages broke off and remained standing with us on one of them, while the train went on.’

Pandemonium broke out at the station. It is likely that a conductor on the train noticed what had happened because, as soon as the train got to the semaphore, it stopped and began to reverse back to the station.

The now inoperative fourth carriage from the rear, with its connecting links broken, was taken out of commission. Two more mighty jerks, which nearly knocked us off our feet, finally exhausted Holmes’s patience. He jumped off the train shouting, ‘Get off, my dear Watson, get off quickly, before our ribs are smashed and our necks are snapped.’

I have to admit that I willingly followed his advice.

The train departed and we remained on an empty station where everyone and everything seemed fast asleep.

Later, we were not to regret letting that train go without us. Exactly three quarters of an hour later, it went off the rails at full speed. It had sped too quickly round one of the turnings. The guard told us that twelve carriages became debris. Several broke up and only the last five carriages survived. The train staff suffered considerable injuries. The driver and his assistant died in the accident; the stoker was badly hurt. Two conductors also died and three were severely injured.

When we heard this news, we adjourned to the cargo platform and, getting out the food we had prepared in advance, satisfied our hunger pangs, which were finally beginning to appear.

Then Holmes brought out his notebook and began to write something in it. ‘I am making a note of those who, in England, would be considered criminals,’ he said.

‘Many?’ I asked.

‘I’m afraid that by the end of our travels, my notebook won’t suffice,’ answered Holmes and shook his head.

Some four hours later, the next goods train pulled into the station. One of the rear carriages being empty, the conductors let the public into it, pocketing the fares for themselves. This was probably common practice, because none of the station higher-ups paid any attention.

I was in total agreement with Holmes, when he said, ‘It seems all Siberian railways are made by the Russian government, not for the population but for the engineers and railroad staff.’

On this second train we passed through several stations, stopping the length of time determined by the driver, though this one didn’t take as long over his meals. This was a great consolation to us.

Unnoticeably, evening crept over us again. It became completely dark. Our train left some station or other and covered about six or seven miles. Suddenly, the engine began to emit alarming whistles. One after another the whistles followed turning into a frenzied wail, while the brakes pressed hard against the wheels. At last the train halted.

We jumped off the platform to see what was going on ahead. Shouts, yells and the most angry swearing came from there, and some sort of light flickered.

‘What’s happened?’ asked an alarmed Holmes of a conductor returning from the locomotive with a torch.

‘We nearly ran into an open freight wagon,’ the man answered and swore.

Soon the train moved again. In fact, as we moved forward, we saw about ten such wagons uncoupled by the side of the track. Piled sleepers lay beside them. Beside the uncoupled wagons,
people with torches stood and cursed for all they were worth.

When our train had moved past this scene and picked up speed, Holmes smirked and said, ‘I’m prepared to bet there’s something illegal going on here, too.’

‘Namely,’ I prompted.

‘First of all, why move sleepers by night? Next, why are ten freight cars being hauled by people when all the sleepers could be hauled on a flat-bed wagon by a locomotive?’

‘Perhaps there wasn’t a locomotive available!’ I said.

‘Now that I gravely doubt,’ said Holmes with a laugh.

Mile after mile flashed by and, at last, the train stopped at a station.

Holmes suggested a break. We got off the train and stretched out on benches for first-and second-class passengers and slept soundly.

Exhausted by the events of the two previous nights, we slept till about eight in the morning. We breakfasted at the station buffet and then explored the station and the area around.

There were earthen huts for building workers not far off.

It was a holiday, and the workers sat in circles by their huts, drinking tea or vodka. We strolled past responding with bows to theirs. One of the groups attracted our attention.

A man, evidently drunk, stood in their midst, addressing the others, ‘I know enough to spill things on him,’ he yelled. ‘I don’t care if he’s an engineer. I’ll make him sorry.’

‘Fired you?’ someone asked.

‘You’re kidding!’ said the first. ‘The section head told me to clear out, so I went to his superior. This is how it is, I tell him. He steals sleepers by the thousand and fires me for taking just a couple of hundred. I’ll send a report to Mr Yugovitch and a copy
to the Minister of Transport Communication.’

‘And what happened?’ asked one of the workers.

‘He promised he’d transfer me to another section if I didn’t send any report. They’ve all got their snouts in the trough, see, so they oughtn’t to make a big deal out of what we small fellows do!’

‘Right! Right! That’s for sure!’ burst out approving voices.

‘See what they do when presented with some of their bloomin’ wonders!’ said one of the workers stepping forward. ‘For example, that one engineer steals sleepers from another engineer. Say, for example, Engineer Ilya Petrovitch instructs his foreman to take ten freight wagons and load them up with sleepers stolen from his friend Feodor Nikolayevitch who runs the adjoining section!’

‘The devil knows what they do under the circumstances!’

‘Don’t you know?’ exclaimed the first worker. ‘Don’t you understand? Say Ilya Petrovitch stole from Feodor Nikolayevitch. Of course, that’s all done to pull the wool over the eyes because, if Feodor Nikolayevitch didn’t want anyone to steal from him, he’d mount more watchmen. But this is what is really going on. Feodor Nikolayevitch will now notice the theft and draw up a charge sheet in the presence of witnesses. The charge sheet will say, nicked by Chinese bandits. A detachment will be despatched and no Chinese bandits will be found, but money is sent to Feodor Nikolayevitch to replace the stolen sleepers. Now Ilya Petrovitch stacks up the stolen sleepers. Enter the contractor who supplies Ilya Petrovitch with sleepers and who is in on this. If Ilya Petrovitch steals a thousand sleepers, his contractor delivers a thousand less, but bills for the full number. Ilya Petrovitch now gets paid by the contractor. Out of this deal Ilya Petrovitch gets something, and Feodor Nikolayevitch gets something. It’s all the work of Chinese bandits and they’re not around! That’s how it is!’

The conversation turned toward Chinese bandits.

‘Do you hear that?’ Holmes said with a laugh, as he led me aside. ‘This is well organized, orderly thievery. I don’t know what we’ll uncover further, but so far I haven’t yet come across a single honest person.’

We walked to the little village, consisting of a few small shops and houses.

‘Shall we try that shop?’ suggested Holmes.

‘Let’s,’ I said.

We went in.

Sherlock Holmes threw a quick glance round the shop and asked to be shown long underwear, singlets and boots. The owner produced all three.

‘Do you have any other sort?’ asked Holmes. He then rummaged through the entire shop and finally selected a pair of boots, two singlets and a pair of long underwear. He paid, picked up his purchases and we moved along to the next shop.

Once again Holmes rummaged and rummaged, but only bought two lemons.

One after another, we went through the other shops and came away with china from one, suspenders from another and in yet another, for some reason, cut-offs of materials for women’s dresses.

After that we found an open field.

‘Now, then, let’s have a look at our purchases,’ said Sherlock Holmes. He sat down on the grass and began to untie the packets we had brought with us.

‘I’m wondering why you had to buy all this rubbish, for which we have absolutely no use,’ I said, shrugging my shoulders.

‘You’re wrong, my dear Watson. This rubbish is very important for me,’ and he laughed. ‘Just look at this lemon, my dear
Watson. It bears the mark of the Red Cross on it. Of course, the kind-hearted donor didn’t consider that his lemons would be sold in the most ordinary grocery for a few pennies, instead of getting to a wounded soldier.’

He unwrapped another packet, got out a pair of boots and pointed inside the boot leg, ‘Here, look at this, with the mark indicating it is army property. Instead of going to a half-barefooted soldier, it is being sold in a shop where even a Japanese, the country’s former enemy, can buy it.’

I looked with curiosity at the samples Holmes had collected. All the time, he went on unwrapping one item after another, saying, ‘A superb collection! Singlets from the Red Cross, long underwear, also, china bearing the hallmark of the International Association of Sleeping-cars, hmmm … undoubtedly from the train of the commander-in-chief … brace-bands of the 14 Field Hospital … Well! Well! Well!’