The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures (73 page)

“Mr Sherlock Holmes?” he said, looking at my friend, “Permit me to introduce myself; I am Orman Pasha, personal emissary of His Imperial Majesty the Sultan and formerly Commander of the Ottoman Armies in Europe.” He came across the room and shook hands with Holmes.

“This is my friend, Dr Watson, who has assisted me in many of my cases,” said Holmes.

“Ah, Dr Watson, the chronicler,” said our guest, with a smile, as he shook hands with me.

“Pray remove your cloak and have a seat beside the fire,” said Holmes. The old man took off his extraordinary cloak-habit and I was astonished to find that he was wearing full dress uniform, complete with golden epaulets and a maximum of gold lace per square inch on his chest. He sat down slowly on the chair indicated by Holmes and turned his gaze upon us. Beholding this old man, with his shrewd but kindly eyes, all feelings of unease left me, but my curiosity as to the purpose of his visit increased.

“Orman Pasha,” began Holmes, “your letter reveals nothing about the nature of your mission. Perhaps you could begin by furnishing us with the details of the case, before telling me how I can be of service to your sovereign.” The old Turk was silent for a few moments, before he began his narrative.

“You will be aware that the political situation in the Balkans, ever since the war between my country and Greece in 1897, has been in turmoil. Several of our Balkan neighbours have fomented trouble in our cities, most especially the agents of the Bulgarian Government. Three months ago, a Bulgarian emissary, one Anton Simeonov, arrived in London in order to seek support from the British Government in the matter of Bulgarian claims upon Turkish territory in the province of Rumelia on the grounds that it has a large Bulgarian minority. The British Government gave him no encouragement in the matter, but the Russians have given him their full support and are themselves pressing the British Government to support his country’s claim. My own Government has rejected all Bulgarian claims. Four weeks ago Simeonov narrowly escaped death, when he was attacked in the street by a masked man with revolver, as Simeonov was on his way home from the Bulgarian Consulate in the evening. The shot missed its target and Simeonov fled to safety. The incident, however, was seized upon by the Czar’s Ministers, who have sent a note to the Turkish Government, accusing Turkey of employing assassins to murder Simeonov and claiming that this was an act of war against the Slavonic peoples, whom the Russian Government sees as being under its protection.

“At that point my sovereign lord the Sultan commanded me to come to England to enter into negotiations with representatives of those countries that have an interest in the matter, as well as the British Government, which is acting as mediator. Since my arrival from Constantinople two days ago, however, matters have taken a more menacing turn, for Simeonov was found murdered last night in Royston Manor, the home of Lord Eversden, the Foreign Secretary. It is only through the intense efforts of the British Government that the Czar has been prevailed upon not to declare was against Turkey. My Government denies any involvement in the matter. Nevertheless, if this mystery is not resolved immediately and the true villain not brought to justice, there can be little doubt that Turkey and Russia will be at war before the week is out, and that other countries in Europe will join on either side. I am here to ask for your help in solving this problem so that a catastrophic war may be avoided.”

I whistled; the very idea of a war engulfing the whole of Europe was unthinkable. I looked at Holmes, who appeared totally/unmoved by our guest’s disturbing narrative. “Pray tell us about the circumstances surrounding the late Mr Simeonov’s death,” he said.

Our guest resumed his narrative. “It took place, as I have said, in the home of Lord Eversden, Royston Manor, near Stoke Morden in Surrey. Lord Eversden has a great interest in Balkan affairs and he had invited a number of diplomats concerned with the current dispute to dinner at his house yesterday evening, with the purpose of discussing the matter in a relaxed and informal setting. Those invited were Count Balinsky, the Russian Ambassador; Mr George Leonticles, the Greek Consul; Mr Anton Simeonov; Baron Nopchka, the Austro-Hungarian Ambassador; Colonel Yusufoglu, the Turkish Military Attaché; and myself. All Lord Eversden’s guests were to stay the night, and the atmosphere after dinner was, as far as was possible under the circumstances, quite agreeable. We had dispersed after the meal, some having gone to the smoking room, others to the library, while I had accompanied Lord Eversden to his study, where he was showing me a number of rare Persian manuscripts, an interest we have in common. At about half past nine o’clock, we were horrified to hear the loud report of a revolver being fired, followed by a dreadful cry of agony. The sound came from the upstairs corridor and Eversden and I rushed out of the study and up the stairs as fast as we could. Lying on the floor, just outside his bedroom, was Simeonov with a bullet hole through his chest. He was not dead and was gasping for breath, while Yusufoglu knelt beside him. Standing a few feet away was Leonticles, the Greek, with an ashen face, looking down at the dying man. Lord Eversden and I both knelt down on the floor, since it was clear that Simeonov was trying to say something. I said: “Who shot you?” He gasped for a few moments then, pointing at Yusufoglu, said, quite clearly: “The salon … the salon”, then fell back and breathed his last. When I stood up I was aware that Count Balinsky and Baron Nopchka had arrived and were staring aghast at the corpse on the floor. A number of servants had also collected, and stood frozen into inaction, awaiting their master’s orders. Lord Eversden instructed one of them to telephone the Bulgarian Legation and dismissed the others.

“Yusufoglu and Baron Nopchka removed the body to the deceased’s bedroom, while the rest of us stood outside. Count Balinsky was as white as a sheet and was clearly trying hard to control his emotions. As soon as Yusufoglu emerged from the bedroom, Balinsky strode up to him and said, “This is your doing, you murderer!” Then turning to me, he said, “You and your country will pay for this! You have massacred enough people of my race and you will pay! You
will
pay!” He was quite out of control and, as if this was not enough, Yusufoglu, who is a man of a rather brooding temperament, shouted back: “I am not a murderer, you know the truth, ask yourself who is the murderer!” He took a step forward, but I placed a restraining hand on his arm and Balinsky, who was shaking with rage, also made a move towards Yusufoglu, but Lord Eversden stepped forward and planted himself between them. “I beg you to calm down, Count,” he said in a firm voice, then, turning to Yusufoglu, he said, “Colonel, please!” Balinsky pushed his way rudely past Eversden and went swiftly down the staircase.

“The most puzzling thing about this mystery, Mr Holmes, is that a revolver was found lying beside the body.”

“Surely, that is not difficult to explain, since the murderer must have dropped it as he fled from the scene,” interrupted Holmes.

“The revolver had not been fired, Mr Holmes,” said Orman Pasha, “and no other revolver was discovered.”

Holmes rubbed his hands. “Pray continue your most interesting narrative.”

“Two hours later the officials from the Legation arrived and the body was removed. Baron Nopchka pointed out that, since the matter was of great diplomatic sensitivity, the investigation would have to be handled very discreetly. It was then that I told the assembled company of my instructions from the Sultan and there was general agreement that you should be invited to look into the case. An Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard was summoned and was asked to work discreetly and to offer you every assistance if you agreed to accept the case. I regret to say that his initial investigations revealed nothing.

“There is little that remains to be told. This evening I attended a meeting with the Foreign Secretary in Whitehall, a meeting at which Count Balinsky and Baron Nopchka were also present. The Count’s contribution was a series of threats of war; he had contacted his Government by telegraph and reported to the meeting that the mood in St Petersburg is that war is imminent. I contacted the Porte by telegraph and I am informed that the Turkish Armies in Rumelia and the Caucasus have been put on a state of readiness. I have given you the full details of the matter, Mr Holmes, and it now only remains for me to ask whether you would agree to investigate the problem and discover the true perpetrator of this crime.”

Sherlock Holmes sat silently in his chair for a while, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair and his finger tips together, just touching his chin. He appeared to be looking at the wall beyond our visitor. Suddenly, he stood up and, looking down at our visitor, he said abruptly, “I very much regret that I can offer you no assistance in this matter.”

I was aghast. Apart from my disbelief at Holmes’s rejection of the oppressive and weighty problem that had been brought before us, I was taken aback to see our aged friend rebuffed in such a brusque manner. “Holmes,” I said, “What can this mean? Surely, you are not going to refuse to act in a matter of this kind? Think of the consequences – do you wish the world to be plunged into a horrific war, when it is in your hands to prevent it?” Holmes said nothing, but continued to look down at our guest with a face devoid of expression.

Orman Pasha sat with a frown of disappointment on his face and said nothing for some moments. At length he spoke. “Mr Holmes,” he said, “I fail to understand –”.

“Come, come, my dear Pasha,” said Holmes, firmly, “you understand only too well. I fear you have not told me the whole truth in this matter.”

“Mr Holmes!” The Pasha rose to his feet in indignation.

“Oh, I have no doubt that you have told me all the facts relating to the case as far as they are known to you,” said Holmes, “but I regret to say that you have not been fully open with me concerning your motives in asking me to investigate this matter. I cannot accept the case unless I am taken fully into your confidence.”

There was a silence, during which the Pasha stood looking at Holmes with a frown of displeasure on his face, while Holmes remained as impassive and as immovable as ever. At last, the Pasha spoke.

“Perhaps, you will explain what you mean, Mr Holmes,” he said.

“By all means,” replied my friend, “will you tell me the name of the young man you are trying to protect, or shall I?”

Orman Pasha stared at Holmes in disbelief. Slowly, he resumed his seat and soon his expression changed to one of wry amusement.

“In spite of everything I have heard about you, Mr Holmes, I still managed to underestimate you,” said Orman Pasha, “Your brother warned me that you have an uncanny ability to arrive at the truth. It encourages me a great deal. What you say is the truth; I am under instructions from the Sultan, not only to do my utmost to resolve this dangerous political crisis and to prevent a war, but to safeguard the reputation of Prince Murat, the Sultan’s nephew. But how could you possibly have known?”

Sherlock Holmes sat down on the edge of his seat and leaned forward towards the Pasha. “Two clues, both furnished by Your Excellency, revealed the truth to me. First, you told me that this Simeonov was attacked in the street about four weeks ago, which is shortly after the time young Prince Murat arrived in this country for an unofficial visit, as everyone knows from reading the papers. It became immediately apparent to me that you were concerned that no one should suggest any link between the two events, especially since the Prince has repeatedly made known his views concerning the Bulgarian question. Secondly, the very fact that the Sultan instructed you to seek my advice and did not put his faith in the regular police force suggests that he was anxious that if the truth be found out – and be found to be unpalatable – my discretion could be relied upon to keep the matter quiet until the Prince be removed from this country and, hopefully, be dealt with suitably in Constantinople. Am I correct?”

The Pasha was listening with an expression of mingled amusement and respect on his face as Holmes was speaking.

“Well done, Mr Holmes,” he said, when Holmes had finished, “His Imperial Majesty, had he been present here, would have approved. He is well acquainted with your achievements and, indeed, is an enthusiast like yourself, having made a detailed study of the structure of the wood of the different kinds of tree that abound on his estates.”

Holmes sat back in his seat. “His Majesty would seem to a most interesting man; I shall make a point of sending him a copy of my monograph upon the use of wooden objects as murder weapons,” he said. “However, to return to the matter in hand, where was the Prince at the time of the murder?”

“He was residing in Buckingham Palace as a guest of the King. There is no question of his involvement in this affair.”

“I have no doubt of it, but, if I am to act with the minimum of hindrance I must ask Your Excellency to prevail upon the Prince to leave England at once and return to Constantinople.”

“I will do as you ask, Mr Holmes. The departure of the Prince would take a great weight off my mind.”

He rose from his seat. “Will you accept the case, Mr Holmes?” he asked.

“I will gladly do all I can to assist in this matter,” replied my friend, “but I will need an address at which I may contact you.”

“The Turkish Embassy in Belgrave Square will find me,” replied the Pasha and, after donning his hat and cloak, he departed. When the horses’ hooves had died away in the street outside, I asked Holmes what he intended to do.

“I will have an early night, Watson,” he said, “there will be much to do tomorrow.”

The dawn of the new day saw us having an early breakfast, after which we took a cab for Victoria station, where we boarded the first train to the village of Stoke Morden. As the train rattled towards its destination, Holmes, after watching the scenery fly past for a time, suddenly turned to me and said; “What do you make of the dying man’s last words, Watson?”

“He referred to a salon and pointed at the Turkish Military Attaché,” I said, “On the face of it, it would suggest that he was accusing him of the murder, but I confess I cannot see the significance of his reference to a salon. Could it be that he and the Turk had agreed to meet in a particular salon to discuss some dispute, but that the Turk decided to take matters into his own hands and shoot Simeonov without taking the trouble to discuss the matter first? It seems far-fetched, but I can think of no more plausible explanation.”