The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures (75 page)

“In your opinion, would you say that he was capable of murder?”

“It is possible, of course, but he is such a mild-mannered man that I frankly cannot see him committing murder. He was quite shaken by the incident.”

“If he had killed Simeonov, he would have had good cause to appear shaken.”

“Yes, I expect he would.”

“You carried the body into the bedroom with Colonel Yusufoglu; did you notice whether the colonel was armed?”

“I certainly did not see any weapon. He was not wearing a jacket at the time and, after we placed the body on the bed we went downstairs together and he remained within my sight for at least the next hour.”

“Are you convinced of his innocence then?”

The Baron said nothing, but his frown returned. He shifted in his chair. “Mr Holmes,” he said at length, “there is something else I feel I ought to tell you. I have shied away from so doing because I do not know the meaning of what I witnessed and I feared that my account would only confuse matters and possibly incriminate innocent individuals. However, from what I have heard of you and, moreover, now that I have met you in person, I am convinced that I can rely upon you utterly to arrive at the truth in this tangled affair.” Holmes bowed his head solemnly to the Baron.

“Shortly after I and the other guests arrived at Royston Manor, I went into the library to examine some of Lord Eversden’s books. (Books are a great passion of mine, Mr Holmes.) As I entered, which I did quietly in order not to disturb other readers, I heard the voices of Mr Leonticles and Colonel Yusufoglu, the Turkish Military Attaché. Leonticles was saying, “We have no choice, we must act now, we will not have a better chance.” Whereupon Yusufoglu replied: “No, no, not yet, not here. It would be safer – ” At that moment Count Balinsky walked noisily into the room and their conversation ended abruptly. As I said, Mr Holmes, I do not know what this means and I leave it in your capable hands.”

I looked at Holmes and was thrilled to see on his face that tense expression of exhilaration that indicated that he was hot on the scent. He rose and bowed to our gentlemanly host.

“Baron Nopchka,” he said with barely suppressed excitement, “your observations were invaluable.”

The Baron’s honest face looked both bewildered and encouraged by Holmes’ comments. He said: “Have you arrived at some conclusion about the case Mr Holmes? Good news or bad?”

“I have not yet quite concluded my investigations and, in any case, I am bound to report first to Orman Pasha, who commissioned me to look into the matter,” said Holmes, “However, I will say to you, Baron, that there is cause for optimism.”

We took our leave from the embassy, leaving a considerably puzzled, but to a great extent relieved, Austro-Hungarian nobleman behind us.

We arrived late at Baker Street, with Holmes in an excellent mood. A telegram awaited Holmes; he tore it open and read it aloud: “Prince on way to Constantinople. O.P.” “Excellent!” cried Holmes, “Our Turkish friend is playing the game.”

We consumed a magnificent dinner prepared by Mrs Hudson, during which Holmes refused to speak about the case. When we finished and were sitting by the fire, Holmes smoking his most malodorous pipe, he looked at me with shining eyes and said: “Watson, I intend to commit a felony tonight. Do you still have your service revolver and your jemmy?” I was thrilled; it was some considerable time since Holmes and I had one of those adventures that temporarily placed us on the wrong side of the law. “Holmes,” I said, earnestly, “I’m your man; just give me half an hour to collect them from my rooms.”

It was approaching midnight when Holmes and I arrived at Harrington Mews. We made our way stealthily to Number 6 and, as we approached, Holmes whispered in my ear: “Do you have your jemmy to hand Watson.” I nodded, and we stole up to the door like burglars. I was about to put my jemmy into action, when I gasped: “Holmes, the door is already open!” Holmes stood still.

“Interesting, Watson, interesting,” said Holmes in a whisper, “the night may yet yield many surprises.” We entered the house noiselessly. Holmes made his way swiftly but quietly to the study. As we reached the door, we could see light coming through the crack at the bottom. There was a sound as of someone shuffling papers in the room. We stood stock still and listened, when suddenly the shuffling stopped and the gas light was turned off.

“Now, Watson!” said Holmes and we rushed into the room, only to see a dark shadow leap out of the open window and into the yard at the back. “After him, Watson!”, shouted Holmes. I rushed to the window and jumped out; I could see my quarry making for the railings, hopping on one leg as though he had injured a foot in his fall. I sped towards him, but tripped over some wood and fell heavily over. When I got to my feet the intruder had gone. I hobbled painfully to the railings, but there was no sign of him to be seen. I returned crestfallen to Holmes.

“It matters little, Watson,” he said, when I told him of my failure, “we will make the gentleman’s acquaintance in the morning.” During my absence Holmes had not been idle, but had gone through the papers on the desk and in the drawers. He was now holding a small scrap of paper up to the light. “There is devilry here, Watson!” he said, his face set and hard, “but it is now time to return to our beds, for there is much to do on the morrow.” With that, we made our back to Baker Street and, in my case at least, a night of fitful and troubled sleep.

I awoke the next morning to find Holmes shaking me by the shoulder.

“Wake up Watson! The game is afoot!”

“What o’clock is it, Holmes?” I asked, drowsily.

“Seven, Watson, and breakfast is ready.”

I rose, washed and went in to breakfast. Holmes had already had his and was eager to go, so I gobbled my toast and swallowed my tea as quickly as I could and, before many minutes had passed, we were on our way to an address Holmes had given to the driver of our cab.

By contrast with the previous night, Holmes appeared preoccupied rather than excited. I asked: “Have you arrived at a conclusion, Holmes?”

“You know the way I work, Watson, my conclusions will be given when I am ready.”

We travelled in silence to our destination, which turned out to be the small building that housed the Greek Consulate. We entered the building and asked to see the Consul, Mr Leonticles, and were immediately admitted to the Consul’s office.

Mr George Leonticles, the Greek Consul, was a short man with jet-black hair, a pale face and a fastidious pointed goatee beard and waxed moustache. He was suave and courteous in his manner, but seemed ill at ease. He rose stiffly and invited us to sit down.

“How may I help you, gentlemen?”, he asked.

“Mr Leonticles, my name is Sherlock Holmes and I have been commissioned to look into the murder of the late Mr Simeonov,” replied Holmes, “It would materially aid me in my investigation if you would answer a few questions relating to that mystery.”

Mr Leonticles smoothed his beard and moustache before replying. “I would be happy to offer any assistance, Mr Holmes, but I regret to say that I know little that would be of interest to you.”

“Nevertheless, you may well be able to help clarify a few points,” said Holmes, “for example, could you tell me where you were when you heard the shot that killed Mr Simeonov?”

“I was in my room.”

“Your room is two doors down from Simeonov’s, and yet when Lord Eversden and Orman Pasha arrived, they found Colonel Yusufoglu kneeling beside the body, while you stood some distance away. Why did you not rush to his assistance?”

“Yusufoglu’s room was between mine and Simeonov’s and he was able to reach him first,” replied Leonticles, beads of perspiration beginning to appear on his forehead.

“Was the colonel in his room when the shot was fired?” asked Holmes.

“I think so. When I came out into the corridor he was already there, kneeling beside Simeonov.”

“Mr Leonticles,” asked Sherlock Holmes, bluntly, “did Colonel Yusufoglu kill Mr Simeonov?”

“No!”

“You seem remarkably sure of that. How can you know that he did not kill Simeonov?”

“Colonel Yusufoglu is not capable of murder. I have – I am sure he did not kill him.”

“And yet Count Balinsky seems certain that the colonel is the murderer.”

“Count Balinsky is mistaken,” said the Consul firmly.

“Thank you, Mr Leonticles,” said Holmes, suddenly, and rose to leave the room. As we reached the door, Holmes stopped to examine a small Greek statuette on a table beside the window.

“I have a great interest in the art of the Ancient Greeks. Is this not a reproduction of Aphrodite?” he asked the Consul, with a charming smile upon his face.

“No, no,” replied our host, “coming round his desk, limping slightly as he came, and pointing to another sculpture on a table on the other side of the room, “this is Aphrodite.” “Of course,” said Holmes. “Thank you again, Mr Leonticles, we will take no more of your valuable time.”

“We progress, Watson,” said Holmes, as we sat in the cab on our way to Belgrave Square, “You noticed his limp?”

I had, indeed, noticed it. “Very similar to mine, Holmes, after I tripped over the pile of wood at Harrington Mews,” I said, “Why did you not confront him with it?”

“There was no need,” replied Holmes, “he knew it.”

“But might he not flee the country, now that he knows you suspect him of breaking into the Bulgarian’s house?” I asked.

“No, Watson,” replied Holmes, with a smile, “I think not.”

We arrived at the Turkish Embassy and were admitted by a porter who reminded me of the genie from Aladdin’s lamp. He wore red boots with upturned toes, black baggy trousers and a green and highly ornate tunic. He accepted Holmes’s card without a word and went to deliver it to Orman Pasha. A few minutes later, a sombre fellow in a suit and a fez came and escorted us to the Pasha’s room.

This time Orman Pasha was not in full dress uniform, but was wearing a black frock-coat. He rose from behind his desk and greeted us warmly.

“Mr Holmes,” he said, as he motioned us to sit down, “dare I hope that you have good news to tell?”

“We are approaching a solution to the mystery, Orman Pasha,” said Holmes, “but there are some loose ends that remain. I am hopeful that a disaster may yet be averted.”

“I am greatly relieved to hear it, Mr Holmes,” replied the Pasha.

“I do, however, have a few questions to ask you, after which I would like to meet Colonel Yusufoglu,” said Holmes, sitting back in his chair. “Orman Pasha, if, as we shall for the moment assume, the Bulgarian emissary was not murdered by your Government’s agents, who else would have a motive for killing him?”

The Pasha thought for a moment. “Of the people present at Lord Eversden’s dinner, I cannot think of anyone who might have a motive. They are all people in prominent diplomatic positions and I cannot see what any of them would gain from doing such a thing.”

“Do you not think then that the reasonable conclusion to be drawn is that one of your Government’s agents did, in fact, commit the murder? Colonel Yusufoglu was kneeling beside Simeonov; Simeonov appeared to accuse him with his dying words; Count Balinsky is convinced of his guilt. No other evidence seems to suggest the guilt of any other man. Must not the conclusion be that the colonel is guilty?”

The Pasha looked at Holmes with an expression of mingled amusement and impatience. “Mr Holmes,” he said, “why do you suggest such a thing when you are already convinced that it is not true?”

“Why does Your Excellency conclude that I do not accept this as the truth?”

“Because you have already told me that you have high hopes of averting disaster, Mr Holmes. If you did, indeed, believe in Yusufoglu’s guilt, you would not have said that.”

Holmes smiled his tight, secret smile. “Guilt is a matter of definition. We must not forget that, in any murder, the murderer’s motive is of at least equal importance to his identity.”

The Pasha’s brow darkened. “I fear, Mr Holmes, that, whatever the motive, it will make little difference in this case if Yusufoglu is the murderer. Do you wish to speak with him now?”

Holmes nodded and the Pasha rang a bell. The sombre individual entered the room and was given a few brief instructions in Turkish, whereupon he left, to return a few minutes later with a tall, broad-shouldered man – Colonel Yusufoglu. He was a dark-complexioned giant, with fierce black eyes and a thick black moustache. I will admit that he struck me as a morose fellow, who might well commit murder if the need arose.

The Pasha introduced us and Holmes and I shook hands with him. He sat down, eying us suspiciously.

“Colonel,” began Holmes, “I hope you will excuse me if I speak openly and bluntly, because of what is at stake in this matter. You are, no doubt, aware that you are seen as being the prime suspect for the murder of Anton Simeonov. What have you to say in your defence?”

“I did not murder the Bulgarian,” replied the colonel stolidly.

“Then who did?”

“I had been given to understand that it was your task to find that out.”

“Nevertheless, I would be interested in your views on the matter.”

“I did not witness the killing, how could I know who killed the man?”

“What did you mean when you said to Count Balinsky that he knew the truth?”

“I meant that he must know that I had every reason not to commit the murder. Even he must be aware that such an act would precipitate the events we were all anxious to avoid.”

“Why did you say ‘Ask yourself who is the murderer’?”

The Military Attaché shifted uneasily. “I was inviting him to think more clearly.” I noticed that Orman Pasha was looking at the colonel with a worried expression on his face, as though he found his answers to Holmes’s questions weak and unconvincing.

Holmes leapt to his feet. “Thank you, colonel, you have told me everything I need to know.”

The colonel rose from his seat, looking at Holmes with an expression half angry and half fearful. He turned and said something in Turkish to Orman Pasha, who nodded. The colonel turned and looked at Holmes with smouldering black eyes, then abruptly left the room.

“Orman Pasha,” said Holmes, when the colonel had gone, “does any member of your staff speak Bulgarian?”