Sherlock Holmes in Russia (7 page)

‘It won’t be easy for you to sort out this mess,’ I said. ‘Digging into this could take years.’

‘Undoubtedly! But for me, the important thing is to locate the common thread and the dots it goes through.’

‘What do you intend to do?’ I asked.

Holmes thought for a minute, ‘As far as I am concerned, the middlemen don’t interest me, Watson. Do you see this? I am much more interested in the suppliers and that’s why you and I, in my opinion, wouldn’t be erring greatly if, for a while, we traded in these stolen goods.’

‘How?’ I asked, because I did not understand.

‘We’ll pick some likely place where stolen goods are in greatest demand and that’s where we’ll start selling.’

‘In that case, our trip will have to take longer.’

‘Of course! We’ll send a detailed account of our intention to Zviagin, but shan’t send regular accounts of progress. He’ll forward our luggage wherever we need it. Do you agree with this, Watson?’

I could only shrug my shoulders. ‘Why do you bother to ask for my assent?’ I answered. ‘You know perfectly well that I gladly follow you everywhere.’

On this we ended our conversation.

We spent the whole of the next day travelling and our choice fell, at last, on Sliudianka station. From here, Holmes dispatched a short communication to Zviagin and, in a business-like manner, we set about preparing for trade.

Approximately ten days went by. In those ten days we managed to get a few things done.

We rented a Chinese
fang-tze
[hut] and had it redecorated. The local carpenter urgently made counters and shelves, while the two of us went about suppliers, trading agents and dealers, bargaining over every conceivable kind of goods, sometimes even ill-assorted.

Before long, samples were being brought to us. Holmes took only small quantities of those goods which did not rouse his suspicion. But no sooner was anything suspicious placed before him than he took large quantities and spoke at length with the suppliers. Such deals were often accompanied by drinking sessions, during which Holmes and the seller would each put up a few bottles of champagne.

Some twenty days later, when the carpenter had finished, we started accepting deliveries in the store. Holy Mother of God, what did we only not stock! Holmes seemed positively determined to open a general store such as the world had never seen: sugar, lubricating grease, cotton cloth, calico, chintz, dried vegetables, boots, perfume, singlets, almonds, vodka, linen, dental and surgical instruments, in sum, anything that anyone would want. Merchants and agents poured in endlessly, having
heard that we bought anything that came to hand.

One evening, Holmes had just begun to open a case of boots, when an Armenian named Bakhtadian dropped by. Bakhtadian was his top supplier and, in the manner of people from the Caucasus, addressed him in the familiar second person and not the polite plural second person. ‘Opening up a case of boots, are you?’ he asked.

‘Yes, they’re your boots,’ said Holmes, with a smile, taking out a pair and deliberately studying the inside of the leg.

Bakhtadian laughed, ‘Looking for the mark?’

‘Doesn’t bother me,’ shrugged Holmes. ‘I’ll scrape it off. But how come you aren’t afraid to sell them like that so openly?’

‘What’s there to be afraid of?’ Bakhtadian asked in surprise. ‘If it is the authorities themselves who do the selling, anything goes. If one had to remove seals and stamps and brands and marks from every article, it would take five years.’

‘Oh, is there that much?’ asked Holmes, also in surprise.

Bakhtadian merely gestured dismissively with his hand. ‘Let’s drink wine. We have to talk.’

Holmes stopped what he was doing and the three of us moved to the back where we lived. Holmes told the Chinese shop assistant to bring red wine and champagne. In Siberia they not only prefer these two drinks, but they like to mix them.

At first Holmes avoided any talk of business, filling Bakhtadian’s glass more and more. And it was only when he saw Bakhtadian’s face had turned red from drink that he let him talk business. The result couldn’t have been better.

Bakhtadian came straight to business. ‘You, my dearest fellow, think that I believe you wish to trade hereabouts?’ he asked with malice in his voice.

‘Whatever else?’ asked Holmes in surprise.

Bakhtadian winked slyly. ‘Then why do you buy anything that comes your way? Could it be you are sending it all to Russia, where there’s a seller’s market!’

‘Let’s say that’s so,’ said Holmes.

‘Do you have a lot of money?’

‘Enough,’ said Holmes.

‘Well, then, how much can you put into the business?’

‘As much as necessary,’ Holmes said gravely. ‘If I don’t have enough of my own, there’s a friend.’

Bakhtadian nodded approvingly.

Later, Holmes was to tell me that all the time Bakhtadian suspected that Holmes and I were the heads of a superbly organized gang with a large capital and occupying ourselves with buying and selling stolen goods.

‘Do you want to do business, then say so,’ said Bakhtadian.

‘Of course, I do,’ said Holmes.

‘Then do so! I can deliver all the goods you want.’

‘From where?’ asked Holmes.

‘They’re on offer from everywhere. From here and from Missova, from Innokentievsk, from Manchuria, Baikal, well, from every possible railway station.’

‘What’s on offer?’

‘All sorts of goods: beds, underwear, perfumery, fabrics, sugar, candles, medicines, instruments, typewriters, printing machinery.’

‘Expensive?’ asked Holmes.

Bakdtadian’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Holmes, ‘Are you familiar with factory prices?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ answered Holmes.

‘How much of a discount on factory prices do you expect?’

‘Say, seventy per cent,’ said Holmes.

‘You’re out of your mind,’ exclaimed Bakhtadian.

‘No, I’m not,’ said Holmes coldly.

‘Don’t I have to make something?’

‘You do,’ Holmes agreed.

‘Then what’s in it for me?’

‘You’ll get something from me,’ said Holmes.

‘How much?’

‘Ten per cent,’ said Holmes.

Bakhtadian thought it over, ‘No, they won’t let it go so cheap,’ he said at last. ‘Pharmaceutical goods, marked underwear, boots, topographical and surgical instruments – you can have a discount of eighty per cent, but when it comes to the other stuff, up to forty per cent and with my ten per cent, that’ll make it fifty per cent.’

‘Blankets?’

‘As many as you want, but no more than fifty per cent discount. The Chinese are very eager to buy them.’

‘Well, all right … I’ll think about it. It’s all far too much,’ Holmes said lazily.

‘Enough of this haggling! What’s your price?’ Bakhtadian began to insist. ‘Now, then, what sort of a discount? Tell you what, with my cut, average forty-five per cent. How about it?’

‘No, no good,’ said Holmes. ‘The goods you said they’d let go cheap, seventy-five per cent and forty for the rest. For you, without exception, ten per cent from me. If not, there’s nothing more to be said.’

The haggling went on for an hour. But no matter how Bakhtadian argued, no matter how often he walked off for show, Holmes remained adamant. Not one single per cent more.

‘All right, have it your way,’ exclaimed Bakhtadian at last. ‘But, at least, give me a small advance so I can start.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Holmes coldly. ‘After all, if you can make off with a small advance, you’ll miss out on the greater amount. Here’s three hundred.’ He took three hundred out of his wallet and handed them over.

Bakhtadian cheered up. Evidently, there were prospects for money to be made in the deal. He called the shop assistant, gave him twenty-five roubles and told him to get three bottles of champagne. The drinking spree lasted well beyond midnight.

The whole of the following day, Sherlock Holmes sent off telegrams in all directions. Evidently, these telegrams had the desired effect. A day later and the replies rained on us, but they were as long as letters. Reading them, Holmes smiled and kept on shaking his head.

‘What’s happening?’ I asked him once.

‘See for yourself,’ he answered and handed me a stack of telegrams.

I began to read them. They were fairly lengthy and came from major companies and certain hospitals, informing us of the loss of furs and other goods, descriptions, seals and stamps marking them, the packaging, numbering on invoices and other details.

Judging from these telegrams, there wasn’t a single major firm in Eastern Siberia that hadn’t been robbed. The total worth of the stolen goods exceeded three hundred thousand roubles.

Holmes selected the information he needed and meticulously wrote it down in his notebook.

‘Now, then, my dear Watson, half the task is done. All that’s left is to identify the sellers at source and find the warehouses where the stolen goods are kept. Watson, could you possibly follow Bakhtadian, who seems to have direct contact with the thieves.’

‘With pleasure,’ I agreed.

‘In that case, you’ll have to look like an ordinary workman and be ready for some tiring work. He’s coming to see me today, but by then you’ll have your make-up on. Just don’t go near him.’

Saying this, he put on his hat and promised to return in a few minutes, which he did.

‘There you are, I’ve got Bakhtadian’s address,’ he said cheerfully. ‘It appears he lives right here, at the edge of this little village, but he is seldom home. In the meantime, Watson, let’s
have a bite and then we’ll get to work.’

We ate cold veal, roast beef and ham, drank them down with a decent amount of Lafitte, and then Holmes and I set about transforming my appearance. My new costume consisted of well-greased high boots, baggy striped old trousers, a canvas smock and a peaked cap. A few brush strokes on my face from Holmes’s skilled hand and I became completely unrecognizable. I completed the change of clothes, went into the shop and sat on a sack of salt in a dark corner.

At the same time, Holmes also changed into the same sort of clothes that I was wearing, but hid them under an eastern type robe called a
khalat.

Bakhtadian soon arrived.

He paid no attention to me but addressed Holmes as soon as he came in. ‘Well, you should be getting about five chests today. The cargo will be fairly varied, because there’s been no time to sort out the stuff. They go for anything near at hand. When they bring them, we’ll see what’s inside.’

‘All right,’ said Holmes. ‘How late will they be delivered? After all, I have to prepare space for them.’

‘Not before three o’clock in the morning,’ said Bakhtadian. ‘I’ll be here myself by then.’

‘All right! All right!’ said Holmes.

‘And now, I’m busy!’

‘Off to where you have to go. I’m not detaining you,’ said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders.

Bakhtadian went off.

Darkness was falling and half a minute later his silhouette was already difficult to make out as he went in the direction of the station.

‘Quick! Go after him! Don’t let him out of your sight!’ Holmes shouted as he picked up his make-up box. I hurried out after Bakhtadian while Holmes, with the speed of lightning, was already working on his own face.

I followed Bakhtadian to the station. Without letting him out of my sight, I squatted down on the ground by the fence.

A lanky fellow came up. He looked as if a barber had upended a bowl on his head and cut his black hair from below it. His hands, face and clothes were so stained with coal you could hardly make out his short, black, bristly moustache. He squatted down beside me, ‘How long before the next train to Manchuria, man?’ he asked.

‘The devil alone knows,’ I answered.

‘So—’ he gave a melancholy drawl.

He sat beside me for a while, then turned towards me, and clapping me on the shoulder in a friendly way said, ‘Not too perceptive are you, my dear Watson!’

Now I recognized the familiar voice. I glanced at him, and his filthy appearance caused me to break out laughing.

‘Shhh,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t let’s bring attention to ourselves.’

At this time the depot manager went up to Bakhtadian, pacing up and down the platform, took him aside and very gravely and very carefully began to explain something to him. A third man, who looked like a foreman, joined them. While they spoke, a goods train came into the station.

The depot manager walked away slowly from them towards the stationmaster who came out of his office on the platform. The two of them together walked alongside the train, stopping at the fifth carriage from the rear. I saw the stationmaster give a nearly imperceptible nod at this carriage.

It was at this moment that Bakhtadian and his companion, both of whom had been watching the other two from a distance, jumped on the platform at the end of a carriage.

‘Let’s follow where they are going, Watson,’ said Holmes. ‘They are being very circumspect. I am sure it is the fifth carriage from the rear that the stationmaster indicated to Bakhtadian. We’ll have to make sure nobody sees us. First, the other side of
the train and then let’s get on one of the empty platforms at the rear end of a carriage.’

We did so. We went around the train and, on the other side, began to walk beside it.

Now the third departure signal rang at last. The train began to get under way. We picked an empty platform at the end of a carriage and jumped on it as the train moved.

As soon as the train began to slow down before the next station, we jumped off and hid under the carriage of a train standing on the adjoining track. No sooner had we concealed ourselves when we saw the figure of Bakhtadian and his travelling companion. They marched quickly past us, stopped just before the fifth carriage from the back and, like us, hid on the track underneath the train. But the moment the third signal for departure sounded and the train began to move, both jumped on the platform of the fifth carriage. We, too, jumped up to take our former place on the platform. There were four carriages between us.

The train had moved little more than half a mile and the steep cliffs reappeared to our right, when the darkness descended, so that we couldn’t even see the telegraph poles along the route. We went through tunnel after tunnel. Going through them, the din was so deafening that we couldn’t hear anyone or anything no matter how we strained our ears.