I recalled the calamity at Khodynka Meadow, when a festival meant to celebrate Tzar Nicholas’
coronation had turned into a tragedy as thousands were killed or injured in the crush. The Tzar’s wife had been blamed for appearing at a French
Embassy ball on that night, and the people of Russia were already calling her ‘the German bitch’.
‘There is another matter which confuses me,’ I said.
‘Which is?’ enquired Holmes.
‘If you are right - and I’m sure you are - that Gregorieff is Mrs Fordeland’s bearded man, she described him to us as often strangely dressed. I recall that she mentioned a striped blazer and a bowler hat. Yet Gregorieff appeared to us in perfectly ordinary garb, such as any respectable man might wear on a summer afternoon. Nor did he wear his false beard and his padding.’
‘Aha!’ exclaimed Holmes. ‘So you were not asleep throughout the interview! Well done, Watson. Still, I have to point out that he might have changed his disguise on the train from London.’
‘So he might,’ I agreed, ‘but there was no bag in the hall.’
‘Very observant of you,’ he said, ‘but you have forgotten that his sister went upstairs immediately they arrived. She might well have removed a small bag containing the necessary items.’
‘True,’ I said, ‘but on the occasion that you pursued him from Baker Street, you gave him no
opportunity to change. Surely he did not arrive back in Burriwell in his peculiar costume?’
‘But he did have an opportunity to change,’ said Holmes. ‘At Victoria I heard him take a ticket to Burriwell. We both boarded the local train, as today a non-corridor train. I certainly took the opportunity to adopt my clerical disguise in my compartment. I cannot say that he did not do the reverse, for I did not see him alight. I simply enquired about foreigners in the village, which led me to his address.’
I nodded, believing that my infant theory had been stifled. ‘Then you think that he sets out in ordinary clothing, but changes on the train?’ I asked.
Holmes shook his head. ‘I did not say so. It would be impractical. In the first place he could not guarantee always having a compartment by himself, unless he reserved one, which would draw
attention to him. In the second place, to repeatedly appear at the station in ordinary garb and in London in a more peculiar form, might eventually draw the attention of someone who would wonder what he is about.’
He took his cigarette case from his pocket and offered it across. ‘I entirely agree with you, Watson, that the man has a bolthole somewhere in London. If he did not flee there when I followed him, it was because he did not wish to run the risk of me knowing where it is. He was safe in fleeing to Burriwell, because he knew that Miss Wortley-Swan would support him in the face of any enquiry I made - as she has done.’
‘Then you propose to seek his London pied-a-terre?’ I said, delighted that for once I had come to the right conclusion.
‘Certainly,’ he said, ‘but before that there are other measures to be taken, and, like you, there is still a matter which perplexes me.’
‘What matter is that?’ I asked.
‘While we are agreed that there is some unrevealed purpose in the connection between Gregorieff and his employer, I have not the least indication of where that purpose lies, Watson.’
He emphasized his remark by rapping his stick on the carriage floor, then stared thoughtfully out of the window, remaining silent until we reached Victoria. At the cab rank I was surprised when Holmes turned aside, leaving me to travel home to Baker Street alone.
‘You go on, Watson,’ he said. ‘There are arrangements which I must make.’
It was some time before he rejoined me at our lodgings, but his manner had that lightness which I had learnt to interpret as a sign of progress in his enquiry. We passed a pleasant dinner and he would, no doubt, have continued in the same mood, but for the arrival of a messenger from Mycroft‘’s
department.
The courier had brought the official file on the murder of Captain Parkes, and initially Holmes fell upon it eagerly. However, as he leafed through its many pages, he began to emit snorts of impatience and muttered comments.
‘Useless!’ he exclaimed, flinging the folder to the floor and reaching for his pipe. ‘They are worse than Scotland Yard. They have overlooked absolutely everything that might have been of importance.’
The French police?‘ I asked.
‘Indeed,’ said Holmes. ‘But our own investigators were as bad.’
‘Were they not Scotland Yarders?’ I enquired.
‘No!’ he said. ‘They might have been bad enough, but Mycroft’‘s underlings did not wish to embarrass the Paris police, so they sent only a retired officer to discuss the case with the French. He confined himself to reading the statements taken by the French and listening to their opinions, and came back to recommend that their conclusions be accepted - that it was a random killing by street bandits.’
‘Are there indications that it was not?’ I asked.
‘Consider, Watson. Captain Parkes was a fit young man and, having been to a diplomatic ball, was dressed in the more than ordinately decorative formal uniform of his rank and regiment. Why on earth would a street bandit risk an encounter with a man whose uniform proclaimed him as skilled in fighting?’
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘I imagine that they would avoid such a man.’
‘Precisely, Watson! Street garrotters in any city are cowardly vermin who prey upon the weak and unwary.’
‘Was he, perhaps, drunk?’ I hazarded.
‘It is in the highest degree unlikely,’ said Holmes. ‘He had attended an important diplomatic ball as escort to his newly acquired fiancee and had been in the presence of his superiors.’
‘Nevertheless, he may have been,’ I persisted. ‘I was a young officer myself once. I am not forgetful of their capabilities for foolish conduct.’
‘Ah!’ he said. ‘I always forget your illustrious military career, Watson. Can you recall, from your experience, a captain becoming seriously inebriated in the presence of his fiancee and his superiors at an important function?’
‘Well, no,’ I said, after a moment’s thought. ‘There was the occasion when Lieutenant Harrington misbehaved himself at Aldershot.’
‘A lieutenant,’ interjected Holmes. ‘Was he with his fiancee or any other lady?’
‘Well, no, but…’
‘Was he observed by his superiors?’ demanded Holmes.
‘Well, no, but…’
He flung up an imperious hand. ‘Enough!’ he said. ‘You make my point.’
He drummed his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair. ‘Not only,’ he said, ‘does Mycroft’s file contain nothing that will assist in my investigation, there is one piece of information which indicates a considerable obstacle.’
‘What is that?’ I enquired.
‘There was a Captain Wilmshaw in Paris at the time, a friend of the murdered man. He was the man who identified the body. There is a statement from Wilmshaw in the file. It is completely useless. It merely sets out that he was an old friend of the dead man, that he was present at the ball and saw Parkes there with his fiancee, and recalls the time at which Parkes and Miss Wortley-Swan left. He says that he shared digs in Paris with Parkes and that he became concerned when Parkes failed to come home that night. After the ball he never saw his friend again until he was taken to the mortuary to identify his remains.’
‘You would have wished to question this man, I imagine, about Parkes’ mood, his associates, events at the ball and so on.’
‘Very good, Watson. That is exactly so.’
‘But is he not now available? Is he dead?’
‘He might as well be,’ said Holmes bitterly. ‘Mycroft has appended a note to the file to say that Wilmshaw is now a colonel and has been serving in the Sudan, where he remains.’
He drummed his fingers once more, then broke out again. ‘If I had been consulted at the time, Watson, there
