‘There’s been a shooting in Hyde Park,’ he repeated when he had drunk. ‘It’s a Russian nob, here for the Jubilee.’
Holmes flung me a quick glance under his eyebrows, and I noticed that his right hand began to stroke the ball of his left thumb, as he did when he expected excitement.
‘Calm down, Lestrade,’ he commanded. ‘There has been a shooting of a Russian in Hyde Park. So much we have gathered.
Now - who is the Russian, is he dead and who has shot at him?‘
The inspector felt in his pockets and produced his notebook, thumbing through it quickly. Eventually he said, ‘It is a Count Stepan Skovinski-Rimkoff,’ mangling the pronunciation horribly.
Holmes flung me another quick glance, which I interpreted as a warning to say nothing that might reveal our interest in the victim.
‘He is a nob, you say?’ pressed Holmes. ‘A visitor to the Jubilee?’
‘Worse,’ said Lestrade. ‘He’s not only a visitor to the ceremony - according to Major Kyriloff, he’s a cousin of the new Tzar.’
‘Ah!’ exclaimed Sherlock Holmes. ‘So, Major Kyriloff is already involved. I do not understand, Lestrade, why your commisioner allows that man to stay at liberty. He is responsible for a significant percentage of the violent crime in this city, yet Scotland Yard lets him run free.’
‘You know perfectly well why it is, Mr Holmes,’ said Lestrade, looking hurt. ‘We should be very happy to feel the major’s collar, but your brother’s department won’t let us.’
‘And that,’ said Holmes, ‘is simply because Kyriloff would be replaced immediately by some other agent of the Tzar, and my brother’s minions would be put to the trouble of finding out who it was.’
‘I can’t sit and argue politics with you, Mr Holmes. I’ve got a very indignant Russian toff in Hyde Park, making a noise, not to mention the aforesaid Kyriloff hanging about being insulting. I would welcome your views on the matter, if you can spare the time,’ said Lestrade.
Holmes lifted both hands in apology. ‘Forgive me, Lestrade. Of course, Watson and I will be delighted to accompany you. You may fill us in on the way.’
Mrs Hudson intercepted us at the stair’s foot. ‘I see you are on your way, Mr Holmes,’ she said. ‘I was about to serve luncheon. May I take it that it will not now be needed?’
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Hudson,’ said Holmes, ‘but the inspector has an emergency which affects Her Majesty’s Jubilee. We must go at once.’
Lestrade’s cab was still at the kerb and we piled aboard. ‘Now,’ commanded Sherlock Holmes, once we were seated and the vehicle pulled away, ‘be so kind as to outline the facts, Lestrade.’
Lestrade reached for his pocketbook again. ‘It appears,’ he said, ‘that this Russian gentleman and Major Kyriloff were riding in Rotten Row. They had gone slowly up the Row, east to west, as it were, and had turned and come back. About two thirds of their way back, a shot was fired at the count.’
‘Was he hit?’ asked Holmes.
Lestrade shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘The shot startled his horse, making it rear, and the count fell heavily. I think he’s dislocated his shoulder where he fell.’
‘One shot only?’ asked Holmes.
‘That’s it,’ said the inspector.
‘What became of the person who fired it?’
‘He got away,’ said Lestrade. ‘He’d been behind some shrubbery. What with the shot, it startled the crowd and the horses, so there was a fair old confusion at first. There were people running away and people coming to see and ladies and gentlemen trying to calm their horses down. He must have got away in all that.’
‘This one shot,’ said Holmes, ‘how do we know that it was fired at Count Skovinski-Rimkoff, since it didn’t hit him?’
The little policeman gazed at Holmes for a moment without answering. Then he said, ‘Well, that’s what the count and Major Kyriloff say.’
‘And where were they in relation to the shooter?’
‘We have a small boy who saw the smoke and heard the shot in the shrubbery. From what he says, the man with the gun was about fifty yards ahead of the Russians, on their left front.’
‘So he might have fired at either with very little difference to his chances,’ observed Holmes.
‘I suppose that’s true, Mr Holmes, but both the Russians seem convinced that the count was the target.’
‘Has it not occurred to you, Lestrade, that Major Kyriloff is certainly the most hated Russian in London
- at least by his fellow countrymen? Faced with a clear shot at Kyriloff or the count, I would have expected the choice to be Kyriloff.’
‘Then, what do you make of the fact that it wasn’t?’ asked Lestrade.
‘We do not know that it wasn’t, Lestrade. The reliability of evidence must be measured against its source, and I would not regard Major Kyriloff as a reliable source. The count I do not know. Do you know any more about the matter?’
‘No, Mr Holmes,’ said Lestrade. ‘Once Major Kyriloff had told me who the count was and that he was invited for the Jubilee, I thought that I would welcome your views on the affair.’
In other words, I thought to myself, finding himself out of his depth, the little inspector had run to Baker Street for my friend’s assistance, as he so often did.
It may be that Sherlock Holmes was thinking along similar lines. Tell me,‘ he asked Lestrade, ’how you come to be mixed up in this. Surely an assassin’s shot at a visitor to the Jubilee is more a matter for the Secret Department at the Yard?‘
‘So it would be ordinarily,’ agreed the detective, ‘but with London crawling with all manner of royalty and politicians from all over the world, the Secret Department can’t cope. A whole lot of us have been told off to assist them. I was assigned particularly, because of my success ten years ago against that madman’s plot at the Golden Jubilee, which I freely admit was down to you, Mr Holmes.’
We had no opportunity to discuss the matter further, for we were arriving at the park.
Nine
Smoke Without Fire
Largest of the capital’s parks, Hyde Park is of great importance as a place of recreation to multitudes in our crowded city. Originally created in the days of Henry VIII, the narrow-spirited Parliament under dictator Cromwell sold it to private owners. Everyone who so much as walks his dog there or simply sits upon the grass in the sun, should thank Charles II that he recovered the park when the monarchy was restored.
On a fine day there is no more populous or popular part of the park than the ride known as ‘Rotten Row’ or the ‘Ladies’ Mile’. This tree-lined ride, along the south side of the park, was (and still remains) the favourite resort of fashionable Londoners who wish to take a little gentle equestrian exercise and, at the same time, to see and by seen by their fellows.
For hours at a time, the Row becomes a slow-moving procession of smart young men, dressed to the nines, and, more particularly, of the most beautiful and best-dressed women in the world. Groups and individuals exchange greetings and pleasantries as they pass and repass, and quite frequently assignations are made by a gesture, the movement of a gloved hand on the bridle or a significant handling of the whip. Indeed, while the mounted parade includes many members of society and well-known performers, there is no doubt that more than a few of the exquisite lovelies who ornament the scene are ladies of the demi-monde.
It can be imagined that this parade of fashion and style is treated as a free exhibition by Londoners who, if they cannot afford to participate, loiter along the edges of the Row to admire and comment upon the passing show.
The sunny day had brought a large crowd, of riders and onlookers, and it was at the heart of this that the incident involving Count Skovinski-Rimkoff had occurred, so that it took us no little while to force a way through the throng and reach the area, cordoned by Lestrade’s constables, where the count and Major Kyriloff awaited us.
