The Russian nobleman sat with his back to the bole of a tree, smoking a cigarette, his arm in a makeshift sling created from a large silk handkerchief, while Kyriloff paced up and down in front of him. The major looked up as we approached and said something to the count.
Skovinski-Rimkoff struggled awkwardly to his feet as we approached. ‘At last!’ he exclaimed,
‘Scotland Yard has produced its fabled investigator. How do you do, Mr Holmes. I have met your brother recently.’
‘So I understand,’ said Holmes, ‘but I should make it completely clear that I am not a member of the official police. I am a consulting detective in private practice. I am here entirely at Inspector Lestrade’s suggestion.’
‘Of course,’ replied the Russian, sardonically. ‘A private consulting detective, yet you carry out enquiries for your powerful brother. Were you not involved in the affair of the South African telegram last year?’
‘If I had been,’ said Holmes, ‘I would not be in a position to discuss it.’
Major Kyriloff intervened. ‘Inspector Lestrade, this delay is intolerable. Count Stepan has received only the crudest medical aid since the incident, and you keep us here in this park where there may be other assassins for all that we know.’
He looked around him nervously, as though every bush held a killer. ‘Perhaps,’ suggested Holmes, ‘Dr Watson may examine the count while Major Kyriloff explains to me what has happened here.’
‘What has happened here is an attempt to murder a cousin of His Imperial Highness Tzar Nicholas, and your police are treating it as of no consequence!’ declared Kyriloff.
‘Major Kyriloff,’ said Holmes, with that very even tone which I knew to conceal considerable anger, ‘it is immaterial to me whether you wish this matter dealt with or whether you prefer to retreat to your Embassy and write letters of protest to the Foreign Office. I have asked you for the facts, not your opinions.’
‘Count Stepan and I were taking a leisurely ride here when some murderous madman fired at him,’ said the Russian.
‘Do you or the count ride often in the Row?’ asked Holmes.
‘Not often, no,’ said Kyriloff.
‘And today?’ pressed Holmes.
‘The count had said that he remembered riding in the Row when he was in London years ago. He
wished to do so again and I agreed to accompany him.’
‘Ah, yes,’ responded my friend. ‘I had not forgotten that Count Skovinski-Rimkoff has been in London before and sampled the city’s social life. So, you had agreed to ride today. Who would have known of that intention?’
‘My own staff, others at the Embassy, the count’s personal staff, the stable which provided the horses, many people.’
‘You had, I believe, been up the Row and were returning,’ said Holmes. ‘Did anything at all untoward occur as you went up the ride? You were not shot at then?’
‘Of course not!’ snapped the Russian. ‘There was no disturbance at all as we went in that direction.’
‘It serves to establish that your attacker was most probably not in position when you went up the Row,’
said Holmes. ‘You had returned to this point when the incident occurred. Tell me what happened -
precisely.’
‘We were moving along the ride, a few feet behind the party in front of us, which was two young men and two ladies. I admit that I was not looking about. I was lighting a cigarette when I heard the shot. It came from over there,’ and he pointed to a clump of shrubbery.
‘I was, of course, immediately concerned for the safety of Count Stepan. He had been riding on my left.
I saw that his horse had reared and that he had thrown himself from the saddle to avoid the shot…’
Holmes interrupted him. ‘He had thrown himself from the saddle,’ he repeated. ‘He was not, then, unseated by his horse rearing?’
‘Of course not!’ said the major. ‘The count is a superb horseman. His horse reared at the shot, but Count Stepan had already flung himself to the ground.’
Holmes nodded. ‘And what did you do, Major?’
‘I sprang from the saddle and looked to see if the count was injured. When I saw that he had not been shot but had injured his shoulder, I helped him to the side of the ride and spoke to a police officer who had arrived.’
‘And there was only one shot?’ said Holmes.
‘I have said so,’ replied the Russian.
‘Why do you think that was?’ asked Holmes.
The Russian looked at him with a puzzled expression. ‘How would I know?’ he said. ‘I cannot fathom the behaviour of madmen.’
‘Really?’ said Sherlock Holmes. ‘I had thought that you were in the business of trying to fathom the minds of madmen, but it makes no matter. Why do you imagine that Count Stepan was the target?’
‘A ridiculous question!’ snorted the major. ‘Of course he was the target! A member of our Imperial family in front of some lunatic with a gun - who else would be the target?’
‘It occurs to me, Major, that amongst your fellow countrymen in England you must be easily the most hated and feared. Why would you imagine that you were not the intended victim?’
‘I do not understand you, Mr Holmes. I do my duty for my country here in London, which is to protect her from the machinations of the rabble of Jews, Socialists and Anarchists who take refuge here and who your government and your police allow to flourish like weeds.’
‘Of course,’ said Holmes. ‘Watson, how is the count?’
‘Very well, considering,’ I said. ‘I feared that he had dislocated his shoulder when he hit the ground, but he had merely displaced some muscle tissue which became trapped by his shoulder blade. A little pressure has replaced it. He will be as right as rain tomorrow when the bruised muscle eases.’
Holmes nodded and turned to Lestrade. ‘I hope,’ he said, ‘that your fellows have prevented anyone from trampling over the ground - and have not done so themselves.’
‘As soon as I got here I gave orders that nothing was to be disturbed, Mr Holmes. I was intending to invite you along and I know how particular you are about things being left as they were.’
‘Very good,’ said my friend, ‘Now, where is your witness - the small boy?’
Lestrade led us to a ragged lad of about nine years, who was squatting at the feet of a watchful sergeant. As we approached, the boy stood up.
‘The sergeant says as there might be a reward in it,’ he announced hopefully to Holmes.
‘So there may,’ said Holmes, fingering the coins in his pocket, ‘but only if you tell us the exact truth about what you have seen. Now, did you see the shot fired?’
‘Not exactly,’ said our informant, ‘but I heard it and I saw the smoke and I saw a bloke running away behind the shrubbery afterwards.’
‘Excellent!’ exclaimed Holmes. ‘Now, will you be kind enough to show me where all this happened?’
He put a hand on the urchin’s shoulder and let the boy lead him into the shrubbery that bordered the ride. From time to time I caught glimpses of him poking about with his stick behind the bushes and once I saw him showing his guide a piece of paper. Quite soon they emerged, the boy grinning broadly and testing a half-sovereign with his teeth, and Holmes with an expression of satisfaction.
‘You may let the lad go,’ he told Lestrade. ‘He has been most informative.’ He gazed about him. ‘I imagine,’ he said, ‘that you have not found any bullet that was fired?’
‘No, Mr Holmes,’ replied the inspector, ‘but, of course, the assassin would have been crouched in those bushes and firing upwards at the count on his horse. The bullet, having missed its mark, would have travelled on upwards. It might have landed anywhere in the park once it was spent.’
‘Oh, indeed,’ agreed Holmes. ‘I was not suggesting that you look for it. There are, however, some footprints in the shrubbery which you may find interesting. It is, perhaps, worth having a cast made of them, although I have a good description of the man who made them.’
‘You have a description of the perpetrator from the boy?’ asked Lestrade.
‘Better,’ said Holmes, but I think I am done here now. Would you have one of your men call a cab?
Perhaps, if it is not inconvenient, you might like to take pot luck with us at Baker Street?‘
