‘Mrs Fordeland,’ he said, ‘I am certain that you and your granddaughter are in no immediate danger, but you were quite right to bring the matter to me. There is much here that requires investigation. I shall commence my researches and, in the meantime, I recommend that you go about your business. If, however, you observe any change in the behaviour of your followers - any change at all - please communicate with me at once.’
Mrs Fordeland and I rose and she moved towards the door. ‘Thank you, Mr Holmes,’ she said. ‘It is a great comfort to me to have your observations and to know that you are looking into the problem. You may be assured that I shall let you know of any change.’
We took our farewells and, when the door had closed behind our client, Holmes resumed his seat.
‘What do you make of it all, Holmes?’ I asked.
‘It is a singular affair, Watson. It reminds me a little of that curious game of “Grandmother’s Footsteps”
which took place in the Tumblety affair ten years ago,* but I am also moved to wonder what
connection the lady has with Russia.’
‘With Russia?’ I said, and I had barely spoken the words when I heard footsteps on the stairs and the swish of a dress. There was a quick tap at the door and our client reappeared.
‘They are here now, Mr Holmes,’ she said breathlessly. ‘One of them was outside when I reached the pavement!’
Two
The Bear’s Spoor
Holmes stepped quickly to the window, glanced down into the street, then sprang for the door.
‘Stay with Watson!’ he commanded our client and plunged out. We heard him taking the steps three at a time and I looked from the window in time to see him emerge on to the pavement and look about him.
I could see nobody who matched any of Mrs Fordeland’s sketches, but I did not know whether Holmes had a better view from the street. Certainly he turned suddenly southward and strode off briskly. I returned to my chair and summoned Mrs Hudson to bring us some more tea.
‘I hope,’ said our visitor, after we had been served, ‘that I have not involved Mr Holmes in any danger.’
‘Think nothing of it, dear lady,’ I assured her. ‘Sherlock Holmes has never allowed danger to deter him from an enquiry and, in any case, he is peculiarly well equipped to deal with most ordinary dangers.
Apart from being a bare-knuckle fighter of professional standard and a skilled swordsman, he is also an exponent of the Japanese fighting technique known as baritsu. I do not think you need fear for his safety.’
‘I am glad to hear you say it,’ she said. ‘I have seen baritsu demonstrated while I was living in Singapore. I thought it rather similar to Cornish wrestling. In Mongkuria they employ most unusual methods of personal combat, frequently involving their bare feet. I confess that, when I first arrived in the Kingdom and witnessed boys practising their skills, I thought it barbaric and the use of the foot very un-British, but I came to realize that it is, in fact, a very skilful affair and can look remarkably graceful, far more so than a bare-knuckle bout, where men are battered until their hearts fail, or even a fight under the Queensberry Rules which permit beating an opponent into unconsciousness. By
comparison, the Mongkurian manner seems more civilized.’
The door opened and Sherlock Holmes rejoined us. ‘If that tea is still warm, Watson, I should welcome a cup,’ he said, as he dropped into a chair.
Mrs Fordeland watched him expectantly as he took a long draught of tea, until he turned to her.
‘You have told us,’ he said, ‘that you have lived in India and Mongkuria and Canada. Have you been in other parts of the world?’
‘Many,’ she said. ‘I was born in India, I have been in Malaya. Mongkuria you know about. I have lived briefly in England and in Ireland, in Australia and the United States of America, and in Canada. Why do you ask, Mr Holmes?’
He looked thoughtful. You cannot identify any present reason why these four pursuers should be interested in your movements, Mrs Fordeland. Therefore it seems likely that their concern is with something in your past. Now, they are evidently not Indian, Malayan or Mongkurian, from their colouring and from the fact that they lack the distinctively handsome features of the Mongkurian people. If they were Canadian or American, I would have expected their interest in you to have shown itself in the vicinity of your home. Have you experienced anything of the kind at home?‘
‘No,’ she said. ‘Halifax is a great port, and there are strangers from all over the world walking its streets, but I’m sure I should have noticed anything like the persistent following that has gone on here in London.’
Holmes picked up the four sketches from his desk and looked at them for some time in silence. At last he said, ‘You did not mention having been in Russia.’
For a moment his client seemed flustered, but it was only a moment. ‘True,’ she agreed, ‘but you asked where I have lived. I have not lived in Russia, though I have travelled the whole length of the country.’
‘Surely not for pleasure?’ Holmes suggested.
‘No, no, Mr Holmes, though much of my journey was pleasurable. On the death of the King of
Mongkuria, the Regency Council did not renew my contract as governess to the royal children. I had relatively small means and was forced to support my two children and myself by my pen. My writing met with success in the United States and the magazine Young Women of America commissioned a
series of articles from Russia. For that reason I travelled, as I said, the entire length of that vast country.
I believe that I am,’ she concluded, with pardonable pride, ‘the first and only western woman to have done so.’
‘And what,’ asked Holmes, ‘did you make of Russia?’
‘It is an extraordinary country,’ she said. ‘Not only in its vast size, its huge distances, its great variations of climate, but in the contrasts in society. In Moscow and Saint Petersburg, in their great cities, one may see art and drama the equal of any in the world, and meet a society that equals anything in London, Paris, Vienna, New York or where you will; yet, in the countryside, no distance from those great cities, one can see a life that seems infinitely worse than the life of English serfs in the Middle Ages. The Russian aristocracy are all that the French were and worse, and I suspect that they will go the same way.’
‘You did not express these views in Russia, or in your articles?’ asked Holmes.
‘Certainly not, Mr Holmes. Whatever I thought of the wretchedness and oppression that I witnessed, I kept my mouth shut, though it was difficult on occasion. It seemed to me that my usefulness would be in making these things more widely known outside Russia.’
‘So you did describe them in your articles?’
‘Of course,’ she replied, ‘but if you are about to suggest that something which I wrote in those articles has upset someone in Russia, then I have to point out that it was nearly twenty years ago and that I did not identify people by their real names. It would have to be someone with exaggerated sensitivity and an extremely long memory who would concern himself with anything I wrote then.’
Holmes nodded. ‘Very true,’ he agreed. ‘Nevertheless, there is a clear Russian element in this affair.’
‘Why do you say so?’ the lady asked.
Holmes picked up the sheaf of drawings from his desk. ‘When I first saw your sketches I believed that I knew the identity of one of your followers. Now that I have seen how accurately you recalled and drew the bearded man, I have no doubt that the others are as accurate. I am now sure of the identity of this man.’
He selected one of the drawings and tapped it with his forefinger. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is a portrait of Major Ivan Kyriloff, who is a military attache at the Russian Embassy.’
Our client looked puzzled. ‘Why on earth should such a man take an interest in my trips about London, Mr Holmes?’
‘Why indeed?’ said Holmes. ‘Furthermore, although Major Kyriloff passes as a military attache, that is not his real duty. You may not be aware - few people are - that the Tzar has many more agents in the East End of London than the Metropolitan Police. They are there to watch over and to infiltrate if possible the bands of refugees from Russia who settle there, more than a few of whom are possessed of a desire to overthrow their former master. Major Kyriloff’s duty is to organize and oversee these spies, informers, agents provocateurs and saboteurs. He does not normally pursue his own quarry, he has far too many agents. That he has chosen, or been forced, to do so in your case, Mrs Fordeland, implies that Major Kyriloff or one of his superiors regards something about you as vital to
