‘But what has all this to do with Mrs Fordeland?’ I protested.
‘Now there, Watson, you put your finger on exactly the right point. What, indeed, is the connection?’
Four
The Bear’s Whisper
On the next morning I rose to find that the atmosphere in our sitting room at Baker Street was thick with the stale smoke of Holmes’ pipe. He himself was sitting immobile, perched on top of a pile of cushions upon the sofa. His face was set in an expression of grim concentration and his eyes half-closed. As I pulled back the curtains and slid up the windows he barely acknowledged my ‘Good morning.’
It was only when I had been seated for some minutes that he took his pipe from his mouth, opened his eyes and looked at me.
‘It does not make any manner of sense, Watson,’ he said, and I realized that it was the case of Mrs Fordeland to which he referred. ‘I have spent the night examining the facts from every angle, and it does not make sense!’
He uncoiled himself from the sofa, knocked out his pipe in the fireplace and sat at the table, just as Mrs Hudson arrived to serve breakfast. He was silent over our meal, eating only a little toast and drinking several cups of coffee.
When the meal had been cleared away he remained at the table, gazing out of the window and
drumming his long fingers on the tablecloth.
‘We have insufficient data, Watson,’ he declared at last. ‘All that we have learned appears to be true, yet none of it is capable of being connected in any meaningful fashion. Ergo, there must be a missing piece or pieces.’
‘How do you propose to obtain new data?’ I asked. ‘Mrs Fordeland appears to have told us all that she knows of the matter. Where else can you enquire?’
‘There is my brother,’ he said. ‘The unresolved death of Captain Parkes in Paris will have given rise to representations between the two governments. Mycroft’s department will have been involved.
Somewhere in their voluminous files there may well be some small piece of information which will put us on the right track.’
‘Shall you go to his club?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘Oh no. The matter may be urgent. As we do not know the purposes of the Russians in following our client, we cannot be sure that she is not in any danger.’
‘But I thought you assured her that there was no danger,’ I said.
‘I pointed out to Mrs Fordeland that, if her followers wished her immediate harm, they would have done it before now. I still believe that to be true, but I do not discount the possibility that some factor in this situation which we do not understand may change and place her or her granddaughter in danger.
We will act speedily. Be so kind as to ring for our boots, Watson.’
Within minutes we were in a cab, bound for the great building which housed the department of
government for which Mycroft Holmes worked.
I had known Sherlock Holmes for several years before he so much as mentioned to me that he had a brother. I recall that it was in connection with the ‘Greek Interpreter’ case that he finally introduced me to Mycroft. Before the introduction Holmes explained that his older brother was cleverer than he but physically lazy. He lived a curious existence, rotating between his bachelor chambers, his office and the strange club called the Diogenes Club (of which he was not only a member, but a founder). It was the absolute rule of the Diogenes Club that no member might speak to another on its premises.
Holmes also explained that his brother was so important a functionary of the government that there were occasions when he was, virtually, the British government. At the time I was inclined to regard this as an exaggeration, but in my observation of Mycroft Holmes over the ensuing decade I came to realize that he really was at least as intelligent as his younger brother and that the power he wielded in government circles seemed to have no bounds.
We were soon at the great Italianate building that housed Mycroft’s department, and were quickly led up a magnificent staircase to his office. When we were shown into his room, Mycroft sat behind a large and ornate desk, in front of tall windows that looked down upon the treetops of the park.
He rose at our entry and showed us to chairs. ‘Sherlock, Doctor,’ he said, ‘this is a surprise. I was thinking that I must drop you a note.’
‘Really?’ said Holmes. ‘Is there some little matter in which I can assist your office?’
Mycroft shook his head. ‘Oh no,’ he said, ‘but it seems that you have been upsetting our Russian allies.’
‘If that is news to you, Mycroft, it is also to me. In what way have I caused upset and how does the matter come to your ears?’
‘You know me, Sherlock,’ said his brother. ‘Usually I am bored to distraction by the diplomatic social round, but there are occasions when one must suffer for one’s country. There were, I am afraid, sufficient reasons of policy for me to make an appearance last evening at a reception at the Russian Embassy.’
‘You mean you wished to listen to indiscreet conversations once the vodka was flowing,’ remarked Holmes. ‘Pray continue.’
‘Something along those lines,’ said Mycroft. ‘It was supposed to be an event to introduce the Russians who are here for Her Majesty’s Jubilee, so every other person was a cousin of the Tzar. Your old sparring partner Major Kyriloff was there, hanging about an offensive fellow called Count Stepan Skovinski-Rimkoff. Kyriloff introduced us, making a great point that Rimkoff is yet another cousin of the Tzar and the fellow looks at me with a fishy eye and says, “Are you not the brother of Sherlock Holmes, the criminal agent?”’
‘I do apologize, Mycroft, that you should be forced to own my kinship in public,’ said Holmes.
‘Not at all, brother, not at all. I was pleased to claim kinship with the man that Dr Watson has made famous. It was his next remark that caused me concern.’
‘And what was that?’ asked Holmes.
‘He said, and I quote him verbatim, “I am familiar with his adventures through the stories in your Strand Magazine. I applaud his intelligence and courage, but unfortunately he sometimes involves himself in things which are not his concern.” “Really?” I said. “Was there something in particular which you had in mind?” He gave me the fishy eye again and then said, “Your brother has chosen to interest himself in a matter which is of no criminal consequence whatsoever. However, it is an affair which touches upon the honour of my country. You would be well advised to suggest that he leaves the matter alone.” With which he tossed off his vodka and marched off. Damned rude, I thought.’
Mycroft delved into a pocket of his coat and extracted a snuffbox and a large silk handkerchief.
‘What do you know about Count Skovinski-Rimkoff?’ asked Holmes.
‘He’s as rich as Croesus. Came into an enormous fortune when he was about twelve. He’s in his late forties now and owns a chunk of Russia about the size of England and Wales. He’s a cousin of the Tzar, but has a thoroughly unwholesome reputation.’
‘Really?’ said Holmes. ‘In what way?’
‘He was over here some years ago, in a private capacity. He got involved in a decidedly unpleasant affair with a gay young woman and almost caused a scandal. It seems that he paid the lady for some specialized service and became rather enthusiastic, so that she was quite severely injured. Everything was all being covered up very nicely by Kyriloff’s agents when the young lady turns up at a police station with a solicitor in tow and demands a prosecution against the count. That was where Her Majesty’s government got drawn into the thing. The Russian ambassador was applying pressure and trying to persuade us to jail the woman. I had to point out to him that this is not Holy Russia, that we do not arbitrarily imprison people who are an embarrassment. I suggested that a deal less threats and a moderately large sum of money might cure the problem.’
‘And did it?’
‘Oh yes. We never heard any more of the matter.’
‘You don’t think his remarks to you might refer to that incident?’