change and check the taverns along the Bentakurovsky Canal. I, too, have one or two places to check up on. I’ll be in Vertunoff’s tavern in two hours. You’ll know me by the torn boots I’ll be waving about.’
They parted, each going his own way. It was six in the evening when three men entered one of the taverns along the Bentakurovsky Canal. There was the Greek Alferakki, Smith Copton and Alferakki’s sales assistant, Ivan Veskoff. They were followed along the canal by a typical vagrant, waving a pair of boots about. Right by Vertunoff’s tavern, he was joined by a porter. These were Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson, who had changed their appearance so that nobody could recognize them.
‘They’re in there,’ Sherlock Holmes indicated the tavern door through which the three men had entered. ‘Ivan Veskoff is nine sheets to the wind already, and the other two are pretending to be, too. Watch them closely. In the meantime, let’s go inside.’
They stood outside, made a show of swearing at passers-by, and went in. But the men they sought were not there. They’d probably taken a private room. They sat down for a little while and Sherlock Holmes gestured to a waiter, ‘Hey, there, lad, find us a proper stall!’ His voice was rough and hoarse.
The waiter looked at them with questioning eyes, ‘Not enough space for you hereabouts?’
Sherlock Holmes grinned and winked slyly.
‘Don’t be difficult, you little pipsqueak. I’ve enough to grease a palm, and I feel crowded here,’ he said smugly.
The waiter’s attitude changed instantly. He was used to vagrants and thieves and knew that if a thief was celebrating, something would rub off on him.
‘Money up front!’ said Sherlock Holmes, still smugly.
This definitely convinced the waiter that these guests were all right, and had carried off some piece of business. He got positively friendly.
The tavern had three separate small rooms, which the tavernkeeper called cabins and the vagrants referred to as pigpens.
Sherlock Holmes followed the waiter. From one of the cabins they heard voices. Naturally, they took the adjoining one. They called for a bottle of vodka, food and beer. And they, too, began to celebrate. They spoke loudly, roared out songs at the top of their voices and swore. But they listened attentively to every word from the adjoining-room.
Alferakki and Copton were encouraging Veskoff to drink up.
Veskoff had drunk quite a lot already. He yelled, sang at the top of his voice and carried on in the most boisterous manner. Suddenly, Veskoff yelled, ‘To hell with it all! Just one more swing with a crowbar and a little push with the saw … and we’re rich, rich, rich!’
‘Shut up, fool,’ hissed one of his companions.
At this moment Sherlock Holmes sang drunkenly. Curses sounded from the other side of the wall. Sherlock Holmes was silent. The drunken sales assistant tried to say something, but his companions wouldn’t let him. They poured more wine and cognac down his throat.
It grew dark. Night fell. In both cabins the conversation went on. Now the conspirators fell silent, and snores came from their room.
Copton, making out he was drunk, summoned the waiter, ‘Give us the bill!’ There was an argument over how much had been consumed. The waiter collected the money and returned with their change.
Watson ran out and settled with the cashier. When he returned, there was a row going on next door. The drunken sales assistant wasn’t able to come to, breathed heavily, groaned while his two friends tried to get him out. It sounded as if he was being forcibly dragged out by his armpits.
Half a minute, and Sherlock Holmes and Watson followed on silent feet. Outside it was so dark, you couldn’t see a human silhouette two steps ahead.
VIII
Both pairs moved slowly along the shore of the Bentakurovsky Canal. It was quiet, except for the occasional vagrant making noises in his sleep. There were no streetlights, no police. At this time of night, hardly anyone ventured here. With every step it got quieter and quieter and grimmer. Suddenly, out of some pit, came a hoarse, sleepy voice, ‘Someone’s coming. Let’s at ’em.’
Footsteps sounded. Sherlock Holmes stopped Watson and, bending close to his ear, whispered, ‘The vagrants recognize strangers. There’s going to be a fight.’
Hardly a minute later, and the same hoarse voice yelled harshly, ‘Stop, or you’re dead.’
For about five seconds, the silence of the grave. Then the sound of bone-shattering blows. Two bodies fell to the ground and their groans echoed up and down the canal.
‘Got your bit, have you?’ came Copton’s sarcastic voice. ‘Lie still. Won’t take much to finish you off.’
And the first pair moved off. Holmes and Watson followed, shortening the distance behind the others to ten steps. Now the footsteps in front of them were silent.
‘Here’s OK,’ came the very quiet voice of Smith Copton.
Holmes and Watson froze, hands on revolvers. The two in front of them carried out a whispered consultation, but in the silence of the night their voices carried.
‘One blow and he’s finished,’ said Alferakki.
‘What for? I hate shedding unnecessary blood,’ answered Copton. ‘He’s drunk and I’ve slipped him a Mickey Finn. Just toss him in. He’ll drown.’
‘And if he wakes?’ asked Alferakki.
‘For heaven’s sake, do you think I’m doing this for the first time?’ said Copton impatiently. ‘A pail of water would be enough. Shove his head in it and hey presto. It’s not as if he can move.’
‘You sure?’ asked Alferakki, sounding sceptical.
‘For sure! Come on, into the canal with him. It’ll be daylight any minute. The staff will be there at ten, and we’ve got to be well away by then.’
There were careful footsteps and the noise of a body being dragged along.
Holmes whispered so softly Watson hardly heard him, ‘Stay here. Follow them. As soon as they’ve tossed him in and fled, fish him out. With luck it won’t be deep. Resuscitate him. Take him to the nearest police post. Then hurry to the branch of the State Bank at the fair. Ask for me.’ He gave Watson a gentle shove and stood waiting.
There was a heavy splash. Then all was still except for the sound of hastily retreating footsteps. Sherlock Holmes followed some fifteen steps behind. But when streetlights appeared, he fell back. All he wanted was to see the direction they took.
Seeing that Alferakki and Smith Copton were heading in the direction of the Commercial Centre, he turned and swiftly made his way through a side street. Outside a handsome residence he rang the bell at the main entrance. The policeman on point duty rushed over and glared at his dirty bare feet, ‘Who are you?’
‘Quiet,’ was the answer. ‘Can’t you tell CID?’
Nevertheless, the policeman wanted to see some ID, and on being shown identification, calmed down. Holmes, of course, as soon as he had undertaken the job, had gone to the police and had been issued with the requisite documents.
In the meantime, a voice came from the other side of the door,
‘Who’s there?’
‘Sherlock Holmes, the detective,’ answered Holmes.
‘Who else?’
‘It’s me,’ said the policeman. ‘I’m on point duty here. Open up, Ivan, it’s OK.’
Ivan, the valet, evidently knew him well enough to recognize his voice and opened the door. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, letting them in.
‘Is the director here, the director of the State Bank’s fair branch?’ asked Sherlock Holmes.
‘Yes. What’s happened?’ asked the valet anxiously.
‘So far nothing, but I need to see him on an important matter,’ Sherlock Holmes interrupted him sharply.
