‘Oh, there’s no need to upset yourself so,’ Sherlock Holmes tried to calm her. ‘After all, what I am saying is mere supposition. In addition, the extent of the count’s guilt is not clear at all and, for some reason, it seems to me that he suffered some great sorrow in his life, which vindicates him. Today’s letter demonstrates that he fears for you and has been doing all these things because he wants to save you, but not to escape justice, else he would have referred to the detective with hatred.’
Hope and joy now came into the voice of the young countess as she murmured softly, ‘Of that I am sure! He is too noble.’
‘And so I continue,’ Sherlock Holmes resumed softly in the darkness. ‘Bound by oath, they kidnapped you. How you fell into the hands of the count, I don’t know. But the very fact that you were with him aroused the jealousy of the others, and they decided, at all costs, to take you from him. It is probable that the count received a letter with the seal of Tadjidi and one of the other two members of the enterprise sought him out in Russia. The count refused to give you up and decided simply to kidnap you. You were then already 9 years old. But the count was fortunate enough to escape this person, carrying you away on that memorable night. Seven years went by and the count, having given you an education and turned you into an exceptionally cultivated young woman, wanted to return you to your parents, but he fell in love. Love, and the fear that you might not wish to surrender yourself to him, that’s what caused him to conceal the mystery. He married you and decided to visit your parents when you had finally grown close to each other. Their status and wealth was of no consideration to him. Mind you, he must have known that after your disappearance Rajah Ben-Ali had offered a reward of ten thousand pounds sterling, the equivalent of a hundred thousand roubles, to whoever found you. Five years later, the unhappy father doubled the reward. It is very likely that the possibility of earning such a huge reward gave no peace to the other two, which is why they didn’t give up their search for the count. The count got a letter and then vanished. One of the invisible enemies arrives in Russia and the count kills him—’
‘What are you saying!’ exclaimed the countess.
‘He kills him, having lured him into a trap,’ Holmes continued imperturbably. ‘He dressed him in his own clothes, killed and placed him in a basket, having first mutilated his face and knowing full well that going by the gash on the leg and the clothes, the corpse would be taken for him. Why? Evidently, he reckoned that the third villain would fall for this. The death of the count would be trumpeted everywhere by the newspapers and the third one would come here to kidnap you. Of course, thinking the count dead, he wouldn’t be so careful—’
‘Sssh,’ I whispered at this moment, seeing the dark silhouette of a man walking back and forth across the road.
Sherlock Holmes abruptly stopped his account and ran to the curtain.
XII
‘Now, then, my dear Watson,’ he whispered, ‘redouble your attenton.’
To the extent that the darkness allowed it, we saw that the man appearing to wander aimlessly opposite the house was above average height, well built, wearing a light well-fitting suit. Twice he walked past the countess’s home, stopped and turned his head to the right, peering into the darkness.
A couple of minutes later, a wagon, the kind used to transport furniture, drove from around the corner. It stopped some way from the house, and a man came from it and approached the man standing on the pavement.
The two exchanged a few words, after which one returned to the wagon, while the other remained standing on the pavement.
There were no passers-by.
‘Look! Look!’ whispered Holmes. ‘Look at the fence opposite.’
I looked in the direction he had indicated. A dark, half-rounded silhouette crawled over the top of the fence.
‘Someone is watching the man on the pavement,’ I whispered.
‘Yes, indeed!’ answered Holmes. ‘Slip off your shoes in case we have to move quietly.’
Meanwhile, the man on the pavement looked carefully on all sides and then swiftly crossed the street. Now he was under the window next to ours.
We froze, listening for the slightest sound, taking our revolvers out of our pockets, just in case. The poor countess sat there, more dead than alive, her heart beating loudly in the stillness. We now heard the noise of a cut being made.
‘Diamond cutter,’ whispered Holmes.
The sound was repeated several times and the glass cracked. The curtain billowed as the air blew in and we heard a rustle. Holmes jerked me nervously by the sleeve. I looked out on the street and saw a silhouette waist- high by the fence. The silhouette froze and a shot rang out.
The man on the windowsill gave a loud shriek and we heard his body collapse heavily on the pavement. At this moment, Sherlock Holmes swiftly flung the window open, leapt out and made for the fence.
I couldn’t very well leave him, so I threw myself after him, shouting to the countess, ‘Call the servants! Tie up the man lying outside if he’s lightly wounded! Send after that wagon!’
A moment later we were over the fence in pursuit of the killer. We were so quick that he was unable to run as far as the opposite end of the yard before we caught up with him. But to my surprise, he didn’t point his gun at us. On the contrary, he turned the barrel down towards the ground, waiting for us proudly, evidently not intending to defend himself.
Holmes aimed his revolver with one hand, and with the other took a torch out of his pocket and pointed the beam at the face of the criminal. The man who stood before us was of noble bearing with a handsome open face. He was pale as a sheet, but looked at us with the calm look of a man who had fulfilled his duty. It was the look of a man who had killed an opponent in a duel for insulting someone close or wounded his honour.
‘Count Piotr Vassilievitch Tugaroff, I arrest you,’ said Sherlock Holmes loudly and clearly, lowering his revolver.
‘I surrender,’ answered the count, ‘but I would like to know who I am dealing with.’
‘Of course,’ said Holmes, ‘I am Sherlock Holmes and this is my friend, Dr Watson.’
The count’s eyes lit up joyfully, ‘I am glad that it is you I have to deal with,’ he exclaimed. ‘You will understand me better than most. Let’s go to my house and should you still have any doubts about me, feel free to summon the police. I only ask that you hear my story before I am led away to prison.’
And he threw his weapon down.
‘I do believe you,’ said Holmes unexpectedly. ‘Let’s go. As for the police, they’re bound to be here any minute.’
We made our way to the count’s house. The shot had already disturbed the quiet street. In the distance we heard the trill of a police whistle. At the front door Holmes gave a strong pull at the bell.
‘Who’s there?’ asked the countess.
‘Holmes and Watson,’ answered the former.
The door opened and we entered the well-lit hallway. Seeing her husband, the countess started back, then, with a loud sob, threw herself at him. He embraced her silently, while tears cascaded from her eyes.
XIII
It was a good half-hour before the countess calmed down.
‘I would like to tell all first and then I shall ask you to summon the police,’ said the count at last. ‘But where is the man I shot?’
‘He is heavily wounded and we’ve carried him inside,’ answered Irra.
‘All the better,’ the count nodded his head. ‘But let Irra be the first to know her past.’
‘I already know,’ she murmured and blushed.
