Miss Wortley-Swan laughed, a deep, musical sound. ‘And you believe that my Gregori and his sister may be the ones you seek? I fear that you have wasted your journey, gentlemen.’
‘Not if our visit serves to eliminate someone,’ said Holmes, imperturbably. ‘This Gregori is, then, a member of your household?’
The tea was served and we awaited an answer until it had been poured.
‘Let me explain,’ said our hostess. ‘Since the brutal murder which robbed me of my intended husband, I have applied myself in efforts to improve the lot of those foreign refugees who, often through no fault of their own, find themselves taking refuge in this country. Many of them have no funds, sometimes no trade by which they may support themselves, and often they speak little or no English. I attempt to relieve those conditions and help them to become useful members of our society, helping themselves and our nation. It is difficult but rewarding work.’
She sipped her tea. ‘You may imagine, Mr Holmes, that language is often a problem for me. I have learned a little Russian, but it is a very little and often not of the kind spoken by those I seek to aid.
When I came across Gregori Gregorieff and his sister my problem was solved. Both of them are skilled linguists, not only in Russian but in other tongues, and to have their skills available to me has been a blessing. For that reason I have placed them on a small salary and removed them from a rather insalubrious lodging in Stepney to my own home, where they are readily available to me.’
She glanced at the mantelpiece clock. ‘I expect that Gregori and his sister will be here at any moment.
They were due to return by the train which, I suspect, brought you, but they will have walked from the railway station.’
She had barely spoken the words when we heard the sound of footsteps on the gravelled approach and the front door was opened and closed. There was a quiet murmur of voices in the hall, then the sound of someone ascending the stairs.
Miss Wortley-Swan stepped to the drawing-room door and called into the hall, ‘Gregori, there are two gentlemen here who would be interested to meet you. Would you step in for a moment?’
She returned, followed by her Russian interpreter. Holmes’ deductions had led me to expect the stocky and full-bearded man who appeared in Mrs Fordeland’s sketch, perhaps unusually dressed. I was, therefore, taken completely by surprise.
The man who followed Miss Wortley-Swan into her drawing room was a short, not particularly stocky, man with only a small goatee beard. He wore pince-nez spectacles, secured by a black ribbon, and a cream linen jacket with grey flannels. In his left hand he held a narrow-brimmed straw hat.
‘I am sorry,’ he said to Miss Wortley-Swan, ‘but Anna has developed a headache while upon the train.
She has gone directly to her room. Did you wish to see both of us?’
‘I shouldn’t think that we need to bother her. Let me introduce my visitors, Gregori. They are Mr Sherlock Holmes, the well-known consulting detective, and his colleague, Dr Watson.’
I saw the quick flash of nervousness in the Russian’s eyes before he composed his face in a smile and advanced to shake our hands. Once we were all seated, our hostess served tea to her interpreter and smiled around at us.
‘I have been able,’ she said, ‘to convince Gregori of the virtues of the English cup of tea, as opposed to the strange brews that they serve in Russia, but I have never been able to woo him away from his devotion to strong Russian cigarettes. If you gentlemen would care to smoke, please feel free to do so.’
Immediately the Russian pulled out an ornate silver cigarette case and offered it. ‘I am sorry,’ he explained, ‘that these are home-made. It is so difficult here in London to obtain a good Russian cigarette.’
Holmes rolled the cigarette between his long fingers, then sniffed at it. ‘A strong Georgian and a Turkish blended,’ he suggested, and the Russian smiled agreement.
‘I see that you know your tobaccos, Mr Holmes. Tell me, into what are you enquiring at present?’
‘I am seeking,’ said Holmes, ‘two persons, a man and a woman. I have descriptions of them and I am certain that they are Russian. So far I have been unsuccessful in my attempts to locate them. It was the knowledge that Miss Wortley-Swan had two Russian guests that prompted my enquiry, nothing more.’
The Russian glanced at his hostess, as though for approval. ‘Miss Wortley-Swan will have told you that she employs me and my sister to help with her generous efforts among our fellow countrymen in London. Apart from assisting Miss Wortley-Swan, we have no other occupation. Both of us are anxious to make our home here in England now and we would certainly not do anything to cause concern to your excellent police force.’
I found his statement a little too glib, but Holmes appeared to have taken it at face value. He nodded and said, ‘I am not, of course, a part of the official police. I am a consulting detective employed in the interests of a private citizen who has some concerns about the behaviour of this Russian pair. Tell me if you will, Mr Gegorieff, what caused you to leave Russia?’
The amiable expression on the Russian’s face became solemn. ‘You will be aware, Mr Holmes, that things in Russia are not as they are here. If a wrong is done, there may be no redress. A great wrong was done to my family and the perpetrator was a man of the nobility. My efforts to obtain justice angered him and life became extremely difficult for me and my sister. We thought it better to leave our country.’
Holmes nodded again. ‘Since you have been in Britain,’ he said, ‘have you had any dealings with Major Kyriloff of the Russian Embassy?’
Gregorieffs expression turned to one of distaste and Miss Wortley-Swan emitted a most unladylike snort.
‘That man!’ she exclaimed. ‘Major Kyriloff seems to imagine that every former citizen of Imperial Russia is a dedicated revolutionary, spending every day in schemes to murder the Tzar and overthrow the state! He and his agents are all over the poorer districts of London, harassing people whose only concern is to settle down in a strange country and make a living.’
‘You have met him?’ asked Holmes.
‘Many times,’ she declared, ‘and he does not improve with acquaintance. His agents creep and spy among their unfortunate fellow countrymen in England, spreading lies and sowing money to create mischief. He is an unmitigated scoundrel!’
‘You must,’ said Holmes, ‘hear a good deal of conversation about Kyriloff and his agents in the course of your work, Miss Wortley-Swan. Do you, by any chance, know what it is that most engages the major at present?’
‘No,’ she said, with a thoughtful expression. ‘You are right that I hear a great deal of him, but at the moment he seems to have left the East End alone. Something else - and I do not know what - has taken up his time of late. I cannot say that the East End is sorry for his absence.’
My friend asked a few more, fairly perfunctory, questions of our hostess and her interpreter, then rose to take his leave. We were in the hall when he turned again to Miss Wortley-Swan.
‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘but you mentioned the brutal murder of your fiance. I believe that his death remains unsolved?’
Her face tightened. ‘Although it was twenty years ago,’ she said, ‘it is not a matter which I care to talk about. It is true that his death remains unsolved to this day. The wretched police of Paris chose to treat it as a random robbery by street bandits. Good afternoon, Mr Holmes, Doctor.’
It was a sunny afternoon and we made our way back to the little station on foot. Holmes was silent and I took it that he was disappointed by the afternoon’s results.
‘A wasted journey then, Holmes?’ I ventured after a while.