‘Certainly,’ he agreed, ‘but were you or I to assure the count, or Major Kyriloff at their embassy, that your presence in London is entirely connected with your desire to experience the Jubilee festivities and to meet your former pupil, King Chula, they would not believe us. They would assume that these are only excuses to conceal your real purpose.’
‘That is preposterous!’ the lady exclaimed.
‘Entirely,’ agreed Holmes, ‘but it is an unfortunate habit of personalities much less arrogant than the count’s to believe that any incident occurring in their vicinity is related to and aimed at them. Which creates a serious problem for you.’
‘I had understood you to say that I was not in any apparent danger, Mr Holmes.’
‘So I did, Mrs Fordeland, but that was, with respect, before you revealed to me your connection with Count Skovinski-Rimkoff, let alone the fact that a Russian official warned and threatened you before you left that country.’
‘Then you now believe that I am in danger, Mr Holmes?’
‘I regret to say that I think you may well be.’
‘Then what can I do?’
‘The question,’ said Holmes, ‘is not so much what you can do, but what you are willing to do. You have not suffered the obvious attentions of Russian agents in Canada or America, though I have no doubt that they have kept some kind of watch upon you. If you were to retreat across the Atlantic, I am sure that the danger would vanish. It is only here and now, in London at the time of the Jubilee, that the count perceives you as a threat.’
I was sufficiently astute to catch my friend’s use of the word ‘retreat’. I had seen him before use words to persuade a client to continue in a course of action that might expose them to danger so that he could conclude his enquiry, and I have to say that I always disapproved. Our client lifted her chin and I guessed, correctly, at her response.
‘Mr Holmes,’ she said, firmly, ‘I came to London with two principal purposes, to enjoy the Jubilee celebrations and to meet King Chula. I intend to carry out my intentions, and with that in mind I shall be grateful for your advice as to how I may do so without unnecessary risk to myself and my
granddaughter.’
‘If that is your decision,’ said my friend, and perhaps I imagined a hint of satisfaction in his tone, ‘then I suggest that you stay as close as you may to your hotel, that you avoid lonely places and that you never leave your granddaughter alone.’
‘In addition,’ he said, rising and stepping towards his desk, ‘I recommend that you always keep this handy.’ He had been poking about in one of the desk’s drawers and now handed her a small silver object.
‘A whistle?’ she said.
‘Precisely,’ said Holmes. ‘One of the kind carried by every London constable. A sharp blow or two upon it, day or night, will bring every constable within earshot running, and since the capital is more heavily policed this summer than it has ever been, I do not imagine that you will ever be more than yards away from a policeman or two.’
She smiled as she tucked the whistle away.
‘What a very ingenious idea! I really cannot thank you enough, Mr Holmes, and I apologize for misleading you at the outset. Now I must settle your fees.’
My friend raised a peremptory hand. ‘Watson will tell you that my scale of fees varies only when I decide to remit them entirely. Since your problem has presented me with certain singular aspects which it has been challenging to unravel, Mrs Fordeland, pray let me remit them in your case.’
She thanked us profusely and left.
‘Holmes!’ I expostulated, as soon as our door had shut behind her. ‘It is unworthy of you!’
‘Really?’ he replied, blandly. ‘What is unworthy of me?’
‘You have successfully unravelled the matter on which she first consulted us and should have warned her, in the strongest terms, to take herself and her granddaughter away from England. Instead you have encouraged them to remain exposed to danger.’
He stared at me thoughtfully. ‘You seem to have overlooked certain aspects of the matter,’ he said. ‘The first is the involvement of Agatha Wortley-Swan, which remains totally unexplained. The second is the perhaps more important question of how to prevent Professor Gregorieff from attempting to murder Count Skovinski-Rimkoff.’
‘You believe that is his intention?’ I asked, astonished.
‘Very definitely,’ he said. ‘Now, I might inform Scotland Yard and leave it to them, but Kyriloff has already tried to set the Yard on to Gregorieff, without even knowing who he is. I would be loath to take any steps which might put Kyriloff or the count in a position to mistreat the professor, but I do not think that I would be able to persuade Gregorieff away from his intentions. It is a difficult problem, Watson. We have wandered into some very murky waters.’
Twenty
An Unexpected Visitor
‘But you said,’ I recalled, ‘that Professor Gregorieff was not a violent man.’
‘So I did, Watson, nor is he. May I remind you that it was you who pointed out to me my error in dealing with Mrs Fordeland?’
‘Your error?’ I said, for I was genuinely puzzled.
‘My serious error,’ he confirmed. ‘When the lady first consulted us I assessed her as being a person of firmer principle than most, who would not deliberately mislead me. It was you, Watson, who pointed out that a person of impeccable integrity may deem it a part of that integrity to conceal another’s secret or to honour a promise given. But for that insight, we might well not have had this afternoon’s conversation.’
I was pleased at his recollection of my contribution, but I failed to see the relevance.
‘What,’ I said, ‘has that got to do with the murderous intentions of Professor Gregorieff?’
‘It is analogous, Watson. Mrs Fordeland is a person of integrity, which means that she will only deal in untruths or half-truths when there is some principle at stake. Gregori Gregorieff is a man of peace, which means that he will not take to the knife, the pistol or the bomb unless there is some greater reason. He has that greater reason. Two of his family are dead as a result of the loathsome Count Skovinski-Rimkoffs activities, one of them tortured and murdered within yards of the professor while he sat helpless to intervene. That is, I submit, a powerful motive.’
I nodded. ‘But why did he do nothing in Russia, then?’ I asked.
‘Precisely because he is neither emotionally nor intellectually violent, Watson. Were he an emotionally violent individual, he would have rushed out into the night when the count’s men were holding his sister and let himself be shot down as she was. Were he an intellectually violent man, he would have made some attempt on the count’s life in Russia and been executed or ended his days in some Siberian wilderness. Do you not agree, Watson?’
‘I follow your reasoning,’ I said, ‘but having done neither of those things, why should he now decide to kill the count?’
‘He will have wished to kill the count from the moment he learned that his sister had fallen into the maniac’s hands, but he suppressed that wish, He continued to do so, not least, I suspect, because he has to consider the welfare of his other sister, Anna. So, he leaves Russia and establishes himself in London, where, according to old Goldstein, he attends meetings of the Social Democratic Federation and speaks as a voice of reason for democratic, not revolutionary, change in Russia. Then comes the Jubilee and the count appears in London as an honoured representative of the Tzar. Gregorieff must have seen it as an indication that something must be done to finish the man and he must be the one to do it.’
‘I have to say,’ I remarked, ‘that after what Mrs Fordeland has told us about the count, and what we already know of his earlier behaviour in London, his death would not occasion me any qualms.’