Mycroft Holmes nodded slowly. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I see. Yes, such a matter might become the business of this department if there were no speedy resolution by the French authorities. You say that the matter remains unresolved after twenty years?’
‘That is my understanding,’ said Holmes. ‘I believe that the French police attributed the crime to the action of street robbers and have made no serious effort to close the case. Does your office have a file on the affair?’
‘Sadly there are often occasions when our citizens become the victims of murderers overseas, but it is rarely that such incidents fall within the responsibilities of this department. Have you any details?’
‘I know only what appeared in the English press at the time,’ said Holmes. ‘The victim was a British Army officer, one Captain Parkes. It seems that he had attended some public function with his fiancee, Miss Agatha Wortley-Swan, and escorted her home afterwards. At some time after delivering the lady to her abode, Captain Parkes disappeared. His body was taken from the Seine some days later and the French police expressed the view that he had been set upon by street bandits.’
Mycroft pursed his lips reflectively. ‘Agatha Wortley-Swan,’ he said. ‘I recall that young lady, and now that you mention her, I do recollect that we were involved in dealings with the French. The lady’s father was a wealthy manufacturer and he brought a deal of pressure to bear when the case was not solved.
What is it that you require, Sherlock?’
‘If a file still exists,’ said Holmes, ‘I would welcome a sight of it.’
Mycroft Holmes pursed his lips again. ‘I am sure that a file still exists,’ he said. ‘We seem to have an inflexible rule against throwing away any piece of paper, which makes it all the more important that we guard carefully the documents which we accumulate. I am not at all sure that even I have the authority to let you see such a file.’
‘Tush, Mycroft,’ ejaculated Holmes. ‘If you are worried that I may come to learn the lengths to which Her Majesty’s government will go when pressed by a wealthy manufacturer, you need not be alarmed. I am solely concerned with learning whatever I can about the circumstances of Captain Parkes’ death and the investigation.’
‘Perhaps it would help,’ suggested his brother, ‘if you were to explain your interest in the affair.’
With his customary succinctness, Holmes told the story, omitting no consequential detail from the moment when Mrs Fordeland first appeared at Baker Street. Mycroft heard him out in silence.
‘What do you make,’ he asked, after Holmes’ narrative ended, ‘of the personal involvement of Major Kyriloff?’
‘For Kyriloff to give this matter his personal attention and involvement indicates to me that the presence of Mrs Fordeland in London is perceived by him, or by someone who can order his actions, as in some way a threat to Russian interests. What you tell me of the remarks by Kyriloff and Count Rimkoff merely strengthens that belief.’
‘And what,’ asked Mycroft, ‘do you believe is their interest in the lady?’
‘They follow her about openly, as though they wish her to be aware of them, yet they take no step to interfere with her movements. It would appear that they suspect or fear some action that she may take or some person she may contact, but they are not sufficiently sure of themselves to move to prevent her.’
‘Have you any idea what that action or contact may be, Sherlock?’
Holmes shook his head. ‘The most frustrating aspect of the whole affair is my complete inability to make a sensible connection between the Russians - either pair of them - and my client.’
‘Yet you say she was once in Russia,’ reflected Mycroft.
‘But that was more than a quarter of a century ago. Her articles have been long published and forgotten.
If it were merely a question of an outspoken journalist having strong opinions against the Russian system - as Mrs Fordeland does have - I cannot see that they would waste a moment over it, let alone have their principal intelligence functionary in London attending to the matter in person.’
‘Are you completely sure that the lady has told you the truth, Sherlock - all of the truth?’ asked Mycroft.
‘One can never be absolutely certain that one has been told the truth, even when it is independently confirmed. I can only say that Mrs Fordeland strikes me as a lady who has a profound belief in honesty and plain-dealing. Would you not say so, Watson?’
‘Oh indeed,’ I agreed. ‘I cannot imagine that the lady would willingly tell a lie, certainly not on her own behalf. I imagine, since she holds strong views on the treatment of the needy and powerless, that she might engage in dishonesty to protect another, but never herself.’
Holmes looked at me thoughtfully. ‘I have said before, Watson, that you are not yourself luminous, but you transmit light. Whom do you imagine the lady might be defending?’
‘I cannot imagine,’ I said. ‘It was merely a speculation that, if she has not revealed the truth to you, the reason will be the protection of somebody else, not herself.’
He nodded. ‘You may be right,’ he said, and I was pleased by his rare praise. ‘Mrs Fordeland’s secret, whatever it may be, must be connected with Russia and, ergo, with her time there or her articles about the country.’
‘You sound very certain,’ Mycroft commented.
‘Tush, Mycroft. Surely the advancing years have not led you to a belief in coincidence? Was it not you, in our youth, who pointed out to me that, when two seemingly unconnected events occur in close proximity within the same frame of reference, a close and proper examination of the facts will reveal that they are connected? Here we have five people in London, two pairs of whom are manifesting a close but unexplained interest in the fifth. It must relate to the lady’s time in Russia. What I fail to understand is the possible connection with the murder of Captain Parkes. That is why I should welcome a sight of your file, Mycroft.’
‘And you are pursuing the Russian connection?’ asked Mycroft.
‘Of course!’ exclaimed Holmes. ‘At present I see no other direction to follow.’
Mycroft rose from his chair and gazed out of the window, with his back towards us. For several minutes he gazed down at the tree tops in the park below, all bright in their early summer greenery. At last he turned back to us, his mouth pursed.
‘The Russians can be very difficult,’ he remarked, seemingly apropos of nothing.
‘I thought they were our allies,’ I remarked.
‘Ha!’ he snorted. ‘Allies! There are times when I would rather have every tribe of uncontrolled barbarians in the world as allies than Imperial Russia. Whatever they say, Doctor, they are almost always up to something else. They have never ceased to try and sneak into India and wrest it from us.’
He focused suddenly on his brother. ‘Did you say that your client has an appointment with King Chula of Mongkuria? What is that about?’
‘I imagine,’ said Sherlock, ‘that the meeting is purely social, merely a renewal of old acquaintance.
After all, King Chula was her pupil as a child, and she seems to have been a great friend of her employer, King Chula’s father.’
‘You are sure of this?’ demanded Mycroft.
‘No, Mycroft, I am not. I merely believe that it is the most likely reason for their meeting. In my experience the most likely explanation is usually the correct one. Perhaps I am wrong and His Majesty wishes to make her the Mongkurian Ambassador to London.’
‘We would not permit it!’ snapped Mycroft, dropping back into his chair.