Holmes smiled. ‘You take me too seriously, brother. I was jesting. The lady might make an admirable ambassador.’
‘She is a damned meddler,’ snorted Mycroft. ‘She went to Mongkuria to teach the wives and children of the former King. He had a great many of both. In no time she was drafting correspondence with heads of state for him, attending his diplomatic meetings and advising him. It became an
embarrassment. When he died and a regency took over during King Chula’s minority, we were pleased to advise that her contract should not be renewed.’
‘But why?’ I exclaimed.
‘I am sure, Doctor, that she acted out of her friendship with the King and a properly British sense of fair play, but it was an embarrassment to us.’
‘You’re not suggesting that she acted against British interests, are you?’ I enquired.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Not exactly. I grant you that she was instrumental in keeping the French and Germans out of Mongkuria. They wanted a way into Burma and India and Mongkuria seemed just the ideal
backdoor. Her friend the King kept them at bay.’
‘Then why do you complain?’ asked Holmes.
‘Because she treated all of us the same, that’s why! While she was there, the King treated our fellows exactly the same as the French or Germans.’
Holmes nodded. ‘And it became difficult for us to manufacture an excuse to take over his country and protect Burma and India. I see.’
There was a short silence, then Mycroft changed the direction of the conversation.
‘It might be worth this department’s while to find out what Kyriloff and Count Rimkoff are up to,’ he said. ‘Normally we leave Major Kyriloff alone. After all, he’s usually interested in anarchists manufacturing bombs to throw at his masters. None of our affair, really, so long as they don’t throw them here. When they do, it’s a matter for Scotland Yard’s Secret Branch. But Kyriloff and his unpleasant friend seem to be involved in something different. Perhaps I should know what it is. If it isn’t our affair I can ignore it or pass it across to Scotland Yard. Yes, Sherlock. You may have a sight of our file on Captain Parkes. I shall have someone bring it round to your lodgings.’
Six
The Russian Interpreter
‘I take it,’ I said, as we sat in a hansom returning to Baker Street, ‘that you will be able to make no further progress until you see Mycroft’s file on the Parkes murder.’
‘Whether I can make any further progress, Watson, remains to be seen,’ he said, rather snappishly, I thought. ‘What is clear is that it would be folly to do nothing until Mycroft’s minions unearth a twenty-year-old file from their cumbersome archives.’
‘Then what will you do?’ I asked.
‘In the absence of new data,’ he said, ‘there are two rational paths open to the enquirer. The first is to reconsider the existing data and see whether any new interpretation may be applied to it which will meet the facts. With your help and Mycroft’s I have already reviewed Mrs Fordeland’s problem and revealed a failure in my analysis of the data. You have pointed out to me that, while the lady does not present as a person who would lie or conceal information in her own interest, she might very well do so to protect someone else. I had failed to consider my own maxim that the absence of evidence does not prove that something has not occurred. I must now consider what Mrs Fordeland may be concealing and for what reason. I very much doubt that she will have misled us by inadvertence. The concealment, if there is one, will be deliberate and as a matter of principle.’
‘And secondly?’ I enquired.
‘Secondly,’ he said, ‘the enquirer must consider whether there is a possibility of acquiring fresh data from an alternative source. It occurs to me that there is one avenue which I
have not fully explored. That is the singular household of Miss Wortley-Swan.‘
He looked at me thoughtfully. ‘Tell me, Watson,’ he said, ‘you were quite certain that our client would not lie to us on her own account, and equally certain that she might do so to protect another. You will recall that I asked Mrs Fordeland if she knew of Miss Wortley-Swan. Do you think that she answered truthfully?’
I thought back to the look of perplexity which had crossed the lady’s face when the name was
mentioned to her. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I am sure that she had never heard the name.’
He nodded. ‘So am I, Watson, and that only adds to the singularity of the case.’
Mycroft’s documents did not arrive during the remainder of the day, and I feared that Holmes might react with frustration to the delay, but I was wrong. It was a part of his remarkable structure of mind that, if unable to see a way ahead in an enquiry, he would rage with impatience and vent his feelings in a number of ways, including bizarre noises upon his violin which belied his love of music and his genuine skills and, in the past, recourse to cocaine.
On this occasion, however, having determined on a plan of action, he ate a hearty dinner and was an amiable companion throughout the evening, his conversation spreading as usual across a wide range of fascinating topics, every one of which he addressed as though he had made a special study of the subject.
There was no word from Mycroft on the following morning, but still Holmes seemed unruffled by the delay. It was not until after our luncheon that he pulled out his watch and remarked that we should be about our business if we were going to Sussex.
It was mid-afternoon when a stopping train from Victoria deposited us at the foot of the Sussex Downs, and a dog cart from the little station soon took us into Burriwell.
‘You are not,’ I said, as we drew up before a handsome villa set back from the road in spacious gardens,
‘approaching her in disguise?’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘My elderly clergyman learned as much as he might reasonably expect from the villagers. I have learned the effect of my profession and my reputation upon those who are concealing something, Watson. It seems to me that I should try it upon Miss Wortley-Swan.’
‘You believe that the lady is concealing something?’ I asked.
‘I hope so, sincerely, Watson.’
The front doorbell was answered promptly by a plainly dressed maid, who showed us into a pleasant, sunny drawing room and took Holmes’ card to her mistress. We were soon joined by the lady herself.
I do not believe that I ever had the pleasure of being introduced to her when she was the toast of England’s young men, but I recall the engravings of her which appeared in the illustrated papers and the postcards of her which were sold in print shops. They showed her to be a tall woman of strong but delicate features with a head of golden hair. She wore a plain dress of light grey with very little jewellery. Now I saw that, though time had prematurely whitened her hair and she scorned to colour it artificially, she was still an upright and handsome figure.
When we had introduced ourselves she sent her maid for tea and waved us to chairs.
‘No one,’ she said, ‘can be unaware of your profession and your reputation, Mr Holmes,’ unconsciously echoing my friend’s own words. ‘Nevertheless, I find it impossible to see what enquiry has led you to my door.’
Holmes smiled. ‘A great deal of the work which I do,’ he said, ‘consists in eliminating matters and people which have nothing to do with the focus of my enquiry. It may well be that this is such a matter.
I am concerned in an enquiry on behalf of a lady visiting England for the Jubilee celebrations. In order to solve a matter which occasions her disquiet and maybe threatens her, it is necessary for me to identify a pair of people about whom I know nothing except that they are Russians and presently live within reasonable travelling distance of London.’