The Travels of Sherlock Holmes, page 11
Fenton accordingly did so. When he mentioned the name Prince Igorov, which Professor Moriarty had used, Stark’s brow clouded.
‘Is the name known to you, sir?’ asked Fenton.
‘No. Or, that is to say –’ Colonel Stark broke off, and went across to his desk, where he unlocked a drawer and rummaged among some papers. ‘Ah, yes, here we are.’ He brought a large sheet of blue paper across to us. ‘I knew I had seen the name recently, and here he is. Prince Alexei Ilyich Igorov, that the fellow? Very possibly an alias, mind you.’
Sigerson remarked, ‘It sounds a bit like the central character in an unfinished opera by the late Russian composer, Monsieur Borodin.’
‘Does it, indeed? Then very possibly that is where he got the name from,’ said the colonel. ‘Well, anyway, his name – Igorov, not Borodin – appears on his report from one of my agents in Teheran. The prince has apparently turned up there, at the Russian Legation.’
‘The devil he has!’ exclaimed Sigerson. ‘And what can he be doing in Persia, I wonder?’
Fenton and Colonel Stark laughed out loud, while Sigerson and I stared from one to the other of them in some astonishment.
‘Your pardon, gentlemen,’ said Colonel Stark. ‘You could, perhaps, scarcely be expected to know what strikes us as so amusing. However, the presence of a Russian agent – another Russian agent, I may say – in Persia is easily explained, when you think about it.’ He walked over to a large coloured map which hung upon the wall. ‘Here,’ said he, tapping the map with a long ebony ruler, ‘is Russia. Plenty of coastline, you observe, but look where it all is. Here, the Baltic, and there, Vladivostok, plenty of seaports, but all of them ports which are blocked solid by ice every winter. More than anything, Russia desires – needs – a warm water port. That is one of the main reasons for the Russian desire to acquire India, or at the very least a toehold in India. We – by which I mean the British – have reasonably good relations with the Persians, but the Russians never cease trying to extend their own influence there.’
Sigerson frowned. ‘You make it sound as if it were a continuous process, Colonel.’
‘M’mm, it is. A posting to the Legation there – British or Russian – is generally regarded as a cosy billet, precisely because the political situation is static, not to say stagnant. The Shah’s regime is benevolent enough, corrupt in parts, of course, as all those fellows are –’ (I need not add that the Colonel was one of the old school, particularly in his approach to what he would undoubtedly call ‘natives’) – ‘but Nasr ed-Din is enlightened enough to look to the west for guidance. A useful buffer for British India, as some politician remarked. And likely to remain that way, unless and until there is some violent upheaval.’
‘Thank you, Colonel,’ said Sigerson, ‘that gives me an admirable thumbnail sketch of the place. But the point I was making is that, given that there are already career diplomats on both sides trying to advance the interests of their several countries, and given that even they would appear from what you say to have little chance of changing things, then why on earth should the Russian government bother to send this Prince Igorov there into the bargain?’
‘I see what you mean,’ said Colonel Stark thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps they hope that he will ginger things up a bit? London does that sometimes, sends someone out here to stir us up, and the Russians probably do the same. Probably shouldn’t say that to you, seeing that you were sent here to stir us up,’ added the bluff old soldier.
Sigerson laughed. ‘Hardly that, Colonel. Nor would I presume to do anything of the sort. No, my mission was a very specific one, for which I happened, by force of circumstance, to be better qualified than anyone here. Well, no doubt you have the right explanation.’
‘Forgive me, sir,’ said Fenton, ‘but it may be that the prince is acting on his own initiative, that he has some sort of roving commission from the Tsar, and that he has spotted something he might turn to his advantage – or to Russia’s advantage, that is to say.’
‘Now that is very likely,’ said the colonel. ‘And, of course, he might easily do both – go along to see what mischief he can make on his own account, and at the same time put the fear of God into the idle beggars at the Legation. Yes, that would make sense. Well, nothing we can do about him now, I’m afraid, now that he’s out of our territory, so I’ll pass the word on to Teheran to keep a close watch on him.’ He sighed. ‘Pity that the situation in Afghanistan looks so acute just at the moment, or I’d have asked you to go into Persia, Captain Fenton.’
It sounded the sort of adventure that every young man dreams about: travel, excitement, danger, and the prospect of glory and advancement at the end of it all. I should dearly have loved to volunteer to undertake the task of pursuing this mysterious Russian prince myself, but the sight of the colonel in his finery prevented my speaking.
Sigerson asked, ‘But surely the British Legation have their own men there?’
Colonel Stark shook his head. ‘Only in a very limited way. Oh, they keep watch on the other embassies or legations, bribe the doormen and what have you, send a note of anyone out of the ordinary, like this Igorov. But things really are so settled there just at present that there is no-one who might do anything more – adventurous, shall we say? No reliable agents who could be entrusted with the task of following the man, see what exactly he is up to, if he should leave the capital.’ He rubbed his chin as if deep in thought, and looked hard at Sigerson. ‘I don’t suppose –’
‘Hardly, Colonel!’ Sigerson laughed. ‘My task here is done, and I now look to return to London as soon as may be. And I scarcely think myself fitted for what you have in mind, for I am neither a diplomat nor a cloak-and-dagger agent. Why, I don’t even speak Arabic.’
‘I do, sir,’ I blurted out – for I could keep silent no longer.
‘You, Dyce?’ said the colonel.
‘Yes, sir. It has been useful to me more than once, in the course of mapping and surveying. My superior officers will assure you that I am quite fluent,’ I added.
‘I am sure they will.’
‘Moreover,’ I went on, keen to make out my case, ‘I can even manage a few hundred words of Farsi, which is the Persian variant, and somewhat different from what one might call the classical Arabic. And then if you, Mr Sigerson, are quite set on returning to London, why, Persia is not so very far from the direct route in any event. You would have to go via Colombo and Egypt, would you not? Well, Persia is only a short distance out of your way.’
I had half expected the colonel to utter some sharp rebuke for my presumption, but he was not that sort of man. Instead, he asked Sigerson, ‘Come now, sir, what say you? As Dyce says, it would not be too great a detour, nor too great a hardship. And the government would pay your expenses, on a reasonable scale, of course. Well?’
Sigerson laughed heartily. ‘Well, indeed! I have the distinct impression that I am the victim of some cunning fraud, designed to make me do that which I would not, like some provincial businessman who comes to London to be rooked by our native tricksters.’ He looked at me, his face serious now. ‘Lieutenant Dyce, do you think your abilities are equal to the task of countering the endeavours of a determined agent of the Russian government?’
‘I should like to think that they are, sir, though only time will tell whether I flatter myself.’ Boastful, I allow, but what man at twenty-odd would say otherwise?
‘And are you prepared to put yourself under my orders?’ asked Sigerson.
‘If Colonel Stark instructs me to do so, sir.’
‘Colonel?’
‘If you, Mr Sigerson, are prepared to act for us in this matter, then I think you may count on our assistance in every possible way.’
‘In that case,’ said Sigerson, ‘I suppose I had better say yes.’
The colonel looked pleased. ‘I hoped you would say as much. Now, the overland routes would take too long, and they all lead through dangerous regions, so you had best go by sea. There are regular sailings to Aden, and from there you can get some smaller vessel to one of the Gulf ports. You will have to make you own way overland, I fear, but that should not be too difficult at this time of year. Let us hope he has not moved on before you get there.’
‘And if he has done so?’ asked Sigerson.
The colonel looked at me, a wicked expression in his eyes. ‘Well, Dyce? If he has moved on, what would your course of action be?’
‘To pursue him, sir, until we ran him to earth.’
‘Good man! Does that satisfy you, Mr Sigerson?’
Sigerson laughed. ‘It is the response I would expect from a soldier and a man of action, Colonel. Well, we shall see what may be done. It is a good cause, after all.’
Once the matter had been settled in this way – a most satisfactory way from my point of view – our preparations were quickly made, with the result that two days later Sigerson and I found ourselves aboard a steamer bound for Aden.
Chapter Twelve - Igorov
I do not know what the state of things may be these days, but certainly at the time of which I write communications from Aden along the Persian Gulf were primitive to say the least.
Travellers who wished to land at one of the ports along the Gulf were more or less obliged to arrange their own passage on one of the Arab trading vessels, those dhows which are the sole means of maritime transport in that inhospitable region. This we accordingly did, and a couple of weeks after waving farewell to Fenton in Calcutta, we found ourselves in the middle of the Gulf in the company of as villainous a crew of cut-throats as I have encountered in all my life.
I was heartened by the fact that I had no difficulty in conversing with these piratical figures from some Arabian fairy tale, though I must say that the construction of their sentences was occasionally very different from the classical usage – as was almost the whole of their vocabulary. Sigerson, too, sought to master the language, and succeeded to a greater extent than I should have believed possible in so short a time. He seemed to have a natural ear for the nuances of foreign tongues, something which he admitted having possessed from early youth, though he made light of his talents.
So all in all the time passed pleasantly enough, until we landed at the bustling port of Bushire, midway along the Gulf, and said goodbye to our erstwhile shipmates.
Following the plans we had discussed with Fenton and Colonel Stark, we first provided ourselves with native costume, which was by this time almost more familiar to us than serge suiting. The next task was to hire guides and horses, and equip ourselves for the journey across country to Teheran, for there is nothing approaching a railway system in Persia.
The entire journey took us some three or four weeks, as I recall. Once again, I am obliged to dismiss what was a memorable expedition in a very few words, or run the risk of wearying my readers, for there was little that was worth recording, apart from the travelling itself.
We got as far as Shiraz, and there joined a band of merchants bound for Isfahan. As in Tibet, these loose alliances for the purposes of travel are quite common, for the roads are rough, and there are said to be bandits, though I confess we ourselves never encountered any trouble from them.
We managed to make ourselves understood to these men, and they seemed to take us for Arabs, though of a different branch of the race from their own. Neither Sigerson nor I troubled to enlighten them. Indeed, we went along with the mild deception they were practising upon themselves to the extent of joining in their prayers several times a day. I did not think then, nor do I believe now, that we did anything very reprehensible, though I am sure there are those who would disagree. After all, I do not think that a Muslim visitor to London would compromise his religious beliefs by attending a service at any of the churches there.
Arrived at Isfahan, we joined a second caravan headed across the Great Salt Desert, the Dasht-e-Kavir, towards Teheran. And, some four weeks after first landing in Persia, we came to the capital, and passed through one of the twelve great tiled gates into the city.
Teheran was a curious place. Immediately beyond the gate through which we had entered the city, there was a vast open space, like a football pitch, and beyond that again, a modern railway yard, incongruous in what should have been a scene from Haroun al Raschid. We learnt later that there is only one railway line in all Persia, from Teheran to the town of Shah Abdul Azim, a few miles away – or at least there was then, there may be more these days. Beyond the railway yard the city proper began, a crazy jumble of houses of a western type, which would not have seemed out of place in the suburbs of London or Boston, with as motley a collection of inhabitants as you will find anywhere, for Persia is truly the cross-roads of all the world.
Our friends the merchants gave us directions to the British Legation, an imposing building set in extensive gardens, which stood some two miles from the gate by which we had entered the city.
The guardian at the door looked somewhat askance at our costumes and general appearance, but we had letters of introduction from Fenton and the colonel, which worked wonders. A very short while later, we were ushered into the presence of the military attaché, a Major Wilberforce.
Wilberforce was a very different man from the leathery and alert Colonel Stark. He was a large man, stout with the stoutness that results from regular attendance at the dinner table in the company of the great and the good. It was early evening, and he was dressed for dinner – another dinner, I might as well have said. As we walked into his office, I could have sworn that his lip curled at our dishevelled and travel-stained appearance. He made no remark, though, and shook our hands readily enough.
‘Well,’ he began, ‘and what can I do for you?’
‘You will perhaps have had some word from Colonel Stark in Calcutta?’ said Sigerson.
‘I received a note a couple of days ago,’ said Wilberforce in an offhand manner, waving in the general direction of a cabinet that stood in a corner of his office.
Sigerson tried again. ‘We have reason to believe that a Prince Igorov, who is, we think, attached in some capacity to the Russian Legation, plans some mischief or the other. Something which will not be to Britain’s advantage, that is to say.’
‘In Persia?’ Wilberforce did not trouble to hide his scepticism. ‘I hardly think that very likely, the country is very secure; no danger that the Shah will be overthrown just yet.’
‘Let us hope that you are right,’ said Sigerson calmly. ‘But can you tell us whether this Prince Igorov is in Teheran?’
‘He is,’ said Wilberforce. ‘He has been here for some weeks, and he is indeed staying at their Legation, though in just what capacity I really could not say. We keep an eye on all their chaps, of course, and I can say that Igorov has not been up to anything untoward. In fact, he spends most of his time in the lower quarters of the city, talking to beggars and the like.’
‘Indeed?’ There was a look of keen interest on Sigerson’s face. ‘And does that not strike you as significant?’
‘Not particularly,’ said Wilberforce. ‘Should it?’
‘Well, it is scarcely the sort of behaviour one would expect of a career diplomat, is it? Could you possibly describe the prince, for we have not actually had the pleasure of meeting him?’
‘I can introduce you to him, if you wish,’ said Wilberforce, much to my astonishment. ‘Or rather,’ he added, with a wry look at us, ‘I could have done so, had you brought any dress clothes with you, for we shall both be attending an informal reception at the Turkish Embassy shortly.’ He tapped a finger on the desk top, as if deep in thought. ‘We may be able to arrange something, though,’ he said slowly. ‘A couple of my colleagues who are much of your size may be prevailed upon – wait here a moment, would you?’ and he got to his feet and, without waiting for an answer from us, went out quickly.
Sigerson raised an eyebrow. ‘Have we convinced him, think you?’
‘No,’ said I. ‘He thinks us mad, and in true English fashion has to treat us with the greatest possible consideration as a consequence.’
Sigerson laughed. ‘Perhaps you are right. But –’ and he broke off as Wilberforce returned, followed by two young men, who regarded us with some interest.
‘Lieutenant Dyce, Mr Sigerson, may I introduce Mr Brown and Captain Mortimer? I was saying that your dress clothes were lost somewhere in the course of your most interesting journey, and my friends here have kindly offered to donate theirs for this evening.’
We murmured our thanks, and allowed ourselves to be taken off and made respectable. The two young men were indeed much of a size with us, and if Sigerson found Captain Mortimer’s trousers a trifle baggy, and if I found Mr Brown’s collar a touch tight, well, it was only for one night, and all in a good cause to boot. We had little time to consider the fit, for scarcely had we finished dressing than Wilberforce hauled us off to his carriage.
‘We have no invitations,’ I reminded him.
‘Oh, I shall say you are travellers, arrived at the Legation unexpectedly. The Ambassador is a good fellow, he will make no difficulty there.’
‘More to the point,’ I continued to Sigerson, ‘is it a good idea to allow Igorov to see us, do you think?’
‘I do not see why not,’ he replied. ‘He has never seen us before, remember. If he thinks we are suspicious characters, a danger to him, well, that may prevent his carrying out whatever he has in mind. If not, then he cannot possibly connect us with – with any events of the past.’
‘It was more the future I was thinking of. If he can recognize us again it might be dangerous for us.’
‘H’mm. I think on balance that it will be worth the risk, in order to get a look at him,’ said Sigerson. But there was that in his voice which made me think that his curiosity had got the better of his common sense.
We arrived at the Turkish Embassy and Wilberforce led the way inside. The reception room was crowded; I think every diplomat in Teheran must have been invited.
