Ito spoke very little throughout the briefings divulging all this information. Finally, the leaders of the police force began discussing how best to inform Russia of Tsuda’s death.
Sherlock, meanwhile, fell to his own deliberations. He still did not fully comprehend the temperament and daily habits of the Japanese people, and yet his powers of deduction were needed for the very same. The situation was a conundrum. Although this case differed greatly in character from the crimes he’d encountered in the West, time was of the essence. The Far East faced its greatest danger yet. The situation brooked no delay.
23
Gentle afternoon light streamed over Tokyo, alighting on a stagecoach rumbling through a side street of Ginza. The buildings in the area were a mixture of Japanese-style structures with tiled roofs, and Western red brick buildings. The shop signs shared their spaces with rows of weeping willows. Sherlock was fast becoming used to such sights.
He and Ito sat at a table in a Western café, staring at the street through the open-air shop front. Although average Japanese citizens were turning out more and more to the entertainment centers, in Ginza at least the sight of a 50-year-old Japanese man in frock coat, in the company of a peculiar Englishman, was not so very out of place. Or so Ito claimed. Indeed, the ratio of foreigners passing by in this area seemed quite high. Fortunately, at this time of day it was not likely that anyone from the British legation would happen by. Sherlock wanted to avoid dealing with the authorities or having his identity called into question at all costs—particularly at this juncture.
He was still legally prohibited from approaching Ambassador Shevich, and the meeting with Chekhov and Anna had been only a one-time offer. Since the two Russians were acquaintances with Minister Mutsu, however, he and Ito had reached the two through the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce to arrange a meeting. Naturally, they had not divulged their identities.
A portly man with red hair entered the café. He was immediately recognizable. Chekhov seemed to notice Ito first; his attention then shifted to Sherlock. His round eyes filled with apprehension.
He wiped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief as he approached. “Chairman Ito. Mr. Holmes. You put me in a very difficult position. I was told very clearly that I was not to speak with Mr. Holmes again, even if I happened to encounter him in the street.”
At this point Anna entered the shop as well, and her face immediately blanched. “As… we were contacted by your Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce, I assumed it was related to The Complete Work on Russian Natural Sciences…”
Sherlock was unfazed. “But the two of you are here now, at any rate. Please, have a seat. It was very important we meet with someone from your side, and you two are the only ones available to us at the moment.”
Chekhov and Anna sat down across from them, their expressions uneasy. Chekhov leaned forward and whispered, “The Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce has always pursued the natural sciences, and is inherently peaceful. That is why we have done everything in our power to help. To have our friendship taken advantage of in this manner…”
“Your feelings are understandable,” Ito soothed him. “But in the interests of peace, Mr. Holmes and I had no other resort. None of Tsarevich Nicholas’ advisors, with the exception of yourselves, are willing to meet with us.”
Anna’s uncertainty grew. “Advisors? I told you before, we generally attended on His Royal Highness Grand Duke George, not on the Tsarevich himself.”
“In that case,” Sherlock said quietly, “would you telegram to Paris on my behalf, where Grand Duke George is now vacationing, and inquire as to whether his brother Nicholas has truly docked a warship in Japan so he can negotiate with the King of Siam?”
Chekhov and Anna winced, exchanging nervous glances.
Their reaction settled it. Sherlock had been entertaining several possibilities, but they had suddenly been narrowed down to one.
Confused, Ito turned towards Sherlock, bemused. “Mr. Holmes, what have you discovered?”
Sherlock was silent. He needed some time to organize his thoughts.
The waiter approached with a menu in hand. Chekhov and Anna fussed over it. They held the menu close to their faces before finally ordering only black tea.
The waiter departed with a dubious expression. Sherlock addressed Chekhov. “Tsarevich Nicholas currently resides in the Russian legation. I desire to meet with him. Is there any possibility we could enter the building without drawing the notice of Ambassador Shevich?”
Chekhov’s eyes grew wide. Anna stared, too, completely caught off guard.
“Wh…” The blood rushed into the man’s cheeks. “What are you saying? Nicholas, in the legation? His Imperial Highness is aboard the Laskar…”
Sherlock shook his head impatiently. “I would thank you not to waste our time. I am already aware that the Tsarevich is in the legation. His Highness may be a crown prince, but sneaking ashore in this manner violates international laws of entry. While in the Russian legation, however, he is protected by extraterritorial privilege. He is safe and at his own leisure, so long of course as he is not apprehended while travelling between the two locations.”
Chekhov and Anna seemed to reach the same realization at once. Chekhov’s shoulders slumped. He spoke timidly. “Your powers of perception are astounding, Mr. Holmes. It is true, Tsarevich Nicholas is at the legation.”
Ito’s expression clouded. “He entered our country without permission? Without even discussing it with us? How shameful!”
“Yes…” Chekhov appeared thoroughly deflated. “However, that was not originally His Highness’ intention.”
“The Laskar is only a medium-sized ship and is susceptible to the waves,” Anna explained, in distress. “It is not so comfortable as the imperial flagship… Tsarevich Nicholas became terribly seasick. That was what caused him to sneak ashore in secret, and take a carriage to the legation.”
“I believe I asked for you to be truthful with me,” Sherlock reproved quietly. “In fact there were difficulties in getting a certain artisan to Tokyo and aboard that ship. That is the truth, is it not?”
Chekhov lowered his gaze in defeat. Anna reacted in a similar manner.
Ito, alone, was confused. “A certain artisan? What do you mean?”
But the truth was out. “Whatever resentment the Tsarevich has formed for Japan, someone must inform His Highness that when a young man in his position runs away from home it can bring great chaos to the world,” Sherlock said. “I propose we deliver that message immediately.”
“Run away?!” Ito exclaimed.
Anna sighed deeply. “You seem to have grasped the situation fully, Mr. Holmes. Everything you say is true. I’m afraid, though, that after everything that has happened, all attempts to reason with His Highness have been in vain…”
“Wait.” Ito stared. “You do not mean that Tsarevich Nicholas wishes to defect…”
Only a politician would ask that, Sherlock thought. “No, not defecting. He has run away, that is all, like any wayward boy who is uninterested in his parents’ advice and is itching for a fight.”
The waiter brought over the tea. Chekhov and Anna appeared to have recovered a modicum of composure. Chekhov stared at the steam rising from the pot for a moment. Eventually he lifted his eyes.
“I would be grateful for anyone who might persuade His Tsarevich,” he said. “If that person is you, then I will assist in any way I can.”
Sherlock turned his piercing gaze on Anna. Her mind, too, appeared made up.