Although Sherlock Holmes did appear totally at ease, I could see that he never dropped his eyes from the place across the road, examining with a close eye everyone who went in or out. We were going out of our minds from sheer boredom and finally left.
Not being familiar with the employees of the publishers who had been robbed, I couldn’t tell whether any of them were the ones who had been to Nikanoroff. However, since Holmes was making little notes from time to time, he had probably found familiar acquaintances amongst the visitors.
Having left the tavern, we strolled about for an hour or so, returned to our observation post and again got to drinking tea. Sometimes, I still wonder how I managed to survive all that tea.
Little by little, darkness fell. At seven o’clock precisely the shops began to close down. An athletic-looking, dark-haired man with the face of a gangster appeared on the threshold of Nikanoroff’s shop. Two employees appeared with him and the three began to put up shutters over windows and doors.
‘Quite the sympathetic looker, not so?’ Sherlock Holmes whispered ironically, indicating the athletic, dark-haired man with a nod of his head.
‘I take it, from your previous account, that this is undoubtedly the owner of the store,’ I said.
‘Spot on! This is Gavriushka Voropayeff, whom we are yet certain to be dealing with,’ answered Holmes.
Having locked up, Gavriushka stroked his beard as if he had all the time in the world and, having said something to his salesmen, made his leisurely way towards the tavern. I saw Holmes’s eyes light up when the man came in. Fortunately for us, he sat down at an adjoining table and asked for tea. Some twenty minutes later, a middle-aged, crafty-looking man walked in. He looked round, saw our man, approached and greeted him, and sat down beside him.
‘Well, then?’ asked Gavriushka out of the side of his mouth.
‘All right, everything’s OK,’ was the answer.
‘Look out, Fomka, see that you take care. You know for yourself, there’s new measures being undertaken. See that nothing comes out.’
The new arrival waved his hand cheerfully as if he did not have a care in the world, ‘They got the wrong ’uns!’
Gavriushka Voropayeff grinned smugly.
They were so near that we could hear every word, even when they lowered their voices to a whisper. For a while they fell silent.
‘I’m off to Petersburg tomorrow,’ Gavriushka Voropayeff said at last. ‘You tell the lads to get together in three days time. We’ll meet in the same tavern, in the back room.’
‘Done!’ answered Fomka. ‘Is something going on in Petersburg?’
‘I don’t just go for no reason. I’m simply tearing myself apart. Have to get to Petersburg and Nijni and Kharkoff. I am being summoned from all over.’
‘That’s it, you see. It is having a business that covers the whole of Russia,’ said Fomka smugly.
‘I’ll manage,’ answered Gavriushka.
They chatted for a few more minutes and left. We settled our bill and went after them. Out in the street, we saw that Voropayeff had said goodbye to Fomka, after which they parted ways.
‘That chappie will have to be watched,’ said Holmes, nodding his head in Fomka’s direction.
We followed him at a distance. This time it was a longish journey. Fomka must have been a man very careful with his money. He didn’t even take a tram, and we had to follow him as far as Marina Grove.
Fixing the house he had gone into, we halted for a minute and then, as if by accident, came up to the gates. Holmes asked me to wait, vanishing into the courtyard. He returned a few minutes later, making a sign for me to follow. We met around the corner.
‘Well, have you found anything out?’ I asked.
‘Of course,’ answered Holmes. ‘That ten-kopeck coin I slipped the yard man must’ve had magical properties. Actually, I suspect Fomka upset him in some way, since he cursed him up and down behind his back. Fomka’s real name is Ivan Vihliayeff, but amongst the riff-raff he is known as Fomka Nikishkin. The yard man reckons he was in jug thrice and reckons it won’t be long before he goes in again.’
We walked silently for some time. Holmes was deep in thought. ‘My dear Watson,’ he said at last, ‘you’ll have to go to Petersburg.’
‘If it is absolutely necessary,’ I answered, ‘of course, I’ll go.’
‘And you have committed Gavriushka Voropayeff’s face to memory?’
‘Oh, yes!’
‘In that case, you’ll have to keep him under observation tomorrow and then travel with him, but I do beg of you not to let him slip out of your hands.’
‘I think you can depend on me,’ I answered. ‘Long practice with you has taught me a thing or two and if all that is required is to follow a man, I should be able to carry out such an assignment successfully.’
We caught a cab and returned to our hotel. That evening we dropped in on Dmitry Panfilovitch Yefimoff.
‘Do you believe in intuition?’ Holmes asked him.
‘Not really,’ answered the publisher.
Holmes shrugged, ‘Pity! But I do, and in my personal experience, there have often been occasions when my intuition has proved correct. Take now, for example. I have a feeling that tonight you will be robbed. I suggest you join us in setting up an ambush.’
‘If necessary,’ muttered Dmitry Panfilovitch Yefimoff.
‘Right-o! It’s late and all your employees are fast asleep, so we won’t be noticed. Take a torch with you.’
Dmitry Panfilovitch disappeared and was soon back suitably dressed with a torch in his hand. Within a few minutes we were entering Bahrushin House, where his storehouse was situated. He began to undo the locks.
‘Oho!’ exclaimed Holmes, ‘Five locks! Unlikely the thief will come this way. A better assumption would be that he is going to come through a passageway from a cellar next door.’
We entered and secured five locks after which Holmes lit a lamp and got to work. He meticulously examined all four walls.
‘The cellar from the house opposite goes under Kozitsky Alley,’ explained Yefimoff. ‘My cellar is a couple of yards short of that.’
‘That’s very important,’ said Holmes, approaching the wall.
His attention increased. But no matter which way he turned, no matter how many chinks he looked into, he found nothing. An hour of this, and Sherlock Holmes had to admit defeat. His efforts had been in vain.
‘There must be a way, of that I am certain,’ he muttered. ‘But it is done too well. Well, there’s no other way. We’ll have to sit it out. The thief will show us where his burrow lies.’
And he began to indicate our places to us. As for himself, he placed himself along the side wall where the passageway was most likely to be found. Yefimoff was hidden by the door behind bundles of goods. I was placed in the middle. The hours crept by wearily, but, at last, a dull sound came to our ears. We froze and held our breath.
And this is when something happened that even Sherlock Holmes did not expect. The door lock clicked. Then a second, and a third, and a fourth and a fifth … and the door opened.
In the doorway of the dark warehouse, Fomka’s figure appeared in outline. He looked round carefully and made a few steps forward, holding a large bunch of keys in his hand.
I looked at Holmes. He sat there hunched, like a cat waiting for a mouse, ready to spring.
Fomka advanced slowly in the direction of Yefimoff. And suddenly the unexpected happened and totally upset our calculations. The appearance of the thug must have frightened Yefimoff. And instead of calmly waiting, he suddenly sprang back like a madman and, at the top of his voice, yelled, ‘Stop thief!’