Sherlock Holmes lowered the newspaper and looked at me.
I was visibly upset.
‘And you think—’ I began, but Holmes interrupted me.
‘Little Irra, daughter of Rajah Ben-Ali, kidnapped twenty years ago near Bombay, is found. The sole heiress of one of the richest men in India has become a Russian countess.’
Holmes fell deep into silent thought. Then, ‘Indeed, my dear Watson, we have to act with great care. There is a mystery attached to the life of this young woman and our task is to resolve it.’
Having spent a half-hour in the company of Mr Dewlay, we bade farewell to our cordial host and left.
IX
But we didn’t return to our hotel. Outside, Holmes seemed to consider something. ‘First of all, we have to fortify ourselves with a good portion of roast beef or something else. Let’s find a restaurant, Watson, before night falls.’
We found a restaurant, where we ordered cold roast beef and fried chicken with rice. Our appetite satiated, Holmes turned to me, ‘I shall ask you, my dear Watson, to spend the night at the home of the countess. Say nothing of our discovery. Watch the yard and street with great vigilance. I am off to the cemetery, and shall join you at the countess’s in the morning. She will have to tell the servants that you are a close relation of her husband and that you come from some other town.’
We parted. I carried out Holmes’s instructions to the letter. For some reason, it did appear to me that the countess was being watched, and I advised her to change her bedroom for the time being, to the other end of the apartment. She did as I suggested and moved into a small sitting room, which only opened into a second one.
At eleven she retired. I switched off all the lights, tested the locks and placed myself on watch. I took off my shoes and moved silently from room to room, diligently watching the yard and street.
I wasn’t the only one doing guard duty. Outside, there were two sizable Alsatians that could have handled a bear. During the day, they were chained up, while at night they were let loose. They let nobody pass, except the count, countess and the cook, who fed and chained them up or released them as necessary.
I passed from room to room, looking out for anything suspicious. The street was like any street. An occasional late passer-by disturbed the silence and finally all was still. Dawn began to break and carts from the villages broke the stillness on their way to market. Morning, and the town took on its usual appearance.
Holmes appeared at eight. I could see from his face that he had achieved nothing. I reported that I, too, had seen nothing. He announced, however, that he was persevering with his original plan and suggested we catch up on our sleep at our hotel.
No point in describing the next four days in detail. They were all the same. Holmes spent day and night at the cemetery, while I stayed in the apartment of the countess. She acceded to Holmes’s advice not to leave the house, confining herself to a brief turn round the yard.
X
Came Saturday. It was the fifth day of our uninterrupted watch, and I felt somewhat tired. Evening approached. All these days I had only slept in fits and starts. It was with less than pleasure that I looked forward to another sleepless night. Moreover, the young countess was beginning to look as if she was weary of our futile efforts. She had even begun to scoff at Sherlock Holmes’s genius. Yet more and more her voice held notes of sadness.
That evening she read some French novel and retired early. I was about to switch off the lights, when I suddenly heard her voice. ‘Mr Watson! Mr Watson!’ she cried out anxiously.
I hastened into the sitting room beside her bedroom. She stood in the middle of the room, pale and trembling, dressed in a pale blue housecoat which she had hastily thrown on.
‘What’s happened?’ I asked.
‘Were you in my bedroom?’ she asked, looking me in the eye.
‘Whatever for?’ I asked in surprise.
‘What about Mr Holmes?’ she asked.
I shrugged. ‘Mr Holmes was here at the break of dawn today. He merely said a few words to me and left immediately,’ I said.
‘And nobody, but nobody else, entered the house?’
‘I can confirm that.’
She raised her beautiful hand and proffered me a small unsealed envelope. ‘In that case, you may be able to explain what this letter means and how it came to be on the pillow on my bed.’
Bewildered, I accepted the letter. The address was typewritten.
‘Countess,’ wrote its anonymous author, ‘although you don’t know me, nonetheless I am your friend. Circumstances, which came about because of your husband’s trust in me, have entangled me in your family secrets. I beg of you, by all that’s sacred, please listen to me. You are in the most terrible danger. Don’t leave the house, not by so much as a step. Not even in the yard. And always carry a weapon. Just in case, beware even of the servants. I know that some detective is living in your house. Please tell him to be more careful and not show himself so openly at windows. He can watch over you just as well with dimmed lights and drawn curtains. Have courage. All will be for the best. Your well-wisher.’
I had hardly opened my mouth to say something, when I was shaken to hear a noise at my back. The countess screamed and held on to a chair for support. I turned quickly. Sherlock Holmes was standing in the doorway, a look of glee on his face.
‘Dear God, how you frightened me!’ exclaimed the countess, recognizing him.
‘Forgive me, but there was an important reason why I came in without ringing the doorbell,’ he answered.
‘But how did you manage to get in?’ wondered the countess.
‘No need for any special talent,’ answered Holmes with a shrug. ‘My friend Dr Watson does not possess the talent of a detective. Here he is guarding the house, yet he left a window open in the corridor. Anyone could get in easily from the street.’
I was too disconcerted to say anything.
XI
‘There we are, then!’ exclaimed the countess. ‘At least I now know who entered the house and slipped a letter on my pillow. Mr Holmes, you did that most skillfully.’
A puzzled look appeared on Holmes’s face. ‘Do I take it that you are insinuating I was here and slipped you a letter surreptitiously?’ he asked.
‘So you weren’t here?’ the countess asked sarcastically.
‘I don’t suppose you’d let me have a look at the letter,’ Holmes said, a solemn note in his voice.
I handed him the letter. Holmes examined every line carefully, then looked again through a magnifying glass and for some reason even gave it a lick with his tongue.
The countess and I watched him with curiosity.
‘Whoever wrote this letter, wept over it,’ he said suddenly.