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Lord Eversden spoke first: “Yes, he is a thoroughly decent and honourable man. I have known him for thirty-seven years.” Mycroft was nodding. “He is without doubt one of the most distinguished of Turkish diplomats. HMG has always had excellent dealings with him; he is known to be incorruptible.”

“And Colonel Yusufoglu, the Military Attaché?” asked Holmes.

“Ah, he is a hard man to know,” said Mycroft, “a rather dark, brooding fellow, who strikes me as being quite capable of nursing a grudge.” He turned to Lord Eversden, who added: “I do not know the man well, but I will confess that I took an instant dislike to him.”

“What is known of his background?”

“He was on the staff of the Turkish Governor of Thessaly,” replied Mycroft, the fount of political knowledge, “which is effectively a part of Greece that is still under Turkish rule, or so the Greeks would claim. The Governor, Hassan Pasha, dealt with a firm, but fair hand with the riots that broke out there last year and earned the gratitude of the Greeks, which is something out of the ordinary in Græco-Turkish relations. Yusufoglu was his deputy and he, too, earned a reputation for fair dealing when members of the various rioting factions were brought to justice. He took up his post in the Turkish Embassy in London only six months ago.”

“And Count Balinsky – what kind of man is he?” asked Holmes.

“A man of very definite and set beliefs and of a violent temper, as you will have gathered from Orman Pasha’s account,” said Lord Eversden, “A dangerous man and not one to be trifled with. He is a strong believer in Pan-Slavism and has a deep-seated hatred and mistrust of the Turks. As for Baron Nopchka, he is a benign, if not very imaginative, nobleman, belonging to one of Austria-Hungary’s oldest families. He is a close confidante of the Emperor. A liberal by temperament, he supported greater parliamentary representation for the Slavonic peoples of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, but is secretly highly suspicious of the political activities of the Slavs in his country.”

“Which leaves us with Mr George Leonticles, the Greek Consul,” said Mycroft, “He, like Yusufoglu, has not been long in his post. He held a number of Greek Government positions in Greece before he came to England. Rumour has it that he was involved in certain political activities that earned him the Greek king’s displeasure. He is a man of a somewhat nervous disposition and keeps himself largely to himself.”

“One final question; what was Mr Simeonov’s London address?”

Mycroft drew out a small notebook from his pocket. “Number. 6, Harrington Mews, W1,” he said, “but I fear that the Bulgarian Legation is unlikely to furnish you with permission to visit the place. Since the British Government’s refusal to support his Government’s claims, the Bulgarian authorities have been quite uncooperative.”

Holmes and I returned to London during the early afternoon. On the way I ventured to say to my friend: “Holmes, you have not so far commented on the singular presence of the loaded, but unfired, revolver beside Simeonov’s body. I have been giving the matter some thought and can only conclude that the revolver was Simeonov’s and that he tried to protect himself from his murderer by pulling out his own revolver when he realized that he was about to be shot. Do you agree?”

“The facts will bear that interpretation, I suppose,” replied Holmes, as the train arrived at Victoria station.

“Do any other interpretations occur to you?” I retorted.

“Yes, Watson,” replied Holmes, with a light in his eyes and leapt off the train. We hailed a cab and Holmes asked the driver to take us to the Russian Embassy. On arrival, Holmes, handing his card to the usher, asked to see the Ambassador. A few moments later, we were shown into Count Balinsky’s sumptuous room.

Count Balinsky remained seated when we entered and regarded us coldly and with tight lips as we stood before his desk. He wore an expression of barely controlled anger and was turning Holmes’ card over and over between his fingers.