The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures - Mike Ashley [260]
“Now, Watson!” said Holmes and we rushed into the room, only to see a dark shadow leap out of the open window and into the yard at the back. “After him, Watson!”, shouted Holmes. I rushed to the window and jumped out; I could see my quarry making for the railings, hopping on one leg as though he had injured a foot in his fall. I sped towards him, but tripped over some wood and fell heavily over. When I got to my feet the intruder had gone. I hobbled painfully to the railings, but there was no sign of him to be seen. I returned crestfallen to Holmes.
“It matters little, Watson,” he said, when I told him of my failure, “we will make the gentleman’s acquaintance in the morning.” During my absence Holmes had not been idle, but had gone through the papers on the desk and in the drawers. He was now holding a small scrap of paper up to the light. “There is devilry here, Watson!” he said, his face set and hard, “but it is now time to return to our beds, for there is much to do on the morrow.” With that, we made our back to Baker Street and, in my case at least, a night of fitful and troubled sleep.
I awoke the next morning to find Holmes shaking me by the shoulder.
“Wake up Watson! The game is afoot!”
“What o’clock is it, Holmes?” I asked, drowsily.
“Seven, Watson, and breakfast is ready.”
I rose, washed and went in to breakfast. Holmes had already had his and was eager to go, so I gobbled my toast and swallowed my tea as quickly as I could and, before many minutes had passed, we were on our way to an address Holmes had given to the driver of our cab.
By contrast with the previous night, Holmes appeared preoccupied rather than excited. I asked: “Have you arrived at a conclusion, Holmes?”
“You know the way I work, Watson, my conclusions will be given when I am ready.”
We travelled in silence to our destination, which turned out to be the small building that housed the Greek Consulate. We entered the building and asked to see the Consul, Mr Leonticles, and were immediately admitted to the Consul’s office.
Mr George Leonticles, the Greek Consul, was a short man with jet-black hair, a pale face and a fastidious pointed goatee beard and waxed moustache. He was suave and courteous in his manner, but seemed ill at ease. He rose stiffly and invited us to sit down.
“How may I help you, gentlemen?”, he asked.
“Mr Leonticles, my name is Sherlock Holmes and I have been commissioned to look into the murder of the late Mr Simeonov,” replied Holmes, “It would materially aid me in my investigation if you would answer a few questions relating to that mystery.”
Mr Leonticles smoothed his beard and moustache before replying. “I would be happy to offer any assistance, Mr Holmes, but I regret to say that I know little that would be of interest to you.”
“Nevertheless, you may well be able to help clarify a few points,” said Holmes, “for example, could you tell me where you were when you heard the shot that killed Mr Simeonov?”
“I was in my room.”
“Your room is two doors down from Simeonov’s, and yet when Lord Eversden and Orman Pasha arrived, they found Colonel Yusufoglu kneeling beside the body, while you stood some distance away. Why did you not rush to his assistance?”
“Yusufoglu’s room was between mine and Simeonov’s and he was able to reach him first,” replied Leonticles, beads of perspiration beginning to appear on his forehead.
“Was the colonel in his room when the shot was fired?” asked Holmes.
“I think so. When I came out into the corridor he was already there, kneeling beside Simeonov.”
“Mr Leonticles,” asked Sherlock Holmes, bluntly, “did Colonel Yusufoglu kill Mr Simeonov?”
“No!”
“You seem remarkably sure of that. How can you know that he did not kill Simeonov?”
“Colonel Yusufoglu is not capable of murder. I have – I am sure he did not kill him.”
“And yet Count Balinsky seems certain that the colonel