• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“Count Balinsky is mistaken,” said the Consul firmly.

“Thank you, Mr Leonticles,” said Holmes, suddenly, and rose to leave the room. As we reached the door, Holmes stopped to examine a small Greek statuette on a table beside the window.

“I have a great interest in the art of the Ancient Greeks. Is this not a reproduction of Aphrodite?” he asked the Consul, with a charming smile upon his face.

“No, no,” replied our host, “coming round his desk, limping slightly as he came, and pointing to another sculpture on a table on the other side of the room, “this is Aphrodite.” “Of course,” said Holmes. “Thank you again, Mr Leonticles, we will take no more of your valuable time.”

“We progress, Watson,” said Holmes, as we sat in the cab on our way to Belgrave Square, “You noticed his limp?”

I had, indeed, noticed it. “Very similar to mine, Holmes, after I tripped over the pile of wood at Harrington Mews,” I said, “Why did you not confront him with it?”

“There was no need,” replied Holmes, “he knew it.”

“But might he not flee the country, now that he knows you suspect him of breaking into the Bulgarian’s house?” I asked.

“No, Watson,” replied Holmes, with a smile, “I think not.”

We arrived at the Turkish Embassy and were admitted by a porter who reminded me of the genie from Aladdin’s lamp. He wore red boots with upturned toes, black baggy trousers and a green and highly ornate tunic. He accepted Holmes’s card without a word and went to deliver it to Orman Pasha. A few minutes later, a sombre fellow in a suit and a fez came and escorted us to the Pasha’s room.

This time Orman Pasha was not in full dress uniform, but was wearing a black frock-coat. He rose from behind his desk and greeted us warmly.

“Mr Holmes,” he said, as he motioned us to sit down, “dare I hope that you have good news to tell?”

“We are approaching a solution to the mystery, Orman Pasha,” said Holmes, “but there are some loose ends that remain. I am hopeful that a disaster may yet be averted.”

“I am greatly relieved to hear it, Mr Holmes,” replied the Pasha.

“I do, however, have a few questions to ask you, after which I would like to meet Colonel Yusufoglu,” said Holmes, sitting back in his chair. “Orman Pasha, if, as we shall for the moment assume, the Bulgarian emissary was not murdered by your Government’s agents, who else would have a motive for killing him?”

The Pasha thought for a moment. “Of the people present at Lord Eversden’s dinner, I cannot think of anyone who might have a motive. They are all people in prominent diplomatic positions and I cannot see what any of them would gain from doing such a thing.”

“Do you not think then that the reasonable conclusion to be drawn is that one of your Government’s agents did, in fact, commit the murder? Colonel Yusufoglu was kneeling beside Simeonov; Simeonov appeared to accuse him with his dying words; Count Balinsky is convinced of his guilt. No other evidence seems to suggest the guilt of any other man. Must not the conclusion be that the colonel is guilty?”

The Pasha looked at Holmes with an expression of mingled amusement and impatience. “Mr Holmes,” he said, “why do you suggest such a thing when you are already convinced that it is not true?”

“Why does Your Excellency conclude that I do not accept this as the truth?”

“Because you have already told me that you have high hopes of averting disaster, Mr Holmes. If you did, indeed, believe in Yusufoglu’s guilt, you would not have said that.”

Holmes smiled his tight, secret smile. “Guilt is a matter of definition. We must not forget that, in any murder, the murderer’s motive is of at least equal importance to his identity.”

The Pasha’s brow darkened. “I fear, Mr Holmes, that, whatever the motive, it will make little difference in this case if Yusufoglu is the murderer. Do you wish to speak with him now?”

Holmes nodded and the Pasha rang a bell. The sombre individual entered the room and was given a few brief instructions in Turkish, whereupon he left, to return a few minutes later with a tall, broad-shouldered man – Colonel Yusufoglu.