Читать книгу Sherlock Holmes Enigmas - Vadim Deruzhinsky - Страница 7

“In works of art, frankly speaking, I’m attracted to not their artistic merits. I’m attracted to their criminal history. I look at them as a subject around which con artists and thieves always commit their crimes. Agree, it is not less interesting aspect of the artwork, you may say, its second life and the second story. Now, Watson, can you tell me about this pretty thing?”

Holmes pointed at a golden medallion with a large diamond hanging behind glass on the Museum wall… We were spending that evening at London’s Museum of Fine Arts as according to inspector Lestrade’s information, in the night there was supposed to be a robbery over there. The police knew that a robbery will certainly happen this night (agent Lestrade heard about this at the meeting in the thieves’ environment), but no one knew exactly who would be a robber. The inspector did not rule out that it may be a good skilled recidivist, that’s why he invited to the Museum Holmes, who knew with photographic accuracy the faces of hundreds of dangerous criminals.

“Oh, this is the famous locket Messalina!” I exclaimed. “In 1701 it was made by the Italian master Casacci. Then it belonged to the Pope, then uh… someone else. And was donated to the Museum by Lord Verrington.”

I expected that my extensive knowledge will make an impression on Holmes. But Holmes looked disappointed.

“You see, my friend,” sadly he said. “It turns out you know nothing. This medallion was stolen 27 times, 8 times they sold its fake copy, eleven people were killed in the struggle for the possession of it, three of them were strangled, one drowned, four poisoned, two stabbed and one was killed by a fireplace stick. I can tell you all the details of each case. That’s what I name by a phrase ‘to know something about things’…”

I didn’t have time to answer Holmes because suddenly out of the dark halls of the long Museum corridors a police whistle sounded and a woman screaming for help. It was certainly one of the Museum caretaker who called the police: all of caretakers had police whistles to signal in urgent cases.

“Quick, Watson!” cried out Holmes. “The robbery occurred!”

I hurried up after him…

A woman of about forty-five, the curator of the Museum, looked worried and confused. A green lantern shining from the street through the assembled from colored glass window painted the woman’s face scared to death. But I thought it was just an illusion. Holmes, inspector Lestrade, me and two policemen listened to the story of the woman.

“I, as Mr. Inspector ordered, was walking from room to room, trying to notice strange and not to frighten anybody who intends to commit theft. I was over there,” she pointed across the corridor to the far room, “when I noticed HIM. He was in this room and very suspiciously stood over by the Faberge eggs table. Then I slowly looked out of the corner… looked carefully… And saw that the glass table is broken, and this man is trying to get the egg. Then I got scared, grabbed a whistle and began to whistle as crazy!”

“Where is this?..” began to ask Lestrade.

“Here it is!” a woman solemnly showed the whistle.

“Not a whistle! A robber!”

“Ran to the exit. He took nothing!”

The inspector sighed in relief.

“Well, we’ll catch him finally. We’ve got him already. All the ways are blocked by the police, he will not go far.”

And he turned to a constable, ordered to detain all the men located at the Museum and bring them here.

“Now we’ll figure him out!” Lestrade joyfully rubbed the palms. “Well, let’s tell me what he looked like?”

“I can’t say that,” the woman shrugged her shoulders. “I had no time to see him.”

Lestrade swore, and Holmes asked:

“But you saw something?”

“But do not worry,” reassured us woman. “It seems to me, I know who he is.”

“Who is he?” surprised Holmes and the inspector at the same time.

“An old soldier.”

“Who?”

“A soldier of Oliver Cromwell time, I tell you. Better say he pretended to be a Cromwell’s soldier. In a grey-green round soldier’s helmet of XVII century.”

We all stood puzzled silently.

“Nonsense!” said Lestrade. “Are you well? Why the helmet? Who goes to the Museum in the helmet of XVII century? Thompson!” then he called a sergeant.

“Has anyone entered the Museum in such an old time helmet?”

“No, sir! There were visitors in hats, but they left hats in the closet.”

“Well! What helmet?”

“He had a helmet on, I’m telling you,” the woman repeated stubbornly. “Iron grey-green helmet. I’ve seen such helmets last year in Stemp street at historical show parade of Cromwell’s troops.”

“Excuse me,” intervened Holmes, “you want to say that he was in the XVII century’s Army uniform?”

“I don’t remember. Did not notice… and there is a bit dark here. Visitors, in fact, have gone already. It is time to close the Museum, as usual, we begin at this time to turn out the light, leaving only emergency light. But the glimmering helmet I saw accurately.”

“Thompson!” turned to the sergeant Lestrade. “Look for the helmet! Fast!”

Meanwhile in the next room, the constables gathered the detainees.

“Well, Mr. Holmes,” said the inspector, who was looking sad, “let’s look at our detainees…”

There were four of them, late visitors of the Museum: Mr. Bull, a retired major, dark haired, with sideburns and with a contemptuous smile, dressed in an expensive blue suit and kid gloves. In the pockets of retired major they found cigars, a lighter, a purse and a gold watch. Then there was a student, Hockins, frightened and frail blond young man with shifty eyes and nervous hands, dressed in an old cloth coat with bulging pockets. Policeman found in his pockets only a notebook, a letter to his mother to Scotland and tweezers.

An artist Jofroi, unshaven Frenchman in a sweater and beret with a striped scarf around the throat, with a small flask of whiskey in the bag, cigarettes, matches, a comb, a set of paints with brushes and an album of sketches from models, and also a mirror, a screwdriver, an alarm clock and a pair of socks.

Lord Transey dressed in the latest fashion, with a bid beard, but completely bald, with a heavy gold chain on an expensive jacket, with a cane of ivory… Constables did not dare to feel up this important gentleman. Especially since Transey looked angry, his big bald head shook nervously.

Sergeant Thompson, withdrawing to one side of the inspector, reported that no any helmets were found.

“Well,” shrugged Lestrade, turning to Holmes. “What would you say?”

I did not let Holmes to answer.

“My dear Inspector,” I said yawning. “Your business is not worth a damn.”

In my mind I congratulated myself for a brilliant deduction line and continued as if lazily:

“I know who did it”.

“Wow!” Lestrade looked at me happily. “And who is he?”

“Be careful, Watson,” said Holmes. “We must not be wrong.”

But at that moment I was sure that there was no any error.

ANSWER:

“It is the major! See how he looked at us! You’ve seen it? It’s not just so! He tried to steal the Faberge egg, I assure you. You will see it for yourself, if just to try to think it over! So he was an officer. Huh? You know? Only he could be fond of the British Army history. He used an old helmet to frighten poor women. And I know that in the next hall they are having a dummy of Cromwell’s soldier!”

“All right,” said Lestrade, after hearing my words. “Where’s your damned helmet then?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“And why did he have this helmet? Hell, I do not understand anything!” inspector Lestrade waved his hands and began to walk the floor nervously.

Holmes coughed.

“Friends,” said Holmes. “You don’t see the obvious things. No helmets at all! Only an idiot would come up with the idea to take an old Army helmet. In the hall where a robber happened to be, the lantern from the street shines through the colored glass, creating a picture of the execution of Mary Stuart (see, Watson, I know history too). In colors of this glass a green color is dominated, and this color paints all in the Museum hall – especially when they leave only a duty light. You can see it. And a bald head of one of our detainees was taken for a helmet Cromwell’s soldiers, as a green or grey iron helmet. It is no wonder, because it is difficult to imagine a person with the metal gleaming head.”

“How?” gasped Lestrade. “So you want to say that the Lord Transey…”

“Oh!” Holmes shook his index finger. “I didn’t say that. It is you saying this.”