The mystery of the missing Count Polski
One night as I was walking along Baker Street, I heard the sound of a violin drifting out of an elegant house. The violin hit sharp notes and the vibrato was enough to break a window. I realised that this was the home of my old friend Sherlock Holmes, whom I had not seen for a long time. Holmes was a virtuoso musician and could have had a concert career rather than indulging his hobby of solving mysteries. As I knocked on the handle of his ornate entrance door, I wondered whether my friend was currently engaged in detective work.
After a few moments he answered the door himself, which surprised me as he normally had a manservant. He didn't say anything to me as he gestured me into his study with its elegant oak desk scattered with papers and a ring from a cup of coffee in the centre of all the clutter, with leather chairs sitting either side of the chaos. I was always telling him to use a coaster. The aroma from his pipe drifted around the room. Barely had we sat down to exchange the usual pleasantries, when there was a loud rap at the door,
"Who could that be at this hour," exclaimed Holmes. "I say, old man, would you mind letting them in?"
When I went to the door, I found standing there an expensively dressed woman who spoke with a sight accent. A hansom cab was parked across the street.
"Does Sherlock Holmes sit here? I need help with the solving of a clue." It was clear her English was not very good.
"Please come in, my good lady. I'll take your coat."
Holmes quickly interrogated his new client, "My husband was to meet me at the opera, and we had a cardboard box. I went into the box but he did not appear for the whole evening and I haven't see him since. I cannot go to police. My husband no like the police."
"Does your husband have any enemies?"
"No" she replied, "just the usual business rivals."
With her voice in a low tone she added hastily, "My husband is the great Count Polski, The Count of Polski."
At this point she seemed very distressed and said she had to leave. Holmes escorted her out of the door, they exchanged details and as she walked towards her hansom cab, she called back, "Contact me as soon as you hear anything". She was gone, her hansom cab disappeared into the fog, and the imprints remained in the snow.
Holmes beckoned to me, "What did you make of that?"
"I wonder why the count does not like our friends at Scotland Yard?" I said.
"Indeed," agreed Holmes, knocking his pipe against the fireplace.
"I'd like you to go t the offices of The Times and ask to see their archive, to find out whether Count Polski has been in the news recently."
That was how I became involved in helping Homes get to the bottom of another mysterious case. Soon Holmes had included me in his efforts to find the missing Count.
I could go places where Sherlock Holmes could not go because he was too well known – even though he kept out of the public eye, Holmes had become famous for his successful detective work. However, my face was completely unknown.
When I inquired at the offices of The Times, there was no suspicion that I was connected to the great detective. After searching for several hours through back copies of the newspaper, I came across an item about Count Polski; according to the article the Count was a collector of Oriental treasures and had recently acquired a rare Japanese artefact worth one million pounds. The Golden Dragon box was believed to be cursed. I read on with mounting excitement. The box was from a Jujitsu Temple and was regarded by the monks, who practised an extreme form of martial arts, as a stolen item.
Holmes had instilled into me the folly of jumping to conclusions, but I couldn't help but wonder whether the Count had fallen victim to some fiendish form of revenge.
On arrival back at Baker Street, I found Holmes engrossed in an auctioneer's catalogue. When I looked over his shoulder I saw a drawing of the Japanese box.
"We need to find out whether this box is still amongst the count's belongings," said Holmes, clenching his pipe between his perfect teeth.
"Well, Holmes, where was the count living?" I asked.
"The Savoy Hotel in the Strand" said Holmes. "I am sorry old chap but your going to have to go out again. We are going to the Strand."
I was ravenously hungry but I dared not say anything that might displease Holmes because he was known for his short temper. In the back of my mind I rather hoped that Holmes would buy me a good dinner at the Savoy. When we arrived at the plush hotel, Holmes strode through the glittering foyer and sprinted up the marble staircase. He seemed to know where he was going, and made straight for Room 101. He used his cane to rap on the heavy oak door. After a moment, a crack appeared and a gaunt, sallow face looked out.
"Who are you and what do you want?" asked the man, who I now saw was tall and thin.
"More to the point, old fellow, who are you?" said Holmes, pushing forward into the room. The apartment was furnished lavishly, doors leading off the main room into several other rooms. Holmes acted as if he was quite at home
"Where's the Countess?" demanded Holmes, while the strange, thin man hovered nervously.
"She's out for the count," said the man. Of course, Holmes realised immediately that the man's use of the English language left much to be desired.
"Out with the Count, I should have said", the man apologised.
Holmes looked perplexed. "What's your name, and what's your business here?" he quizzed the stranger. Holmes kept the younger man at a disadvantage by adopting a superior air, and it got results.
"I am Michael Schilski, the Countess's private secretary," said the tall, thin man, twisting his hands with nervousness.
"Well, I doubt that very much," Holmes said, sarcastically. "I'll have you know that Countess Polski has engaged me to find her missing husband," he added sternly, "and it would be in your best interests to assist me. "There was a dramatic pause. "Where is the Gold Dragon Box?"
"I know nothing," said Schilski, if indeed that was his real name.
Holmes turned to me. "Watson, I want you to go through this apartment with a fine tooth comb. Look in every wardrobe, cupboard, under beds and in the bathroom cupboard. Meanwhile, Mr Schilski and I will sit here and have a little chat."
As I carried out my instructions I could hear their low voices, by now Schilski was stuttering his replies. Since finding out that he was in the custody of none other than Sherlock Holmes, his arrogant manner had changed into one of fear and inertia. He sprawled in an armchair while Holmes stood over him.
The bathroom cupboard contained all kinds of perfumes, ladies items of make-up and gentleman's pomades and oils. Turning to the master bedroom, I could not help but marvel at the huge four poster with its lace curtains and carved bedposts. As I stood there admiring the furniture and fixtures, I heard a sound like a dormouse and a rustling, coming from a panelled wardrobe. On flinging open the door, I was astounded to find the Countess, bundled like a sack of potatoes, with a length of sticky medical plaster across her mouth. Her eyebrows shot up when she saw me and she kicked her tiny feet which were bound with a silk scarf. I put my finger to my lips, to indicate hush, and gently removed her restraints and gag.
"Don't worry," I said, "Holmes is here and he's questioning your secretary in the other room."
"Find the Count!" she hissed. "He hid him here."
"One moment. Let me make sure our suspect does not abscond."
Feeling elated with my successful mission, I brushed past Holmes and rushed to the entrance, quickly using the key that was in the lock to secure the door and placing the key in my pocket.
"I've found the Countess," I told the surprised Holmes. Schilski made as if to rise from his chair, but Holmes pinned him with the sharp end of his cane. "Stay where you are, Mr Schilski," he ordered.
"I think the Count is concealed somewhere in these rooms," I told Holmes.
"Find him," Holmes snapped, seemingly enjoying poking his captive in the soft part of his belly.
First making the Countess comfortable on the bed, I resumed my search. "Try the broom cupboard," said the lady, hoarsely.
When I opened the cupboard, out tumbled a bemused old gentleman, wearing a pair of striped pyjamas, similarly bound and gagged as the Countess had been.
After tending to the Count, who soon revived after a shot of Napoleon Brandy, a further search revealed that Schilski was packed and ready to make off with the Golden Dragon Box.
"How did you know which room to go to?" I asked Holmes later.
"Elementary, my dear Watson," It is called the Polish Suite, and I have visited it many times to meet my dear friend Paderewski, the composer and violinist who comes from Poland. "Intuition told me that the Count and Countess would be staying there."
The old couple decided to return the box to its rightful owners, the monks of the jujitsu temple. Respecting their wishes not to involve Scotland Yard, we took great pleasure in bundling Michael Schilski into the broom cupboard, trussed up like a Christmas turkey, to await being found by the chamber maid.