Prologue

My name is Dr. John H. Watson, medically retired from the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers. It was my very great honour to have enjoyed a close association with Mr. Sherlock Holmes for many years. I had pledged, while the participants were still among us, not to set upon paper the startling events that chronicle "The Adventure of the Disappearing Sovereign." But no record of the doings of Mr. Sherlock Holmes would be complete which did not include an account of this highly unusual affair. Hence, I have had this memoir safely hidden away until those involved had gone to their rewards. Its beginning can be traced to late November, 1894. The reader will find it in "The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez."

The Case:

The early morning was a sultry time of constant drizzle enveloped in stygian blackness. Even with our windows open, the air was hot and beastly humid, and the movement of air was stagnant, demonstrated by the thick cloud of tobacco smoke that so filled our sitting room that my eyes were unable to clearly see the outside wall. My good friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, had been in a depressed state for the past two days due to the persistent dreary weather. The year of 1918 was beginning with the promise of a possible end of the Great War that was rapidly eliminating the flower of many nations' manhood.

The weather itself was not the sole cause of my friend's dark and somber mood. It seemed that all of the criminals in London had fled to take the King's Shilling in the Royal Army or Navy. It is possible that even the lowest criminals have enough national pride and honour to aid their country in defeating the Hun. Time and time again Holmes would complain:

"Life has become commonplace and the newspapers are sterile!" Holmes' mind was craving action and problems to solve on behalf of the Crown as he had in the infamous von Bork affair early on in the war. "Watson! It appears that the world has taken the human element out of war, and replaced it with machinery," he would express sadly.

On this particular day, early in the month of May, I was consuming my breakfast while Holmes forsook his in favour of his first pipe of the day. In it he would save all the plugs and dottles from the previous day's pipes. This resulted in a frighteningly disagreeable odour with what must have been a repulsive taste somewhat like charred straw. He was curled up in a chair near the window overlooking Baker Street, contentedly puffing away as if his mind were elsewhere, and his countenance was, as usual, dreamy and expressionless.

I had finished my eggs and bacon when I arose and strode over to the window to feel the comparatively fresh, although clammy and repressive, air upon my face. I had no sooner settled myself in the chair opposite Holmes when my ears detected the noise of wheels clattering over cobblestones close to our rooms. I surmised that a vehicle was coming toward us down Baker Street as the noise was increasing to a clamour.

The ruckus terminated abruptly as a four-wheeler came to a stop directly in front. The carriage was a plain and austere black carriage with absolutely no identifying signs.

"That sounds like brother Mycroft's four-wheeler," Holmes abruptly announced as he seemed to come suddenly alert.

"Holmes," said I in amazement. "How could you possibly know who was in a carriage without having seen them descend from it?"

"Oh pshaw," retorted Holmes. "I really had hoped for better from you Watson, after all these years. It is nothing supernatural, as you fear, my good fellow."

"Then how can you possibly know that it is your brother?" I remonstrated.

"As you know it takes some event of an extremely drastic nature to dislodge brother Mycroft out of his inflexible routine. He operates within the limits of his lodgings, Whitehall, and the Diogones Club as a matter of regimen. Whenever something occurs to alter this cycle, brother Mycroft always calls for the same nondescript carriage with the loud grating wheels to keep his association with the government a secret," he elucidated.

"I had no idea that Mycroft was such a creature of habit even when his routine was disrupted, Holmes. My apologies, to you for doubting your observations," I vouchsafed.

"That is hardly necessary, my dear Watson," said he. "In point of fact Mycroft informed me of his arrival today, and at this very hour by sealed letter yesterday," said Holmes.

I noticed that Holmes had that all too familiar mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he made the remark. I started to get angry, but I realized the astonishment on my face must truly be funny to look upon. Hence, I let it go until I could somehow find a way to properly repay him. Finally, there came to our hearing a much louder commotion from below.

Upon our looking downwards we discovered Mycroft Holmes’ considerable bulk descending from the carriage. He moved rapidly to our door to be met by Mrs. Hudson who appeared to be waiting there expressly for his arrival. A few moments passed as we heard Mycroft’s heavy tread upon the stairs, terminating at our door with a loud but weary knock.

"Come in, dear brother Mycroft, the door is unlocked," Holmes sang out. Mycroft entered, basically the same robust and bulky size as when we saw him last in August of 1914, but his face seemed more haggard and surmounted by very much white hair. He gave the appearance of being under some form of tremendous pressure. He walked across the room with slow heavy determined steps, and all but fell heavily into our most commodious sitting chair.

"Really, Sherlock, I am so glad you have at last forsaken the Bees of Sussex and returned to your lodgings here in London, but you really need to install a lift that your clients, and especially myself, may have easier access," advised Mycroft in place of a greeting.

He sank back into the deep recesses of the plush chair gathering his composure.

"Pray elucidate the significance of your most ambiguous and secretive telegram," inquired Holmes as he fluidly moved to the edge of his chair. "I am completely at your disposal, and all attention," he added.

Mycroft Holmes took in a slow deep breath and exhaled in a wheezing manner as he leaned forward sitting on the edge of the chair. "Sherlock, I regret giving you no information regarding this extremely delicate matter; however, it requires great secrecy and incredible precautions. I dared not put anything in the messenger-entrusted envelope save that I would be calling upon you this morning to consult you on a sensitive matter. The stakes in this game are very high, and the other players are totally ruthless. It is the Crown’s desire that our opponents do not know that we are in the game until it is over successfully in our favour."

Looking more composed Holmes addressed Mycroft in a faster than normal delivery, "My dear Mycroft, I deduced that much by your lack of particulars in the telegram. Now, what’s afoot?"

"I must ask you both to solemnly swear that what you hear will never be repeated while any of the parties involved remain living," Mycroft demanded.

Sherlock Holmes and I both swore in the affirmative.

Mycroft once again whispered, "Sherlock, I have brought with me a person much higher in the government than I who will lay the full particulars before you, and hope most earnestly that you accept the commission. When they are made known to you, the reason for secrecy will be as plain as the proverbial pikestaff!"

Mycroft then arose slowly, walked to the window where he held up his right hand as if taking an oath, and then placed the hand over his heart. A rapid commotion was heard out in the street, closely followed by the opening and closing of the outer door. A flurry of rapid steps echoed from the stairs as my excitement and apprehension mounted. I hoped that all this cloak and dagger business would be worth the outcome. The door suddenly launched open when and a large and totally muffled figure swished into our room. The figure turned and slammed the door shut with breathtaking speed.

Our new guest stood now just within the door still totally muffled by a large floor length cloak The head was obscured by a large black hat with a thick, impenetrable veil. All that could be seen was the tips of highly polished boots protruding from beneath the folds of the cloak. We stood motionless facing each other. The room was pregnant with silence, and my pounding heart sounded like a bass drum, brought on by my intense apprehension. This tableau held as we stood gazing at each other for what seemed to be an indeterminable length of time, which, in point of fact, was actually less than a minute. My nerves were now very strained. How could all this secrecy give the case validity?

My thought processes were becoming dulled by the increasing pain from my shoulder, where I had once been wounded by that Jezail bullet during the long past Second Afghan Campaign. I was about to demand an immediate disclosure to ease my pulsating nerves when a most unexpected event happened. Sherlock Holmes straightened up to his full height, then strode three steps in the direction of the muffled figure who recoiled from his advance. Sherlock Holmes stopped dead still, and with an elaborate sweep of his right arm he bowed deeply from the waist stating almost reverently, "I most graciously welcome your Imperial Majesty, and I am humbly honoured by your August presence to my humble lodgings."

I was stunned. I must confess that my wits had fled from me. The muffled figure discarded the cloak as he unwound it, and removed the hat and veil with August dignity to reveal our sovereign King George the fifth, attired in his blue military uniform richly emblazoned with many medals, badges, and trappings.

"I request your indulgence for the disguise, and the inordinate secrecy of my mission," vouchsafed the King drawing nearer to us. He then added, "I implore you draw the curtains as we must preserve the secrecy of this meeting, and also that of what I hope will be your involvement in the commission I would like for you to undertake for the Crown."

Holmes quickly drew the curtains on both sets of windows, and turned up the gas jet to lighten the room, as we had been eating by the cloud diffused sunlight prior to Mycroft’s arrival. Holmes gestured to a chair with his arm for the King to be seated. As Holmes and I sat down on the edge of our chairs he asked of the King, "If your majesty please, pray elucidate the full particulars of the matter at hand."

The King took a deep breath and sighed, "This case is a highly irregular one, which can not be handled by official sources due to its most delicate and sensitive nature."

The King reached into his tunic and withdrew a photograph, which he offered to Holmes. Sherlock Holmes arose and reached for the photograph. He showed it to me as he was studying it. The King inquired, "Do you recognize the ‘gentleman’ in the photograph?"

"But your majesty," said I, "it surely is a photograph of yourself in rustic hunting apparel!"

A slow smile spread across the King’s visage at my exclamation. "A most natural misjudgment, Watson," interjected Holmes. "Holmes, it is the King as you can plainly see before your very eyes," I protested.

The King held up his hand, and a silent hush permeated the room. "The photograph is not myself," the King smilingly explained, "rather it is my cousin, Czar Nicholas the Second of Russia."

Amazement seized my countenance. My mind was numbed as I slid deeper into my chair

"I need not relate to you the events that have occurred in Russia during the past year," said the King sadly. "You see, ‘Nicky’ is my cousin as is Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany, but he is very dear to me, and not only because he looks enough like me to be my twin brother. It is my deep concern for him that draws me to Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

Holmes was on the edge of his seat with anticipation as his eyes sparkled with the glitter I recognized as the evidence the game was afoot. So commanding was the King’s presence that we never noticed when the rain had stopped, and the parting of the clouds to admit refracted sunlight painting a lustrous rainbow in the sky.

"Nicholas, having abdicated last year, became a mere citizen under house arrest at his Tsarkoe Selo villa," continued the King. "He has now disappeared from this residence, and there is no trace of him to be found anywhere. Our agents have looked all over the area and the major cities. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I do hereby commission you to go with all dispatch to Russia, with Dr. Watson, on the hunt for my favourite cousin, the Czar."

The king continued, "The recent Brest-Litovsk treaty had a secret codicil in which the Bolsheviks agreed to the German Kaiser’s demand that ‘safe passage’ be granted to the Imperial Russian family. However, many believe the Bolsheviks mean to murder them sometime in the near future."

Holmes arose with a dignity and bearing that I had not heretofore seen. He executed a perfect accolade of a bow and proffered, "It would be my extreme honour to undertake this hunt for the Czar; however, I am not at liberty to answer for Dr. Watson’s involvement in this dangerous venture."

I must confess that I had been rightly mesmerized by these proceedings and Holmes’ remark caught me off guard. At last, after a tense moment or two, I arose stiffly, and bowed as graciously as I possibly could with my wounded hip flaring with flashes of pain. "I am honoured that your majesty would have me accompany my good friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, on this grave matter of Imperial concern, and that I have another opportunity to serve my country ," I said.

Holmes was knocking the ash out of his pipe as Mycroft said, "Sherlock, I have exhausted all available channels of official inquiry with but emptiness to show for it. It’s deucedly depressing, that the unmitigated gall of these new Bolsheviks coupled with their intense lack of honour towards non- socialist nations makes communication nearly impossible. The fact is, my dear Sherlock, the Bolsheviks have not responded to a single inquiry from any nation regarding the Czar and his family. Even though we are all involved in this war, there is not one nation seeking harm for the Czar. We are, as you have probably surmised, at a standstill."

The King slowly stood while smoothing out the creases in his uniform. "Mr. Holmes, if you and Dr. Watson would be good enough to honour the Diogones Club with your presence tonight at eight o’clock, Mycroft will be in full possession of the details regarding your journey to Russia, and hopeful return, with the latest intelligence regarding ‘Nicky,’" said the King with sadness in his eyes. "I fear I must withhold further knowledge until later tonight to preserve the secrecy of our endeavors!" the king firmly stated.

"That will be quite satisfactory, your majesty," Holmes announced, rising.

"Then, gentlemen," said the King as he replaced his disguise, "please find Nicky and his family, and help them to escape the horror that I fear will otherwise surely befall them. Godspeed to you, and I salute you," and the King snapped a slow salute, covered himself, and departed hurriedly down the stair and out the door into the waiting carriage.

"Well Watson, what do you make of that? This case surely presents many features of interest that we have not previously experienced," asked Holmes as after he escorted Mycroft to the door to the stairs bidding him a farewell. Holmes crossed to the mantle where he picked up the Persian Slipper to fill his full-bend briar pipe with the strong tobacco contents. He applied a match just above the pipe's bowl as he drew the fire down to the tobacco, and he began puffing strong blue-grey smoke as the tobacco took fire. Holmes turned towards me finally with his eyebrow raised in query again.

As speech returned to my lips I responded, "Holmes, this is a most dangerous undertaking, but think of it, the King here in our lodgings. I can hardly wait to write about it, and it should sell quite well," said I.

"Watson, I fear that you will be unable to write of this mission for quite some time, if at all," Holmes solemnly warned. "If the Czar is rescued and you write one of your overly melodramatic narratives about it, then the Czar, his family, and all involved including us ourselves will be in constant danger of losing our lives," he explained.

"Just the same, Holmes, while it is fresh I do intend to write down the account, which will be put away until none of the participants can be harmed," I rejoined. "Further, Holmes, I believe that a record does need to be left to the following generations, and it will touch the Romantic in many hearts, and encourage them in affairs of honour," I vouchsafed mistily.

Holmes, all the while, was puffing his pipe with a far away dreamy look in his eyes. He took the Persian Slipper with him to his window chair, and curled up in an all too familiar position. He turned towards me and said, "Be a good fellow, Watson, and please do not speak to me for the next four hours for this is quite a five-pipe problem, and I need to put all this data to the test and sort it out."

His voice just trailed off as he stared out into the sultry morning sky. "I believe that I will visit The Strand Magazine to see if they would be publishing my last set of stories soon," I said. I exited the room, and limped down the stairs. Mrs. Hudson was just coming in from visiting the market with the delivery boy in tow. She dispatched the lad to the kitchen, and he apparently knew the way from many previous visits as he hardly stopped for her commands.

"Good Morning, Dr. Watson," said she cheerily.

"Good Morning to you, Mrs. Hudson," replied I. "Mr. Holmes is curled upstairs with his pipe, and he probably would not notice if you went in to gather up the breakfast settings," I added as I tipped my hat to her.

"Did that four-wheeler bring an important case, Doctor?" she inquired.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson, and a very remarkable one I might add. It might take us abroad to the warring continent for a fortnight as well," I explained as I exited the door to walk towards the Strand.

I must confess that my heart was torn between being happy to be in the game once again, and the unpleasant task of going abroad during wartime, with my wounded knee giving me fits whenever humidity came ‘round. I enjoyed a leisurely luncheon with my editor on the Strand following which I completed some errands for some needed personal articles.

I returned to Baker Street as the chimes were striking Four o’clock, which is tea time. As I entered the street door I encountered Mrs. Hudson starting up those familiar stairs taking a Tea Service up to our old rooms. I followed her and opened the door for her entry into our lodgings. She thanked me as she set the service on the table. She turned and bustled out of the room rapidly closing the door behind her. Holmes was still curled up in the chair where I had left him earlier that morning. He was veiled in a cloud of blue Ð gray smoke that hung in the air as if it were painted there.

Holmes came to instant life, springing from his chair to open the window, setting aside his pipe while walking briskly over to the table saying, "Ah Watson, you have returned just in time to take Tea with me." "Really Holmes, I thought you were oblivious to everything going on in this room," I returned.

"Surely by now you must know that the best way to observe is to act as though you are not the least bit interested upon observation," said he.

"Has your sorting out the case given you a clearer idea of what we have before us?" I asked hopefully.

"Why yes," said Holmes as he drank down his cup of tea, "there are quite a number of facets that are clearer now, but I feel that any theories should wait until we visit brother Mycroft tonight."

The rest of the afternoon was leisurely spent pursuing the newspapers of the day’s news and the war events. We took our time in dressing for dinner since we’ve intended to dine at the Diogones Club prior to the arrival of Mycroft Holmes. The evening was sufficiently cool that we decided to enjoy a slow walk to the club. Holmes did appear to really enjoy being outdoors instead of being cooped up in a cab. We arrived at the Diogones Club at 6:30, and we were seated directly in the restaurant. All that could be heard was the clatter and tinkle of glasses and silverware as talking was strictly forbidden within the Diogones Club save in the Strangers Room.

We pointed out our selections on the menu to our waiter, and afterward ate our sumptuous meal in an unnatural silence. It was unnerving, that eerie silence, and it made my skin crawl. I did not enjoy this meal immensely.

Promptly at Eight o'clock Holmes and I were safely entrenched in the comfortable leather covered lounging chairs in the Stranger’s Room. As the clock struck the last gong of eight, Mycroft Holmes entered the room with stately though fluid dignity. Mycroft was always an extremely punctual person, and he seemed to have gotten more punctual as years advanced. He walked over to us, and we rose to greet him. Mycroft held up a hand cautioning silence, and motioned us to follow him to a private room where we could converse freely without the fear of being overheard.

We followed Mycroft upstairs to the third floor to a room located at a corner of the building. Four men came out of the room and signaled with a nod of their heads that all was secure within. We entered a richly furnished room with tapestries on the walls and well made costly furniture. We moved to the centre of the room where three commodious chairs were set facing each other. As we settled into our chairs them, Holmes took out his slate coloured clay pipe, and proceeded to fill it from a black seal skin tobacco pouch, a souvenir from a previous case. As he lit the tobacco in his usual manner of one inch above the top of the bowl, he spoke to Mycroft.

"Well brother Mycroft, pray tell us what has eventuated since this morning regarding this case," Holmes inquired.

Mycroft reclined into the recesses of his chair and lit a cigar. As he was contemplating the flavour of the smoke he spoke. "Sherlock, there is still no word as to the Czar’s whereabouts, and there is no telling what drastic measures the Bolsheviks may undertake. The situation is so unstable and volatile that we must think in terms of prompt action only."

"I had deduced as much this afternoon," yawned Sherlock Holmes.

"Your passage to Russia has been arranged in minute detail. You both shall leave on the thirty-first of May from the Police Landing under the Tower Bridge at exactly eight-thirty in the evening. You must pack only your essentials in an inexpensive cloth overnight bag, and one that preferably is old and battered," said Mycroft.

"Obviously, we should dress in the attire of poor sailors seeking gainful employment," said Holmes.

"Actually, Sherlock, the poorer the better as it will help you to blend in, and not to be at all conspicuous. I have implicit faith still in your ability at disguise, and I am certain that you will assist Dr. Watson in his new identity too," added Mycroft respectfully.

"Mycroft, what is to be the method of transport and itinerary to Russia Ðer- the Soviet Union?" inquired Holmes languidly.

"That is to remain a secret until you are afloat upon the Thames. What I can tell you is that there is help for you when you get to Russia. The help is in the form of two very effective secret agents. The first is an American secret agent named Charles James Fox, whose code name is The Fox. He is a tall, dark, and distinguished gentleman with a bushy mustache and pince-nez glasses. He speaks English, French, German, and some Russian and Chinese. You will discover that he is athletic, adventurous by nature, with a military background. There is another assistant who is somewhat ambiguous. He is an aviator who is a double-agent for the Allies, but the Germans believe he works for them . We believe that he may be an American, but we really do not know his nationality. He came over early in the war to fly in the flying corps. It seems he likes to live life on the edge, and often takes the most unreasonable death- defying risks. His code name is The Eagle, which, of course, in German is ‘Der Adler’. It should also be noted that Mr. Eagle believes firmly in a shoot first, and ask questions afterwards attitude! In short he kills, without compunction," promulgated Mycroft.

"The man sounds somewhat like a modern version of ‘Jack The Ripper’ or a homicidal maniac," I observed.

"Well, it actually matters little as he is a highly successful agent in a time of war when the services of undesirable people are needed for disagreeable assignments. Be certain of this fact, which is that you are totally safe from harm with him nearby," Mycroft explained.

"There is also another factor in your favour. There is a counter revolution going on within Russia at this very minute. The White Russians are challenging the Red Russians for the governmental control. You can escape easily if you gain the White Russian lines. You see, they are still fiercely loyal to the Romanov Czars. Does that sound suitable to you, Sherlock?" queried Mycroft.

"I do believe we will be able to search better with two extra pairs of eyes in a country that large," Holmes replied.

"Well, Sherlock, I advise you spend the remaining days in pursuit of learning a working knowledge of the Russian language, and a study of their customs and extensive knowledge of maps will prove useful. The time is short, and we must accomplish much to be ready for the challenge of the Hunt for the Czar," announced Mycroft.

"You may reach me at Baker Street," said Holmes, "I will be checking in there more often than anywhere else."

"Very well, Sherlock, I will be sending periodic reports to keep you up to date on things. His Imperial Majesty, King George, gave me this for your use," vouchsafed Mycroft as he gave Sherlock Holmes a leather pouch containing 1,000 Gold Sovereigns.

We left the room to descend downstairs to the main floor. Mycroft took a different staircase from the second floor so as we should not all be seen together. We gathered our wraps and made our way outside into a rain rather like a mist. There was a row of Hansoms close by behind the motor car cabs so Holmes led the way to the Hansoms as he preferred them for the sake of familiarity. We were lulled by the steady grind of the wheels upon the wet cobblestones harmonizing with the rain and horses hoofs echoing through the night.

Ah, but it was 1895 once again if but for only a few moments. Holmes awakened me from my reverie when we reached our lodgings. We entered and climbed the familiar 17 stairs to our room. All was in order, and I prepared to go to sleep, with Holmes curling up in his chair with his pipe and Persian slipper of tobacco. I knew it was useless for any further talk. The following three weeks were extremely busy ones, and I saw little of my friend save those rare meals we attended together. I learned a smattering of the Russian language as well as its customs and recent history. My mind was awhirl at this intense ingestion of foreign material, and at times it seemed to overwhelm me.

The evening of the 31st May found us deposited at the Police landing underneath the Tower Bridge a full hour before our stated arrival time. Holmes was chomping at the bit for one last romantic adventure. The sparkle in his blue-grey eyes revealed an anticipation of forthcoming excitement and intrigue. I must confess that I too had butterflies in my stomach. My mind traveled back in time to that wild chase down the Stygian dark Thames after the Great Agra Treasure, Johnathan Small and his gruesome companion!

I felt the same menacing danger once again. Punctually at the stroke of eight o'clock a Police launch drew up and to my astonishment I perceived Mycroft Holmes at the rail. We scrambled aboard as the launch did not tie up, but was quickly moving down the river at a stomach churning pace. The launch showed neither light nor sounded the horn, and the muffled throb of the engines with the rushing of the water past the hull was all that came to our ears. The air grew murky and thick as we sped along with frightful smells of brackish water and mildew. I knew we were nearing the mouth of the mighty river with anticipation wrapping her cold hand around my heart at the unknown step that lay ahead. Mycroft was perfecting his imitation of a clam.

The deep hoot of a ship’s horn came from close at hand. A shape suddenly separated itself from the surrounding gloomy blackness, and took form as a Royal Navy Battle Cruiser. I noticed some severe structural damage, and the evidence of recent repairs. It probably saw service at the Battle of Jutland, and had not yet had time to go to the yards for extensive repairs. A gangplank was in place as the launch tied up to it. Mycroft gave Holmes a sealed packet as he shook our hands, and wished us Godspeed as he waved us a farewell.

The captain saluted us as we stepped on deck and said crisply, "Welcome aboard The Invincible, gentlemen; will you please follow me." As we followed, baggage in hand, we heard the gangplank being raised along with the anchor chain, and then we felt a shuddering movement beneath our feet indicating we were already underway. There seemed to be no loss of time on the beginning of our trip. We walked to the front of the ship and into a hatchway to come to an abrupt stop at the first door. The captain opened the door for us and we entered. It was roomy for a ship, and I believe that it may be have been reserved for visiting admirals or other dignitaries.

"You will keep to this cabin, and do not leave it for any reason as our trip is not a very long one," ordered the captain as he saluted and quitted the room, locking the door behind him.

"Holmes, this is all deucedly queer behaviour, and not knowing what is going on quite upsets me," I complained.

"This is designed to keep our leaving England a secret, which can only aid us in our task," Holmes replied.

Within minutes the door opened and an enlisted man entering carrying a large tray of covered dishes. "With the captain’s complements, gentlemen, I hope you enjoy your meal," announced the server. He set the tray down on the table in the centre of the room and departed, locking the door behind him.

"Brother Mycroft apparently has thought of everything for our voyage and mission," pondered Holmes aloud.

"We may as well try these dishes," said I.

As we consumed the delicious steak dinner Holmes opened the packet given him by Mycroft. It was full of identity papers for the both of us. One set had us representatives of the Red Cross in Switzerland, and the other as Ukrainian farmers. There was a considerable amount of Russian money, and two red armbands of a crude nature with the Bolshevik emblem sewed on it. It must be for our disguises in Russia I thought. After a most comforting pipe we retired to give our strained nerves a respite. Even with the strange surroundings I was soon fast asleep.

"Sirs, quick, wake up!" spoke an enlisted man shaking me. I stirred and sat up.

"What is it, my good man?" I inquired as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

"We are approaching your place of departure, sirs. Hurry up and get ready as the captain must get this done bloody quick," said he.

We dressed as fast as we possibly could without giving proper attention to our toilet. We arrived on deck in less than twenty minutes, and I stared in horror to see that it still was pitch dark outside. I looked at my watch for the time only to discover to my dismay that it was gone! The captain approached hurriedly.

"There is no time to explain, but all that you miss will be returned to you upon your return to Baker Street," said the Captain as he led us to a boat davit. "Gentlemen, if you please would be so kind as to enter the boat, we will lower it to the surface, and leave you temporarily adrift here."

"Captain, where exactly are we being left?" asked Holmes coolly.

"You are currently outside of Heligoland Bay, but your journey will continue in short order so fear not," clipped the saluting Captain.

As the boat touched the water we unhooked the “monkey lines,” and they were hauled up quickly while three long moans came from the ship’s foghorn. The ship started moving with an incredible wake trailing behind as if the hounds of hell were on her trail.

"Holmes, where or what is this Heligoland Bay?" asked I. "Heligoland Bay lies between the Elbe and Weser Rivers near the port of Bremen, and it is the anchorage of the Imperial German High Seas Fleet!" said Holmes grimly.

I was struck dumb, and I fear my mouth gaped open at this revelation.

Holmes just sat there as if expecting some imminent event. It came momentarily as a loud foghorn sounded three times. A loud slow churning approached us from the opposite direction. Rapidly a shape loomed, and soon became defined as a large battle cruiser. As it neared I noted a shield bearing a black eagle at the top of the bow. It was a German ship! It slowed to come along side us so I could read a name on the bow as "Derfflinger." My mind raced. It was the German’s greatest success at Jutland. This ship reeked honour, but it still was a dangerous enemy. Hooks came down with German sailors attached. They secured the hooks in place with grim silence and cold efficiency, and we were soon on the deck of the ship. The ship’s captain was standing there, and snapped a perfect salute accompanied by the traditional European heel click. His uniform was immaculate, and bristling with many decorations. I noticed that he wore the Knight's Cross around his neck underneath the Blue Max. This officer obviously was a brave man.

He gestured for us to follow, and, baggage in hand, we did. This time our way led to the very back of the ship. We entered a hatch right before the large rotating guns. There was a sentry on guard in front of the first door on the right just inside the hatch. The sentry saluted smartly and opened the door. The captain preceded Holmes and I me through the entry way and I closed the door. The room was positively sterile or Spartan, to say the least, as there was nothing on the walls save a small black curtain over the porthole. The room consisted of two chairs, two beds, and a table with a washroom in a recess. Everything was simple and plain so that the captain’s uniform looked extremely out of place.

"Welcome gentlemen, aboard the Battle Cruiser Derfflinger, and I will endeavor to make this journey as pleasant as humanly possible considering current conditions. You will be our guests for about two weeks," announced the Captain.

Holmes and I had placed our bags on the bed of our choosing, and we sat down on the chairs provided. "I assume this ship will sail eventually around Denmark, through the Baltic Sea to somewhere near East Prussia?" inquired Holmes.

"Your reputation has preceded you, Herr Holmes, and I perceive that it is justly deserved," the Captain with a new air of respect in his voice.

Holmes merely bowed curtly to acknowledge the captain’s accolades without uttering a word.

"You have deduced correctly, Herr Holmes, that is the plan that has been worked out secretly between our respective sovereigns. You will be met in Koenigsberg on the coast of East Prussia, and from there will your journey continue," announced the captain.

"Would you be permitted to inform us as to what magic lands us on board Germany’s most battled honoured ship while our nations are still engaged in hostilities?" questioned Holmes.

"Yes, you are curious. I can elucidate to you what few facts I know. The Kaiser did not want to see his cousin, the Czar, murdered by the bestial Bolsheviks even though he wanted to defeat the Czar in the war. The fear is that the Bolsheviks want to murder the Czar and his family so that there can be no counter-revolution like the one currently in progress. We must preserve secrecy if we are to catch those maniacs off guard, and rescue the Czar so he may live out his days in exile, but alive without fear of attack," explained the Captain rapidly.

"You have confirmed what I have long ago surmised," answered Holmes sadly. The captain then retired to leave us to our thoughts, and the door, as usual was secured.

There would be no interest in a German warship steaming in the waters bordering upon Germany. I still find it hard to believe, but we were here on a mission of international stature. The rest of the voyage passed in an uneventful manner excluding the fact that I was resigned to my bed due to a severe period of sea sickness. I suppose that it was fortunate that I had not joined the Royal Navy out of Medical School.

We were awakened early on the morning of the 11th of June while it was yet dark. The captain came in just as our breakfast arrived.

"Good morning, gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that we have anchored just inside the harbour of Koenigsberg in East Prussia, which is as close as we can possibly get you to Russia," said the captain proudly. "You will please accompany me ashore dressed as Imperial German Navy junior officers in the captain’s launch. Your uniforms are being readied, and they will be here presently. You will attire yourselves in them, and place your other belongings into the sea bags that will come to give the impression that you are going home on leave. That will help us pass through the city to where your transportation to Saint Petersburg is secured. Now, gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I have preparations to make," he added as he left us to our meal.

Our meal consumed, we changed into the uniforms provided us. I had the uniform of a Captain in the Medical service and Holmes had that of a Korvetten Kapitan on the Admiralty Staff resplendent with medals and badges. I feared that Holmes' uniform would draw undo interest, but I held my tongue for the nonce. We were staring at each other at how odd we both appeared when there sounded knocking upon our door. It was immediately opened to admit four sailors to escort us to the launch, two of whom carried our sea bags. We were assisted into the launch followed by the Captain and his four escorts who became the boat crew. With the shrill accompaniment of B’sun’s pipes our launch was swung out smartly, and lowered into the water’s surface. The engine sputtered to a start as we turned our bow towards the city across the harbour.

Following a thirty minute ride meandering around many anchored vessels of war and commerce, we came upon the Naval Pier where we tied up. The sailors made the boat fast, and we gingerly stepped on to the dock followed by our four “friends” carrying our sea bags. The captain led the way up a long sloping ramp to the exit to the town.

Just outside the closing gates a new model Touring car was waiting for us with a driver who snapped to attention as we approached. The captain preceded us into the rear seats of the automobile as the driver closed the door behind us. The car lurched into gear, and we rolled speedily forward. Our way wound through the city, and out into the beautiful and luxuriant green countryside. After a thirty minute drive, we turned into a military depot that boarded upon a railroad line. We came to a stop and dismounted the machine after our driver hurriedly opened the door and snapped to attention. Together with the Captain we walked up the stairs into the depot waiting room. The Captain led us over to a corner as if we were watching the train tracks.

The Adventure of the Disappearing Sovereign

(Part II)

"In the next train you will board the fourth carriage to compartment seven, and another helper will contact you there. The compartment has only the two of you booked as occupants. The train will go through Kauna, Lithuania; Riga, Latvia; and through Tallinn, Estonia to St. Petersburg. Your new contact will escort you through Moscow to other friends to try to locate Nicholas," the Captain said in a low voice.

Holmes leaned towards the Captain whispering, "A pleasure to meet you, and please send my regards to your illustrious father! Is he well? " Holmes asked.

"Herr Holmes, my father has never forgotten how you assisted in him the affair of the Adler papers! He was quite well when last I was home on leave before Jutland," he replied. "I fear, however, that Europe will not be anything as it was before this great war began."

We thanked him heartily and saluted him with our best attempt at the European Heel Click, and he returned the salute smartly followed by a crisp about face. As he was leaving, the train to the east was just pulling into the station. It ground to a jerking stop and we walked slowly out onto the boarding platform with our sea bags in hand. We counted four carriages from the locomotive, and entered the coach, then followed the numbered compartments until we stood before number seven, which Holmes slid open and we entered. The room was draped with shadows and gloom as the window curtains were drawn shut. When Holmes reached to open the curtains a crack to admit at least some light and I was in the process of drawing the curtains over the doorway, the darkness spoke!

"I really would prefer that the curtains not be opened, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said the darkness in a sepulchral voice.

The effect this had upon us was instantaneous in nature and cataleptic in response. We had both observed the room to be empty of everything excepting shadows that we were attempting to dispel. It felt like forever that we were compelled to inaction; however, it must have been only seconds. I am ashamed to confess that I subsequently moistened slightly the front of my trousers. All of this took place within just a few moments during the great amount of time it has taken to relate its happening.

"Pray, who is this who speaks English perfectly in a German train," asked Holmes as he gained his composure. Holmes left the curtains as they were and sat down on the seat facing forward. I fell heavily down next to him, still too unnerved to vocalize anything coherent.

"I am here to assist you and Dr. Watson in finding Czar Nicholas, his family and effecting their escape. You have been told to expect help from a spy named The Eagle or ‘Der Adler,’ I assume? That, honoured sirs, is exactly who I am," spoke the nebulous voice from the shadowy recesses of the corner seat before us.

"Sir, it would help a great deal if we could see your face that we may

recognize you in the future as a friend," asked said I.

" Pray forgive me, Dr. Watson, your request can not be granted. It is not a reflection upon you nor Mr. Sherlock Holmes here, but it is something I find necessary and priceless in my profession. You see, I am able to assume many faces and identities so that my enemies can never know my true identity to convey harm or death upon me, hence, it is my policy that anyone who sees my true face and knowing my identity will die then and there," explained this type of living shadow!

"That is quite satisfactory with me," returned Holmes to my amazement. "If we knew your identity we may inadvertently give you away, which is counter productive with to our mission," he asserted.

"My point exactly," replied the darkness.

Holmes, seemingly satisfied to converse with a voice out of the ethereal blackness, proceeded to narrate our entire involvement thus far in the case.

We were pulling into the station at Kauna as Holmes was finishing his discourse. Holmes receded into the friendly confines of the deeply comfortable seat cushions as he refilled his short traveling briar pipe lighting it with a match that he extinguished in a sand pail on the wall underneath the window.

"I shall be leaving you both at Riga, our next stop, to precede you to Saint Petersburg on a scouting mission as I have, er- shall we say, borrowed the identity of a Colonel in the Russian Air Forces. I have a modern rapid pursuit airplane hidden, though ready and waiting, just outside of Riga where the Colonel unfortunately lost most of his head. I was forced to shoot him as he was attempting to prevent me from borrowing his airplane," explained the sibilant voice.

This was followed by a soft sardonic laugh that froze my blood in its veins.. Our unseen ally gave the impression of approving of the use of violence and murder to achieve his aims. This living darkness now terrified me greatly.

Some of the darkness in the corner seemed to separate itself from the surrounding gloom, which grew to a height of slightly over six feet and took a human form shrouded within the folds of a black floor length opera cloak. He wore a shapeless black hat with a wide turned down brim that obscured his countenance. The detached darkness moved to the door of our compartment, and with a swish he disappeared outside. I shivered uncontrollably as he exited the compartment. I noticed that Holmes was unruffled by our recent guest’s departure as he was meditatively smoking his full bend briar pipe with his brows knit together in serious thought. I went over to the window to crack the curtains for a little of the light that remained outside, and proceeded to roll down the window half way for fresh air to steady my overwrought nerves.

Our train arrived at the Riga railway station on time, and as I watched out the window I could see no one to fit the Eagle’s appearance of height nor was there anyone in a Russian uniform. I gave up on trying to figure out who and what he was for the time being.

Our trip from Riga to Tallinn was dull and uneventful. All the while Holmes stared into the ceiling gently puffing on his pipe in contentment. Regarding conversation, Holmes did his best impression of a clam much to my extreme frustration.

"Who was this Eagle chap?" I mused. "Why was he so mysterious? Why was my wounded ankle acting up in pain now?"

That long ago Jezail bullet still caused me extreme hurt pain. We had just lurched out of the station in Tallinn when we opened our sea bags to lay out a fresh change of clothing for our upcoming arrival in Saint Petersburg. The firm rap of knuckles upon our door halted our changing as we both froze in place straining our ears for a voice.

"Tickets, please," demanded the conductor in Russian, German, and French!

Holmes motioned to me to give our tickets to the conductor as I was in the uniform of the lower rank. After all, this was how the German Army operated. After looking the tickets over, the conductor tore off a portion of each and then returned them to me with a half-hearted salute, which I for some unknown reason returned snappily with a European Heel Click. He then moved down to the next compartment. I slid the door shut and reentered the compartment, sitting down heavily with a sigh in my former place.

"I thought that you might have forgotten that you were a German officer and give us away. I congratulate you for ensuring the secrecy of our mission," Holmes said, approvingly.

"Holmes, I acted out of reflex, and I totally forgot who I was supposed to be," I bemoaned.

"The matter is academic. Nevertheless, I suggest that we change our attire before we arrive in Saint Petersburg," Holmes said.

We laid out the fresh clothing on the seat opposite, and secured the door latch and drew all the curtains. My attire was that of a Doctor of Medicine in the International Red Cross, and Holmes had become a retired sea captain, named Captain Basil, acting as my traveling companion and official Red Cross inspector. Holmes had packed his make-up kit, and had made himself a new person with wind browned leathery skin that was wrinkled and haggard looking with a long, grizzled white hair wig topped by a most repulsive looking, greasy, and age tattered Captain's hat. ‘Pon my word, I would have sworn that I did not know him had I not seen the transformation right before my eyes, and I’m still skeptical about it.

We stowed the uniforms in the sea bags with the false identity papers not yet needed and the leather pouch of gold sovereigns. Holmes wisely stuffed it with socks so that it would not jingle thus tempting some person to a rash act. Holmes produced two old pipes that I thought he had disposed of long ago, but he evidently saved them for such an occasion as this. The briars had cracked bowls, and both had been recently repaired. Two traveling tobacco pouches followed as Holmes began filling his pipe, and I filled my bowl as well.

"We will arrive in Saint Petersburg about two in the morning at the rate we are traveling," mused Holmes.

The rest of the train ride was uneventful, and we consumed a bag of sandwiches that the Eagle had left in the corner of the opposite seat. The conductor came round once with a coffee cart from which we both drank two large cups of extremely strong coffee. We would be awake for a while now. The train finally pulled into Saint Petersburg with grinding noise and one final solid jolt! As we were disembarking, I noticed that there were many younger looking men standing around. This seemed rather peculiar during a time of hostilities.

"The new Soviet Secret Police," Holmes cautioned under his breath.

We sauntered through the massive railroad station looking in all directions like tourists, and I knew that Holmes was noting the location of everything for future reference. As we exited the main entry way there were only two open carriages acting as cabs. We entered the second of these as Holmes told the driver in French, "Drive us to the Swiss Legation, please."

We were deposited at the legation after a short, but remarkably refreshing ride through the cool dark morning breezes. We knocked upon the door, and it was opened post haste. It did appear that we were expected.

A short slender man with a waxed complexion closed the door behind us.

"Welcome Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, and pray accept the hospitality of the Swiss legation, and you may channel many inquiries through me as it will avail you faster replies. My name is Count Rudolf von Liechtenstein from Zurich, and I am the Council-General of the legation; however, our new ambassador has not yet arrived from Switzerland," explained the Count in a very concerned manner. "The American Ambassador, the Honorable David Roland Francis, a former mayor of the City of Saint Louis and governor of the State of Missouri, has telephoned several times requesting news of you or the American agents," he said.

"Was he not in charge of the World’s Fair in Saint Louis in ‘04?" asked Holmes.

"You are well informed about matters beyond your borders, gentlemen," von Liechenstein replied.

When I awoke just after dawn the next morning I discovered that Holmes had breakfasted and departed some two hours before. Our host, the Count, had set a delightful table despite the current conditions in Russia. After a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, and biscuits I sat down in the entry parlour to enjoy smoking a good cigar, and sipping fine coffee. While I contemplated the aromatic aroma, and taste of my recent meal I could not help but compare them to the irritating quality of the German gastronomic offerings. I was completing jotting down my notes of the case thus far in the library as the noon chimes were sounding. Suddenly this was followed by a loud knocking at the main door, and I arose moving to the vestibule door in hopes of seeing a familiar face. I was disappointed as a slovenly old man in filthy tattered clothes sporting a crumpled plain red armband strode behind the secretary who opened the door. The bewhiskered old man took hold of the door and gently closed it as I gaped in astonishment at the audacity of the villain.

"Watson, you really should have more control of your self than to stand there with your mouth agape," spoke Sherlock Holmes.

My eyes grew wide in amazement at the shock that you could have slapped them off my face with a paddle. "Holmes!" cried I.

"I am frightfully sorry, my good fellow, but I have just returned from a most informative scouting mission into the countryside," explained Holmes as he took off his make-up.

"Gentlemen, the noon meal is awaiting our pleasure in the study, and we can converse there over our repast," announced the Count.

"That is an excellent suggestion, and I'll be there directly," said Holmes .

The staff was beginning to serve our dinner when Holmes walked into the room as a cleaned up looking Captain Basil. He seated himself across from me to the Count’s right. Without even so much as a word, Holmes sat down and ate the meal with relish and silence. Afterward we adjourned to the library for Brandy and cigars. Holmes was lighting his Perfecto. The Count and I sat forward eagerly in expectation of new information.

"It was, as I said before, a very profitable morning’s work," said Holmes, after blowing out his match with smoke.

"Have you discovered the Czar’s whereabouts as yet?" inquired the Count.

"Yes, he and his family are in Tobolsk, about eight hundred miles east of Moscow, and there appears to be no indication of impending harm in the immediate future at least," elucidated Holmes.

"How did you find out all that in a few hours when I have learned nothing in over a month?" demanded the Count.

"It is really quite elementary, my dear Count, if you knew where and how to look," retorted Holmes coolly.

"In the guise of a poor revolutionary worker looking for work and food I rode out to the Czar’s country villa just outside the city with a wagon driver who was assigned to remove the food from the villa, and to bring it into Saint Petersburg. I merely offered to help him for something to eat. He agreed readily. We chatted about the new government being helpful to the common worker instead of the wealthy, and he is looking forward to the utopian existence that, I fear, will never arrive."

He went on, "We arrived at the lodge, and carried out all the food nearly filling the large wagon we rode on. It was brisk, but still hard work. There were many tins of foods of all types. When we finished we opened a few tins of sausage and cheese to satisfy our hunger. He then took me on a little tour of the place, which was luxuriously furnished on a smaller scale than the palaces. He left me in the main hall while he was off checking all the rooms for more food, but I suspect that he was trying to find something he could steal and sell for money. Be that as it may, I found a shield on the wall upon which was a emblazoned a seven pointed star. I knew this was a clue so I took it down from the wall."

"How could that shield tell you that it was a clue?" asked the Count puzzled.

"Oh yes, I forgot that you would not know about that," mused Holmes. "In the latter part of the last century I took a case to successful conclusion for the Romanov family, which Watson has not yet published in the magazines. The Czar gave me, as a token of honour, a signet ring with a girasol or fire opal set in it. When a secret button is pressed, the ring setting springs up on a hinge to display a seven pointed star engraved in the ring base. This is the identification of the Czar’s most loyal and trusted followers, friends, and trusted agents It is known as the ‘Order of the Seventh Star.’ If any message was left it would be near a seven pointed star as it would literally draw the attention of those wishing to help the Czar. The clues were there, and the shield had not been disturbed by enemy eyes or hands. Etched with a pin was a short message, ‘Czar moved to Tobolsk surveillance continuing there, signed ‘Fox.’ This message was followed by a seven pointed star as an identifying mark. I rode back on the wagon, and was let off just outside town as he feared his superiors would frown upon his private enlisting of help," explained Holmes.

"What then is our next move, Holmes?" I asked.

"We must take the Trans-Siberian Railway at noon tomorrow for Tobolsk, and to meet the American agent called, The Fox," said Holmes.

The rest of the day was passed studying maps of the route of the Trans-Siberian Railway from St. Petersburg to Moscow to Ekaterinburg to Tymen, and the overland routes to Tobolsk. Each map was minutely examined by Holmes and committed to memory. We passed our evening meal in grim silence contemplating our foray into unfriendly regions.

We all retired early due to mental exhaustion, and the arms of Morpheus claimed us quickly.

We awoke late the following morning. It was nearly ten o’clock as we hurriedly dressed in our Red Cross attire. We were provided with packages of sandwiches, rolls, and cakes for the long trip. Our German uniforms were left at the Swiss legation under the custodial care of the Count who promptly burned them in the cellar after retrieving the medals and badges for his private collection.

We piled into the legation’s proud automobile, which transported us to the railway station speedily. We arrived thirty minutes before the train was to depart. We thanked the Count profusely, yet with quiet dignity in our official guises, as he wished us good fortune in our mission. He drove off as we walked through the main entrance of the station. Holmes went to the ticket counter for the Trans-Siberian Railway, and purchased round trip tickets instead of one-way, so as to not arouse suspicion. We hurried through the cavernous building to the departure tracks where we found our train getting up steam on Track #7.

We strolled along the carriages to the front of the train. We found our car, and entered. Holmes slid the door aside as we entered our compartment, which had but one occupant seated in the gloomy semi-darkness.

We sat down on the forward facing seat as we naturally did when we rode trains. As we settled into a comfortable position in the seat we raised our hats slightly as a gesture of greeting to our fellow traveler. To my surprise he raised his hat in return, while he got up and locked the door drawing the curtains in one swift and smooth motion. He turned around withdrawing his hand from his trouser pocket, revealing a large gold signet ring featuring a bright blue gem that took on a blood red hue when he held it before the light-filled window curtain crack.

"Agent Fox, I presume," inquired Holmes.

The tones of the replied blood chilling sardonic laugh echoed softly within our compartment, and I knew instantly that it was the spy known as The Eagle who stood before us. "Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, I bid you greeting once again," said he. "It is now the Fourteenth of June; have you any news regarding our mutual mission?" asked Holmes politely. "Yes, the Czar and his family will be moved from Tobolsk to Ekaterinberg before the first of August. The fanatical members of the Ural Soviet have set a plan into motion. I believe that they mean to murder the entire family to demoralize the counter-revolution by the White Russians. I suggest that we wait in Ekaterinburg for the Royal Family’s train to arrive, and hopefully The Fox will be in close proximity as he is already in Tobolsk watching over the Czar and his family," related The Eagle. "How long will it take us to reach this city of Ekaterinburg?" questioned Holmes. "We will arrive on the morning of the Sixteenth of June as this train makes far too many stopovers along the route," said he impatiently.

The train rocked and jolted into Ekaterinburg a little after eleven o’clock in the morning of the sixteenth of June, and it was late, as is the custom with most Russian Railroads. We detrained after nearly everyone else had departed. The living darkness had adopted a new disguise that neither of us saw, but he was wearing a Russian Officer's uniform with the telltale red armband of the Bolsheviks. He told us that he would be scouting the situation while Holmes and I registered at a nearby hotel as Red Cross observers. He was gone in a blink of an eye, and we departed a few minutes after, so that we would not be associated together.

Holmes inquired in French of the guard posted at the station entry where the nearest hotel was, with only a negative nod of understanding from the guard in reply. However, a man, seeing our dilemma from across the street, came over to introduce himself as Thomas H. Preston, the British Consul, speaking in French. He motioned for us to follow him as he led us to the British legation, which had an international hotel located next to it.

We all entered the hotel as Holmes and I registered, while the manager, and a Bolshevik guard closely examined our papers. They must have been in order as we were led up to our room on the second level right at the head of the stairs. Mr. Preston escorted us into our room, and he made a barely perceptible motion with his hand prompting silence. He wrote upon a tablet that he removed from his jacket that the Reds were listening in on all rooms occupied by foreigners. He then suggested on the tablet that we converse in normal tones in French suggesting we dine together next door at the British legation after our long journey citing our delicate stomachs and the rough Russian fare we were unused to. This we did convincingly, and we departed thence in grim silence.

As we entered the legation, our bags still with us, Mr. Preston gave the order for three dinners to be sent to his office. We seated ourselves around a dining table breathing somewhat easier in a fellow countryman's presence.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson, I consider it an honour and a privilege to finally meet you both," said Mr. Preston addressing us with his outstretched hand. "A veritable plethora of nobility and representatives have been imploring my aid to get the Royal Family released from their imprisonment," Preston continued.

"Preston, are you positive that the Czar and his family are held here in Ekaterinburg?" asked Holmes quickly.

"Yes, all the indications are pointing that direction," he replied.

"Can you give the possible location of their holding place?" requested Holmes.

"The Ipatiev House, which is known among the local soviets as the ‘House of Special Purpose,’" Preston replied.

"We will have to find The Eagle and the Fox as soon as possible to make our plans," stated Holmes.

Just then the curtained gloom in the far corner of the room spoke sibilantly in perfect English. "Fear not for The Eagle is here, and The Fox is watching the house in question," said the sepulchral voice of the living darkness.

Preston and I jumped with a start with Holmes displaying no emotion or surprise.

"I surmised that you would be there awaiting our arrival," Holmes stated. "I, too, have a slight flare for the dramatic," he added grimly.

"Tonight is the night for freedom, retribution, and honour," our shrouded ally said. "I have talked with The Fox, and he reports that three plans are ready with three possible escape routes. The Czar and his family are too well guarded by day, thus we must move by night. Mr. Holmes, would you and Dr. Watson kindly engage in a leisurely walk about town as Red Cross representatives for the next two hours?" he asked.

A knock at the door drove our ally into the darkness from whence he had appeared. Preston opened the door to admit a kitchen aide pushing a food service cart. He set the dishes before us and retired. Once again, The Eagle separated himself from the darkness.

"Mr. Holmes, kindly walk from two to four, and again from seven to eight-thirty as I believe that the Soviets are holding you both under intense surveillance. If you distract their spies then that would give the others uninhibited movement to make the best possible preparations," the Eagle said.

"We have been shadowed ever since we arrived in Saint Petersburg, but I do concur that a diversion can accomplish much," Holmes affirmed.

We turned our attention again to our repast as the spy of darkness exited via a window hidden by a large bush. We expeditiously consumed our meal with relish and no further interruption. At precisely two we started a stroll about the town looking over the buildings, and people as if we had been a long time used to it. We enjoyed a leisurely smoke of good cigars as we kept our pace steady, returning to the legation just before four. A man was waiting with Preston, and finally we were to meet Agent Fox.

"Mr. Holmes, I need to ask you if you have any hard finances with you as we seem to be in need of extra bribe money," asked the tall rugged, but haggard, looking man.

Holmes went over to the bag he had brought into the Consul's office, and withdrew the leather bag containing the gold coins.

"In this bag are 1,000 English Gold Sovereigns, and I give them to you for the express use of rescuing the Czar and his entire family," said Holmes handing the bag to The Fox.

"This is more than enough to complete our plans, and the remainder will be returned to you," he stated.

He hid the pouch inside his light coat, and departed with a short salute of farewell. After an uneventful couple of hours we enjoyed a good supper, and were soon on our second tour of the town. It was close unto seven-fifteen that we were passing behind the Ipatiev house near a warehouse when an elderly man holding a large pistol stepped from a warehouse doorway blocking our path. A dim light was shining on the man’s face and I could swear that there was something familiar about it, however, I just could not seem to place him.

"You seek the Romanov traitors to assist them, do you not?" jeered the man in halting English.

"Why should you, Alexis, seek to harm those responsible for obtaining your freedom?" rejoined Holmes.

This struck the man like a blow as he clearly staggered back a few steps, recomposing himself in the process.

"I would never hurt Anna, but just how do you know my name?" questioned Alexis.

"I hesitate to tell you, but Anna died by her own hand in England during November of 1894. I was investigating a murder case, and discovered her hiding place in Professor Coram’s room, who you may have known as one Sergius when you were all nihilists involved in the assassination of Czar Alexander II in March of 1881," stated Holmes flatly.

"My Anna did get to the beast Sergius as she had promised? But how did she free me if, as you claim, she did indeed die?" he asked.

"She had letters and a diary that she had recovered from Sergius, which she implored us to take to the Russian Embassy in London to secure your release from false imprisonment," explained Holmes.

"I do believe that you speak the truth as I note the sincerity in your eyes, face, and voice, but who are you - another policeman?" he asked waving his pistol in our direction.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes."

The gunman, Alexis, straightened up, with surprise marring his visage. "I am indebted to you, sir, for my release from that Czarist Hell Hole, but I am the leader of the Bolsheviks in this city, and I cannot allow you to take my prisoners. I am torn between either shooting you now or with the Czar and his family," he said slowly cocking his pistol.

Suddenly the darkness on the ground began to move growing upwards in size, and taking the shape of a shrouded man. As he materialized from the ground a haunting and terrifying sardonic laugh grew from a whisper into a defiant mocking laugh. The Living Shadow was intervening between us and death. The Shadow spoke in a sibilant and mocking voice to the stunned Alexis.

"You seek the death of two people who have done you only good and no evil. You also desire the death of a family to purge your frustrations of false imprisonment. Virulent poison is flowing through your veins, which will end right here. Your life is herewith forfeit," hissed the Shadow as two automatic pistols belched forth flame and spat death six times.

Alexis was dead before he touched the ground. I was stunned that anyone could kill a person in such a fashion, but I am was sincerely grateful for my life being saved. That Living Shadow sounded forth his hollow mocking laugh of triumph, and he then swiftly wheeled in our direction.

"The guards will think the royal family is being murdered now. Hurry into the house. The stair from the kitchen will get you to the Royal Family on the second floor, and bring them out that way as a truck is coming now. Make haste," he hissed.

Holmes and I went in the back door to find no one about, and we scrambled up the stairs to the second floor. We found the Czar and his family in the first room all huddled together, and dressed in cheap peasant's clothing. They had all recoiled behind Czar Nicholas, who I would still swear was our good King George. The room was pregnant with silence and fear.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, and I am here to assist you in your escape," said Holmes rapidly in English.

Everything changed in an instant as fear was dispelled by the Czar’s acceptance of Holmes as a friend. They all moved silently down to the kitchen waiting for the truck. I noticed that the Czar’s fingers seemed to be bleeding. I motioned that I was a Doctor and would tend to it.

"It is a small cut where I had to cut off a sapphire ring that was un-removable to protect our identity," Nicholas replied in English.

Holmes showed the Czar his ring, opening it to expose the seven pointed star at which Nicholas smiled gently remembering his father, Alexander III, bestowing that honor to Holmes.

Our reverie ended abruptly enough when a truck screeched to a halt right outside the door, with our black robed friend driving. The brake set, he dismounted and rushed in. He displayed to the Czar his ring exposing the hidden seven pointed star. The Czar called him what seemed a friendly name in Russian in smiling tones, and they all scrambled into the back of the truck with the Czar helping his wife, daughters, and especially his hemophiliac son, carefully into the truck. Holmes and I squeezed into the cab, and with a jolting lurch we set off at a dizzying pace.

After a brief respite, our ears detected the frightening sounds of pursuit, and the shouting of many angry voices. The truck sped on ever faster as the black robed driver seemed intent on not stopping for man nor beast. As Holmes and I briefly glanced around we saw we were being pursued by two trucks full of Bolsheviks. As we approached a point about twenty miles south of Ekaterinburg, we swerved suddenly and left the road plunging down a dirt road with increasing speed of the hair-raising variety. The man in black pushed the accelerator to the floor as our speed increased until our truck bounced all over the road, and the passing trees were but a blur. The hair on the back of my head was standing on end, and I was too terrified to move or speak.

The other trucks were also flying down the road at breakneck speed. The man in black laughed mirthlessly as he headed the truck between two rock outcroppings in our wild dash for freedom. We slid, rather than drove, at a sickening speed down a long gently sloping embankment, and crossed a long level field surrounded by thick hilly forests. We skidded to a stop less than one hundred yards from the sloping hill. That Living Shadow laughed mirthlessly as he scrambled out of the cab running to the rear of the truck. He said something to the Czar and his family in fluent Russian that caused everyone to fall down flat very quickly behind the folding steel tailgate.

The other two trucks skidded to an abrupt stop as soon as they saw we were stationary, and the trucks vomited out men drawing weapons of all sizes and types as they walked purposefully towards us, confident that we had made a tragic mistake. They covered about one third of the distance between their truck and ours when a metallic scraping sound softly pierced the air and descended to our ears from the trees above. The Living Shadow pulled two .45 automatic pistols from beneath the folds of his sable cloak, and fired one shot into the air. This was answered by a rumbling noise resembling thunder yet somehow different. The trees suddenly spewed forth men on horseback with drawn cavalry sabers poised in great numbers all around the summit of the little valley of death. Each of these riders wore a black hairy busby hat, with the silver Romanov double-headed eagle emblazoned on the front.

It was the Czar’s ever faithful Cossack Cavalry who were poised for what seemed an eternity on the encircling ridge. Suddenly, the stillness was shattered by terrifying screams and thundering hoofs. The Cossacks as one entity broke forth into a wild tumultuous charge halfway down the slope yelling and screaming in Russian as they bore down upon our pursuers. The Cossack Cavalry was murderously intent on the Czar’s safety, and the painful deaths of all the Bolsheviks. Suddenly the Cossacks, like an envelope, closed over the fleeing cowards with a deafening crash. Sabers flashed and guns roared in the moonlight as men screamed and died.

Many of the dying and wounded Bolsheviks were trampled into pulp under the horses’ hooves in the Cossack’s eagerness to defend their beloved Czar. It was not a pretty sight; however, it was a just one. It was mere minutes until it was all over, as the victorious Cossacks rode slowly toward the truck. They stopped about twenty-five feet behind us waiting, and then the Czar stood up to face them.

"My children, I and my family owe you our lives and thanks," said the Czar, jumping down from the truck.

All of the riders dismounted and lowered their bloody sabers to the ground in salute to their beloved leader. Noise echoed from the mouth of the valley as a car came rapidly along, screeching to a halt by the Cossacks. The Fox got out, and advanced to the back of the truck. He spoke rapidly to the Czar who spoke a command and his family descended from the truck, gathering close about him. Nicholas moved towards the Cossacks addressing them lovingly in Russian after which he prayed a blessing on the rescuers and the devoted Cossacks.

The Czar’s family piled into the commodious rear of the newly arrived vehicle while the Czar opened the passenger side front door. He saluted all of us by the truck, and seated himself next to The Fox as they sped across the valley of death, and off into exile. Holmes, The Eagle, and I stood watching the departing Royal family as they disappeared across the valley, while my heart was beating proudly accompanied by misting eyes at the Honorable service that we had performed that day. The Cossacks remounted and dashed off to the south up through the trees ringing the valley.

"We had best be departing ourselves," advised The Eagle as he surveyed the grisly spectacle before us.

"Quite so, my good fellow," said Holmes.

"Get in the front of the truck, and I’ll drive you to your escape route," exhorted The Eagle.

I got in first with Holmes following, and the truck once more lurched into motion, accelerating rapidly. We crossed the little valley, and rocketed out of the narrow entry. We circled around pursuing a generally southern course. We were close to Chellybinsk after several hours of wantonly reckless driving when we turned off the road up a pair of ruts that masqueraded for a road towards a farm complex. We pulled up alongside of a very large barn. As we disembarked the Eagle told us that The Fox was taking the Czar and his family south to Afghanistan then east across Northern India into China to eventually arrive in France, which had a large Russian colony near Paris. The Czar’s appearance would be altered to provide safety during the long dangerous journey and exiled life.

The Eagle opened the large folding doors of the barn to disclose an airplane that seated three easily. It was designed to carry bombs, but instead sported extra cans of gasoline for longer range. It was a German ‘Gotha’ long-range bomber. The Eagle clambered into a flying suit, and nimbly mounted into the cockpit. We quickly scrambled into the rear compartment after we spun the propeller to catch the ignition as The Eagle started the plane moving. We taxied out of the barn onto the level field and faced into the wind, the plane gathered speed, and finally took flight turning to a South Southwest heading The Eagle appeared most at home here in the clouds, but I felt my stomach rising into my throat. We were drawing near a considerable body of water as we banked for a landing near the northern end of the lake.

As the reserve gas cans were emptied into the plane our pilot told us we were on the northern edge of the Caspian Sea, the largest lake in the world. Our task completed, we took off again holding a more southerly route over the sea. A short time after crossing land we descended through mountains to a landing in Teheran, Persia. We secured a full cargo of petrol and were soon airbourne West Southwest to eventually land in Cairo. The British authorities were waiting there, and quickly took Holmes and me to the harbour to board the battle cruiser, Invincible, once again. As we stepped on board, the Captain greeted us warmly telling us that we were on a direct course for London as the ship started chugging out of the harbour.

It was a speedy race home, and inside of four days we were once again standing before the door to 221B Baker Street. We entered and wearily climbed the stairs stiffly to our rooms, which, upon entering, we folded into our lounging chairs as each of us lighted a cigar. We found the relaxing smoke in familiar surroundings a refreshing tonic for our strung out nerves.

As we were extinguishing our cigars there sounded a wild peal of the doorbell. We heard Mrs. Hudson admit someone, which was followed by heavy footsteps upon the stair. A knock sounded to be immediately followed by the opening of our door.

"By all means, Mycroft, do come in," invited Holmes.

The bulky form of Mycroft Holmes appeared in the doorway, and he held the door that King George preceded him into our room. Mycroft crossed to Homes shaking his hand, and then turned to me extending congratulations also.

Stepping forward the King honoured us each with a handclasp. "Mr. Holmes, and you as well, Doctor Watson, I desire to convey to you both that our friend and his family are safely beyond the powers that sought them harm, and they send their sincerest thanks. I also thank you both from the bottom of my heart, and I ask you both to kneel. I have an honour for you," said the king and we knelt on one knee.

The King slowly extracted his sword, and touched each of us on the shoulder thrice saying, "For Honorable service to the throne, I George, do hereby confer upon you the rank of knighthood." After this he stated "Arise Sir Knights to receive your honours." We were bestowed with the appropriate badge of rank. Mycroft presented me with a gold signet ring surmounted by a fire opal that opened to reveal a seven pointed star engraved into the ring as a gift from a friend, he said. We both bowed as Mycroft looked on in an approving manner. The King again thanked us, warning us not to say anything of this case, and not to believe any reports from Moscow regarding the Czar as they were indeed quite safe. Mycroft then led the King to the waiting carriage, and they departed.

"Holmes, I confess that I feel so much more secure now that we are safely within our own domicile. Nothing can reach us now," said I.

"By the way Watson, I heard that William Rutledge McGarry mention that he too planned to author a novel about ‘Rescuing the Czar,’" Holmes said offhandedly.

I was flattened, but I remembered that he was an American and would be published in America. I felt much better at that comforting thought. Now, I felt, we were safe and secure amid our familiar lodgings.

Then from the street there drifted up a softly whispered sardonic mirth that rose to a loud mocking peal; the triumphant laugh of the frightening agent in Black, The Shadow!

The End