Sherlock Holmes and the Golden Bird

5

To Berlin

41

It was coming on to ten of the morning when I descended from my bedchamber to find that Holmes had preceded me and was with company. Inspector Alec MacDonald was enjoying a steaming cup of coffee with the great detective, but considering the suspicious glance he fastened upon me as I entered the sitting room, I sensed that this was not a social call.

"Ah, Watson, you come at an appropriate time," said Holmes, pouring from the great silver urn. "I'm just learning about a singular event that occurred in Soho last night."

Accepting a cup from Holmes, I tried to look interested and startled at the same time. My innocent expression did not seem to register on the dour inspector, who at this time was just beginning to build the formidable reputation that he later enjoyed at Scotland Yard.

"Knowin' your sources of information, Mr. Holmes, 'tis surprising to me you've not already heard of it."

"Tell us all," I said, sitting alongside the desk with what I hoped was a relaxed manner.

"The Nonpareil Club was hit last night by a whole gang of Chinee. Pitchin' battle, it was, too."

"Any casualties?" queried Holmes.

"A couple of the Orientals were wounded. We've got them down at the Yard but they dinna speak a word of English or wouldna' admit to it. Several of the Baron's lads got hurt as well. That's all we know. It's possible that there were more either wounded or killed but the bodies were removed before we got there."

"This certainly sounds like a large scale affair. Can you divine a reason?"

"Not offhand, Mr. Holmes. Dowson has his finger in a number of sticky pies, we ha' known that for years. Since the passin' of Professor Moriarty he may well be the leading criminal of London. We've found it convenient to let him run his gaming house since we generally keep our eye on the place and sometimes secure valuable information. The Chinese element have numerous fan-tan houses but Dowson's clientele wouldna' patronize them so it doesna' add up as some territorial dispute."

The dour Scot, who had been gazing into the hearth fire, suddenly threw a shrewd glance at the great detective.

"I was rather hopin' you might shed some light on the matter."

"It is singular, Mr. Mac that you should come to me about the Nonpareil Club since Watson and I were there but recently."

Surprise blossomed on MacDonald's face and he quickly surpressed it.

"I had wanted to give the place a looking-at," continued Holmes, "and Watson and I left the losers. Not from the games of chance, which I suspect do not provide the player with the true gambling odds. My sword stick was missing when we departed from the premises and also Watson's army revolver, which he had left in his greatcoat pocket."

Fortunately, I was able to suppress my astonishment at this pure fabrication on the part of my friend.

"I was in hopes," continued Holmes, "that the two items would be recovered and, in the normal fashion of things, posted a letter only this morning to Lestrade reporting the missing articles."

MacDonald's lips were compressed in a firm line.

"Well, they are missin' no longer, sir. A cane sword was found on the stairs of an adjacent warehouse, stained with blood. And a Smith-Webley army issue was found at the head of the same stairs with all chambers fired. I might add that there was blood in the vicinity but no bodies were found. Some bits of clothing indicate that the victims were Oriental, as were the attackers of the Nonpareil Club."

Holmes did not carry his pretense of innocence too far. He had a hearty respect for the acumen of the Aberdeenian.

"It would seem that the attackers were familiar with the history of the club and the fact that numerous hidden exits exist from it. Some, if memory serves me well, involving the adjacent warehouse."

MacDonald knew when he was licked. "Well, Mr. Holmes, I'll see that the articles are returned to you. I'm disappointed, for a fact, since had you been on the premises during the fracas, you might have provided us with a key to the affair. We're baffled."

"Perhaps I can uncover something," said Holmes. "I gather that this battle was not an attempt by one criminal group to demoralize or displace another. It seems reasonable to assume that Dowson had something that the Oriental group was after."

The police inspector nodded.

"Have you any idea what this might be?" continued Holmes.

"No, sir. There's been no big robbery on the docks, or anywhere else, that I can associate with this."

"Then let me take another approach. Who, in your opinion, Mr. Mac, would have had the organization, the manpower, to attack the Nonpareil Culb?"

"Assuming it is an Oriental, and that seems indicated, it could only be one man."

It was Holmes's turn to nod. "Chu San Fu."

"Aye," agreed MacDonald. "That tiger can wave one of his fingers and there's a hundred to do his biddin'."

"I have heard," said Holmes, slowly, "that Chu is not as active as he once was."

" 'Tis an impression he's most anxious to. create. I can recall times when he was crossed and there were bodies for sure and no doubt as to how they met their end. Warnings of his power."

I could contain myself no longer. "Good heavens, who is this Oriental monster that you both discuss so calmly and how is it that I have never heard of him? Chu San Fu, indeed."

Holmes's eyes were on the fire and his voice had a dreamy quality. "The Chinese are an inscrutable and unobtrusive race, my dear Watson, completely devoted to the customs of their homeland. Their entire strata of society is a secret closely guarded. They remain completely enclosed and while we see them, know they exist, we really know little about them."

MacDonald was nodding and chose to add to Holmes's words. "For years, Chu has been the power in the Chinese community. All the opium dens, the gambling houses, the drug traffic, have been under his thumb. He also runs a sizeable import-export business that is legitimate, as far as we know. Of late, he's gone underground, as far as his illegal activities are concerned. Oh, he still wields the power of life and death, but his enemies just disappear now. Into the waters of the Thames estuary, nae doot."

Holmes's dreamy thoughtfulness had disappeared. He was regarding the Scot intently.

"Do you have some theory regarding his change of modus operandi?"

MacDonald nodded. "I also have a fear of a gang war and an intense int'rest in last night's battle at the Nonpareil Club."

Holmes rose and knocked the dottle out of his pipe and into the fire. "Could it be that you are suggesting a trade, Mr. Mac?"

The Scot didn't hesitate. "That's exactly what I'm doin'."

"You may be the loser. I've not much to tell and your sources in the Chinese quarter are undoubtedly superior to mine."

"I'll take me chances."

"Very well." Holmes's fingers reached into the Persian slipper for more shag. "I think that Dowson was hired to secure an ancient objet d'art and Chu wants it."

The Scotland Yard inspector digested this. "Would this object be of great value?"

"Not of the type you're thinking of. It's no Mona Lisa, or even close to it."

"Very strange, Mr. Holmes. But your theory is provocative since Chu San Fu has one of the largest collections of Oriental art in the wurld."

I have seldom seen Holmes register surprise, but he did now. "Does he indeed? But the object I have in mind is not Oriental."

"Hmmm. Well, there's no tellin' what else Chu has in his treasure chest. 'Tis me feelin' that collectors are a breed apart."

"A very sage observation, Mr. Mac," said Holmes.

"I've a wee bit more for ye, but tell me, if Dowson had this object and Chu was after it, who has it now?"

"That I don't know," said Holmes, with regret.

"But ye'll certainly be tryin' to find out?" MacDonald was answered by a quick affirmative nod from Holmes.

"Well, sir, herre's a bit of social news that int'rests our lads in the Limehouse squad: Maurice Rothfils, related to the famous international bankers, is to be married come spring."

"I've heard of that," I said, glad to have a hand in the conversation. "It's something of a nine-day sensation in Mayfair since his bride-to-be is a Chinese princess."

"Aye, Doctor," said MacDonald. "Now Rothfils just may have a title by the tune he's married and there could be a presentation at court involvin' his wife. So the special branch has been quite concerned. For there's a whisper that this Chinese princess is the daughter of Chu San Fu."

Holmes stopped filling his pipe. "You are a treasure trove, Mr. Mac. This puts a new light on things and explains why the tiger is trying to sheath his claws." Noting my puzzled look, Holmes added to his statement. "The more dastardly the brigand, the more precious the cloak of respectability. You may recall, Watson, that Henry Morgan, who sacked Panama and was the terror of the Caribbean, later became the Governor of Jamaica."

"Not a very respected one," I said, somewhat stiffly.

"Touché!" responded my friend.

MacDonald, sensing that the well of information had dried up on both sides, rose to his feet.

"I'll not be takin' up any more of your time, Mr. Holmes." As I handed him his coat, he regarded the great sleuth shrewdly. "I'll be hearin' from you, sir?"

"I hope very soon," responded Holmes.

Then the official and unofficial detective did a strange thing. They shook hands—a social formality I had never seen them indulge in before. But then, a bargain had been made.

The next three days provided no further information regarding this strange case that Holmes and I had become involved in. I saw little of my friend and surmised that he was tapping his sources of information and frequenting strange places in any one of the variety of disguises that he affected with such expertise.

The journals had a short-lived romance with the battle in Soho. Then the matter disappeared from print. The management of the Nonpareil Club claimed they were victims of an attempted robbery. Since the authorities had been unable to locate gambling devices or prove that the club was a haven for it, Dowson and his crew were officially blameless. The two wounded Chinese claimed, through an interpreter, that they were making a delivery to the club and just got caught in the middle of hostilities. A reputable Oriental merchant appeared to identify them as employees and produce a delivery order for two Chinese rugs. The Orientals were released for lack of evidence and the entire affair collapsed in the hands of the police. Everyone involved knew the gunfight was no small thing, but no one could prove it. It was as though nothing had happened.

The morning of the fourth day brought a sparkle to Holmes's eyes. He had been chafing under the strain of inaction or, at least, action that was non-productive. As usual, this had not improved his sometimes brusque and preoccupied manner. But it was the old Holmes that greeted me at the breakfast table with a smile of relief.

"I do hope you are free to take a trip, my good Watson."

"I can be."

"Then we are off to Berlin."

He handed me a cablegram, which I eagerly scanned.

MY DEAR MR. HOLMES

LETTER FROM L1NDQUIST INFORMS ME OF ARRANGEMENT HE MADE WITH YOU. AGREEABLE ON THIS END. CAN YOU COME TO BERLIN AS THERE HAS BEEN RECENT DEVELOPMENT HERE RELATIVE TO THE BIRD. I WILL ASSUME RESPONSIBILITY FOR EXPENSES INCURRED BY YOU AND YOUR COLLEAGUE, OF COURSE. WILL MAKE MYSELF AVAILABLE AT ANY TIME.

VASIL D'ANGLAS.

I experienced a nervous moment. From time to time, I have been accused of being deficient in imagination and, compared to Holmes, it is possible that I am. What imagination I did have was now working overtime.

"How embarrassing," I said, "if this complex matter is resolved by the owner of the Golden Bird."

Holmes chimed in with my thoughts. "Lindquist gone, Barker as well, and we have gotten ourselves deeply involved to no avail." He indulged in a chuckle.

"It would be bitter tea indeed, but a reminder, ol' chap, that no one is indispensable."

Holmes was a fast packer, rapid departures being no stranger to him, and my experience with the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers stood me in good stead in this department. It was only a short time later, having notified Mrs. Hudson that we would be off the premises for a few days, that we caught the boat train and were on our way to the Continent. Doctor Vernier had readily agreed to assume my duties until we returned. It was a situation he was very familiar with and I do believe that he considered my patients as partially his. In a year's time he certainly saw as much, or more, of them as I did.

The channel passage was stormy and rail connections were delayed. As a consequence, we arrived in Berlin in the late hours but had no difficulty securing a suite at the Bristol Kempinsky Hotel, where Holmes stayed when in Berlin. The night manager, Klaus, always grew loquacious at the sight of my friend.

"Ah, Herr Holmes, you have returned to make dose clever deductions of yours, nicht war?"

Invariably, this was Klaus's greeting and some time was spent reassuring the excitable Bavarian that the fate of Europe did not hang in the balance. Finally, we were comfortably ensconced in most satisfactory quarters and our beds were a welcome sight to me.

The following morning, I awoke to find Holmes gone. Not a new experience, of course, but at least I could assume that he had secured some sleep. Without his endless files, chemical apparatus or extensive library, he had no toys to while away the night hours. My friend did have a built-in alarm in his splendid brain and on more than one occasion I had known him to fall into a deep sleep and will himself to awaken at a certain hour. I know of no scientific proof that this is possible but I also knew that he could do it.

It was mid-morning, after I had enjoyed a large breakfast, when Holmes returned.

"My dear Watson, I trust you have recovered from our travels."

"Indeed, only to find myself abandoned."

"Good chap, you were sleeping so soundly that I had not the heart to awaken you. In any case, some dry research was called for, so I saved you the searching of the Meldwesen files."

I recalled that most effective tool of the Berlin police force, which Holmes had such a hearty respect for. At the police headquarters in Alexanderplatz were the one hundred and eighty rooms that housed the meticulous card catalogue on criminals and crimes.

"Who were you checking on?"

"D'Anglas, naturally. We know nothing of the man save what Lindquist told us. Possibly, our employer has a dark past indeed. If he does, it is not known to the Berlin police. By the way, Inspector Schmidt sent you his cordial good wishes."

I recalled the Inspector well. A short man with a scar on his right cheek and uncomfortably bright blue eyes. Chap had had the effrontery to laugh at a deduction of mine in connection with the "Midas Emerald" affair but his tune had changed when Holmes upheld the rationale of my thinking. I muttered something and then, with a glance at my watch, suggested that we'd best leave for our appointment with D'Anglas.