Sherlock Holmes and the Golden Bird

6

Our Singular Client

51

In a carriage directed to the West End address of our client, I recalled again how much Berlin's tree-lined boulevards dotted with striking street cafes and coffee houses reminded me of both London and Paris. The craftsman talents of the Germans kept their metropolis ultramodern, but it was delightfully punctuated with ancient, grandiose, and historical buildings with a plentitude of parks and gardens to say nothing of sophisticated nightclubs and gourmet restaurants.

Driving along the Unter den Liden, the capital did seem on this shiny day to have put its best foot forward and adopted its most pleasing face. But there was work to be done and this fact was brought to my attention forcibly when Holmes, in excellent German, directed our carriage to come to a halt at a convenient open space by the curb of the busy avenue not far from the Emperor's palace.

"Let us remain calm, ol' fellow," said the detective as I registered surprise and a question formed on my lips. "We shall discuss, apparently, our route: a soupçon of make-believe that will allow me to solidify suspicions." As he spoke, Holmes extracted the golden cigarette case with the great amethyst, which had been given to him by the king of Bohemia. But the king had had no knowledge of the mirror surface inside the case, which had served the detective well on a number of occasions.

Offering me a cigarette, he held the case in such a manner that he secured a good view of the area behind us. I made as though to refuse his offering and then, with gestures, apparently changed my mind. My mummery was designed to give Holmes additional time to check our back trail, of course. Something that Holmes saw must have been humorous since be was chuckling.

"It is a covered carriage, Watson, and the driver is somewhat embarrassed since, halted in the street, he is blocking traffic. However, I catch fleeting glimpses of two Oriental gentlemen within who are obviously keeping track of us and have been doing so since we left the hotel. They are ordering the driver to remain where he is until we show a disposition to move again."

Holmes consulted his watch and then regarded me with that mischievous expression which overran his features much more often than most people realized. "We have a bit of time to spare, ol' fellow. How about some sport? There's a policeman approaching and this is too rich a situation to miss."

Stealing a glance over my left shoulder, I saw the scene just as Holmes had described it. A member of the Berlin police force was addressing the driver of a large carriage to our rear. A Chinese face appeared reluctantly from the ulterior of the carriage to remonstrate with the officer who in turn looked quizzically at the driver. My knowledge of German was extremely sketchy while my understanding of Chinese was nonexistent. Yet, the exchange of words, even in unknown tongues, was crystal clear. The passenger of the covered carriage was hoping to confuse the officer with a flow of Chinese and the upholder of the law was regarding the driver as though he could act as translator. However, that worthy, who must have wished he had never risen from bed on this day, disclaimed any connection with the matter via an expressive shrug of his shoulders. The policeman had an equally expressive gesture to climax the situation and he pointed down the avenue with finality.

Gigging his horse into motion, the driver maneuvered the closed carriage past us despite verbal protests from within. Now Holmes rapped an order to our man and we swung away from the curb and proceeded sedately in the wake of the covered carriage. I joined Holmes in a hearty laugh. Suddenly, the pursued became the pursuer and our merriment increased as two heads appeared in the aperture in the rear of the carriage and regarded us balefully. The conveyance increased speed and, at a word from Holmes, so did ours and both vehicles were soon progressing at a good rate.

Holmes finally tired of the game and as we came to one of those delightful squares that dot the West End, he issued another order to our man who, suddenly took a turn to the left preserving his horse's fast trot. The other carriage was already committed to its course and we lost it with no difficulty.

Shortly thereafter, we alighted on a street corner and Holmes presented our driver with his fare and, judging from the man's expression, a most generous addition. No doubt the driver wished that he could pick up a couple of crazy Englishmen every day.

I was not surprised when we completed our trip on foot, a matter of several blocks. My friend seldom went directly to an address, feeling that information of any kind was a commodity to be secured, not given away. As we made our way down a tree-lined street, Holmes voiced the thoughts coursing through his agile mind.

"Orientals are not commonplace here in Berlin, which makes things simpler for us if we are being followed."

"Obviously you spotted the two quite readily."

"As we left the Bristol Kempinsky. I will confess their presence was a surprise, Watson. It. would seem reasonable to assume that they followed us from London. The puzzling question is where did they originally pick us up!"

I was baffled, nothing new to Holmes, and he continued. "Considering recent events, had the two Chinese been watching Baker Street I would have certainly become conscious of their presence."

"I don't see what you are getting at."

"Simply that it is almost as if they knew we were coming to Berlin. I'm most curious as to how they, or more realistically the man giving them their orders, were privy to that information."

Holmes's musings came to an end as we were at the door of a fairly sizeable residence. We were in a good neighborhood, but this domicile in comparison to its neighbors warranted the rating of modest, a fact which Holmes seemed to find strange as he activated the ornate knocker on a stout oaken door. -

"Watson, I expect a little more than this. Collecting objects of art is an occupation reserved for affluent members of society. Possibly, the gentleman is a dealer though I think we should have been given a business address were that the case."

A fairly young man with burly shoulders and a swarthy face, who was dressed in livery, answered the knock and Holmes presented his card. We were ushered into a small main hall area. The beamed ceiling was two stories high, the walls were paneled in dark wood, and candlelight was necessary since the windows of the residence were small—not unlike those of a monastery or, indeed, a Rhine castle.

Having secured our coats and hats, the butler absented himself, mounting curved stairs that led from the hall to the second story area. He reappeared shortly thereafter to usher us up the same stairs. It occurred to me that the man might not speak English since he had not uttered a word since our arrival. His features were broad and, in conjunction with his swarthy visage, gave me the feeling that he was Turkish or Croatian.

A door on the landing led to a sizeable room in which a large fire was burning brightly. Though the day was sunny, the air was cold and I welcomed the heat provided by the burning logs.

A figure arose slowly from a tapestried chair by the fire as the silent retainer closed the door behind us. The man was at least six feet tall with craggy, overhanging features. Dark eyes were sunk deep in a face that seemed oversized and out of proportion. His nose was thick and his lips were broad and pendulous.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes," he said, in a very low but pleasant voice. "When Achmet brought your card it was a surprise indeed, though a welcome one. This, of course, is Doctor Watson," he added, as his dull eyes swiveled toward me. "Do be seated, gentlemen, and tell me what brings you to Berlin."

As he waved us toward available chairs, I noted that his hands were very large and knobby and his feet were oversized as well. He was terribly stooped and presented a brooding, almost ominous picture, which was belied by his cordial manner.

While his question as to our presence must have puzzled Holmes, as it did me, the sleuth gave no evidence of it. He was intent on sizing up the man and his surroundings and I knew that every wrinkle in that seamed face was being printed on Holmes's photographic mind. He certainly knew, as did I, that D'Anglas suffered from a serious ailment. The man's unusual appearance was not natural, nor was the effort that every movement seemed to cost him. He did not give one the impression of weakness but rather seemed like a wounded elephant. Suddenly, I thought I knew the source of his suffering.

Comfortably seated, Holmes approached the question in both our minds in a circuitous fashion. "As you were informed in a letter from Nils Lindquist, I have . . ." —Holmes corrected himself with a gesture to include me—"we have taken over the search for the Golden Bird."

D'Anglas was nodding slowly. "The gentleman explained the situation to me in detail as well as his ill health. I was most unhappy to hear of his death." He paused for a lengthy moment as though in deference to the departed and then continued in a brisker tone. "However, I would be hypocritical if I did not admit to being delighted that you, Mr. Holmes, and your associate have accepted the case. With all deference to Mr. Lindquist, had I felt that I could afford your not inconsiderable fee, I would have approached you originally."

"In the field of art objects, Nils Lindquist was most qualified, as I'm sure you know," responded Holmes promptly.

Our host nodded in a ponderous manner and then a spark of cunning crept into his deep-set eyes. "I was given to understand that your services are included in the original financial arrangement I made with the late Lindquist."

The man's tone was tentative but Holmes waved the matter aside with an impatient gesture. He hated to discuss business and while he had the reputation of charging enormous fees for his incomparable services, I well knew of the myriad cases which he had undertaken simply for the interest that they prompted in him.

"Nils Lindquist had made some discoveries in the matter of the missing golden object and I have been able to pick up parts of the trail he was following."

For reasons of his own, Holmes did not choose to mention Barker, the Surrey investigator, and his sad end.

"No doubt you can fill in a few pieces in this puzzle," continued Holmes. "But, first, do we understand that our visit today surprised you?"

"I guess not," was the reply. "Correspondence can hardly equal a personal confrontation. Do allow me to provide any facts at my disposal."

Holmes leaned back in his chair thoughtfully and directed a quick glance in my direction. Evidently, a suspicion of his had been confirmed.

"Mr. D'Anglas, did you not send me a cable in London requesting Dr. Watson and myself to come here to Berlin?"

The thick skin of the man's face twitched and his expression of surprise was a quick thing in comparison to his previous ponderous movements.

"I certainly did not, sir."

"There has been no recent news, no event that has cast light on the disappearance of your possession?" persisted Holmes.

"None at all. But this telegram? ..."

"Was signed with your name. No great problem, that. But it presents interesting grounds for speculation. I must assume that Doctor Watson and I were decoyed away from London. Therefore, something is going to happen there, probably already has, that is connected with this case."

D'Anglas was nodding again. A sharp note of interest livened his slow and pedantic speech. "This bogus telegram, if it was to serve the purpose you suggest, certainly indicates that the Bird is in London."

"And that someone involved with the Bird knew not only that you had instigated a search for it, but that I was involved."

"My interest in locating it is obvious since I am the legal owner. However, before you ask, let me state that I have not mentioned your taking over the case to anyone."

"Yet someone knew," I said.

D'Anglas looked at me in surprise as though he had forgotten my presence.

"An immediate question," said Holmes. "After the Bird disappeared in Constantinople, you secured the services of an art expert in England. What prompted that move?"

"The current market in art. The Golden Bird is a well-known piece. The finest private collections these days are in England. I assumed that the Bird was stolen not for the worth of the gold but for its appeal to a collector."

"Which answers, in part, another question," commented Holmes. "An object of that size would weigh, I assume, in the vicinity of three pounds."

"Two pounds, seven ounces."

"Hmmm," said Holmes, calculating mentally. "Thirty-nine ounces, then."

"Actually thirty-one, Mr. Holmes. Troy ounces are the weight measure used for gold and there are twelve troy ounces to a pound."

"Interesting," commented the sleuth who was seldom corrected on a technical matter. "With the finest gold at certainly no more than six English pounds per ounce, we have an object whose metal value would be around one-hundred and eighty-six pounds. Less than a thousand American dollars."

Something kindled for a moment in D'Anglas's lackluster eyes and then disappeared. "You wonder at the great interest this object, whose intrinsic value is limited, stimulates. But consider the workmanship. There is another factor, of course. Collectors are generally romanticists. If an object has a colorful history it has additional appeal."

"If there is a story that goes with it," murmured Holmes, almost to himself. "Well, the Bird has been much-traveled. The Tartar capital of Samarkand, the Russian and French court, Napoleon, then the Dutch bankers. Lindquist outlined some of its history and left other details in his case report. I note that its presence was known for a considerable period and then it began disappearing."

D'Anglas was obviously dealing with a subject of fascination to him and, not surprisingly, was well-informed.

"Following the fire in the dealer's shop in Amsterdam, the Bird did disappear. But it is definitely known that it was displayed in the museum in Dubrovnik around 1810. You will recall that the walled city blunted the sword of Islam when the muslem tide engulfed other parts of the Balkans. It is reasonably well-established that the Bird was given to the Turks as part of a peace offering. Then it vanished again."

"Until it turned up in a shop on the Island of Rhodes and was stolen. Then it vanished again, resurfacing in Constantinople." Holmes's voice dwindled away and he seemed in a deep brown study.

"Obviously, something intrigues you about this series of events, Mr. Holmes."

The sleuth nodded. There was a touch of irritation in his manner, indicating that a thread of thought was proving annoyingly elusive.

"The Tartars probably gained the Bird as a prize of conquest. After all, they systematically looted a large portion of the civilized world of their time. It's progress from the Russians to the French and, finally, the Dutch bankers is reasonable. The fact that it disappeared after a fire is not unusual. It might have been discovered by almost anyone in the ruins and its worth not realized. Its passage from the Serbians to the Turks is also straightforward. But then something happened. It appears in Rhodes and is stolen. In its long history this is the first definite indication of criminal involvement and quite a criminal at that. As soon as it appeared in Constantinople, it was stolen again."

"Your facts are accurate, Mr. Holmes, but what thought do they prompt?" D'Anglas's elephantine face was regarding Holmes intently. Had a tinge of alarm crept into his manner?

"The facts warrant an assumption," said Holmes. "Between the time the Bird was in the possession of the Turks and its appearance on the Island of Rhodes, something happened. Something made the statue more valuable."

D'Anglas permitted himself a smile. "The interest in collections grew, Mr. Holmes. Also an appreciation of fine craftsmanship and ancient artifacts. With the coming of modern times, art objects are not as plentiful as in times gone by."

"And your interest in the Bird, Mr. D'Anglas?" Holmes's tone was casual, but I had a feeling that this was a major piece in the puzzle he was fitting together.

The man spread his large and knobby hands. "Call it a compulsion, sir. I am a goldsmith by trade as was my father and his father before him. It was my grandfather who first fell under the spell of the Bird. Drawings of it exist you know. He felt that the ancient object was the finest example of his art in existence. His passion for the golden roc must have been communicable, for my father was equally obsessed with the desire to possess it. Being without family, I am able to indulge myself somewhat and the pursuit of the Bird has become the driving force in my life as well."

The man's dull eyes had been sparked with an inner light for a moment but now the mental fire was banked. "For a wondrous moment I felt that the quest of three generations was ended and that the Bird would be mine before my time had come. Now, alas, I'm not so sure."

My medical training would not let this ominous remark go unchallenged. "Surely, you are a man not beyond the prime of life. Your magnum opus still lies within your reach."

D'Anglas's face slowly registered appreciation for my encouragement. "Nils desperandum," he muttered. Then his mood shifted and became grim. "However, my family is short-lived on the male side. Unless . . ."

His ponderous jaws snapped shut and he summoned a smile that was more an exercise of his facial muscles than any reflection of mirth. His massive head shifted toward Holmes. "My general health and longevity potential are of no assistance to you in your search. Tell me, sir, is there any other information regarding the Bird which I can furnish you?"

Holmes, who had been listening intently to my words with D'Anglas and not drifting off into his own mental kingdom as he sometimes did, signified that he had no additional questions.

"Then, perhaps, you'll answer one of mine." The man seemed determined to preserve a businesslike facade and I sensed that he regretted his foray into family history. "If your visit here was arranged to remove you from London, what do you deduce might be happening there?"

Holmes took his time in answering, probably debating as to how much he wished to reveal to our unusual client at this time. "I have good reason to assume that two prominent collectors are after the Bird and one has secured possession of it. Therefore, the next move will be an attempt to recover the object."

D'Anglas gave another display of native shrewdness. "Your words indicate that one of the collectors had possession and then lost it to the other."

"I suspect that is the situation," replied Holmes. "Whatever countermove has been planned, I imagine it is now a fait accompli. Therefore, rather than rush back to London to tilt at unknown windmills, I propose to continue our journeys."

"Constantinople," said D'Anglas, nodding.

"Possibly, the art dealer, Aben Hassim, can provide some additional information," said Holmes.

"He is honorable and enjoys a fine reputation." D'Anglas rose from his chair and moved slowly to a desk in the corner of the room. "Let me pen a brief note to him requesting that he be of assistance to you."

As his quill pen slowly scratched on parchment paper, Holmes posed a query. "Actually, Mr. D'Anglas, you are not a collector in the true sense?"

The oversized head shook negatively. "Nor in any sense. The Bird is my sole passion."

"Since it has produced such interest from other sources, I'm puzzled that you were able to secure it."

D'Anglas looked up from his writing. "When Hassim placed the Bird on the market, he sent a notice to collectors who would be interested in such an object. He included me in the list since I had approached him, previously relative to the object. In addition, Hassim knows me personally. Possibly, my competition delayed in responding. Rest assured I made a bid immediately and Hassim accepted it. The agreed sum was received by him and the bill of sale mailed to me. I will show it to you, if you wish."

My friend waved this aside as unnecessary and D'Anglas folded the note he had written and sealed it with wax, using a signet ring on his right hand for identification.

Holmes and I had risen and as D'Anglas crossed to hand the missive to Holmes, the detective looked at him with those piercing, all-observing eyes of his.

"One of the collectors so enthusiastically pursuing the Bird is an Oriental. Does this surprise you?"

Possibly, it did. Or, possibly, it was some other emotion that made the massive man sway for a moment. Instinctively, I started forward to lend him support but halted as I realized it was but a momentary reaction.

"Chinese, no doubt?" inquired our client. He continued almost before Holmes nodded. "A rare puzzle, for you are speaking of a man with one of the largest private collections of art in the world. Why would the Golden Bird mean so much to him?"

"A thought that puzzles me as well," said Holmes.

There seemed little else to say and our client showed no desire to continue our conversation so Holmes and I departed from the strange house in the suburban West End of Berlin and its even stranger owner with whom fate had placed us in contact.