Sherlock Holmes and the Golden Bird

9

Back to Baker Street

87

Our departure from Constantinople was almost as rapid as our exit from Berlin. Upon leaving the shop on Istikial Caddesi, Holmes made haste to return to the Golden Horn Hotel, where he booked us on the Orient Express to Calais. Much to my displeasure, the fastest connection involved taking the boat train to Constanza, Romania, where the Express made up to return through Vienna to Austria and Germany with the special section continuing to the French coast.

Fortunately, the Black Sea was calm and we made connections without incident or without arousing the curiosity of any fellow passengers. I must have let my irritation show somewhat and while Holmes could not conceive of my interest in the historical city we were leaving with hardly a glance, he did show compassion during our long return journey by relating various historical facts about Constantinople.

He did not dwell on ancient Troy since, as he put it, "That story was clouded by time and legend," though he did state that he felt there must have been a factual basis for the recounting of the Greek and Trojan war immortalized by the Iliad. Of King Byzas of the Megarians, who expanded the city seven centuries before Christ, my friend was most fluent. He was also versed in the reign of Emperor Constantine who changed the city's name from Byzantium to Constantinople and proclaimed it the capital of his Holy Roman Eastern Em pire. Possibly, dry history teachers had tried to inculcate me with these facts but they did not have Holmes's colorful delivery. Then he progressed to the reign of Suleiman the Magnificent and really hit his stride. I had not realized that this greatest of Ottoman rulers had besieged Vienna and was beaten back in defeat by So-bieski of Poland. Soon, my friend's graphic recreation of history was explained, in part, when he dwelt at some length on Suleiman's invasion of Rhodes and his defeat of the Knights of St. John who retreated to Malta.

"An interesting situation here, ol' chap. The Knights of St. John, using the strategic position of Rhodes, had been pillaging Mediterranean shipping for years. When the island fell, Suleiman must have captured an immense amount of booty. But it has never been found."

Since the sleuth had fallen into a thoughtful silence, I was able to express a thought that came to mind. "Good Lord, Holmes, you don't think some private collector got his hands on that?"

"Hardly. I imagine the Treasure of Suleiman is, like Morgan's Pearls, hidden somewhere awaiting that astute visionary capable of deducing where the ancient wealth is secreted. Possibly, when I hang up my shield, I shall not devote my time to bee-keeping at all but embark on a search for the famous and undiscovered caches."

"You mentioned Morgan's Pearls," I said, questioningly. Holmes had referred to England's famous, or infamous, pirate on more than one occasion.

"Henry Morgan's most famous coup was his attack on the Spanish settlement of Panama. He used an overland route to strike at the treasure port, by the way, unusual for a seafaring man. Having sacked the city, Morgan is reputed to have secretly taken the pearls, the most valuable part of his loot, and buried them somewhere on the Isthmus of Panama. Evidently, he never returned to recover them for they have not appeared to this day."

"But they are known to have existed."

"Oh yes. Pearls were Panama's chief contribution to the swollen coffers of the Spanish crown. It took money, Watson, to support the Spanish armies in Europe and to build the great Armada."

I must confess my friend's intimate knowledge of history proved somewhat surprising, but then I recalled that he could remember obscure items in his newspaper files years after filing them away. How reasonable that colorful incidents of mankind's background should be at his fingertips, especially if they touched upon unsolved mysteries.

Naturally, our somewhat one-sided conversation during the trip across Europe turned to the case at hand. Holmes drily observed that our extensive travels had contributed little that we had not already known.

"However, Watson, we have met two of the principals in this search of ours, something that would not have occurred had we remained in London."

"Do you accept Hassim's theory of the ultimate hoarder?"

"In part, if not in whole," was his reply. "I can name any number of known objects of value which have simply disappeared. And, though Hassim did not refer to them, there are some very well-known masterpieces about which rumors have circulated. The Mona Lisa is one. There is a school of thought that the painting in the Louvre is not the Da Vinci original but a masterful copy."*

* How interesting that this theory was revived and much bruited about after Vincenzo Perrugia stole the Mona Lisa from the Louvre in 1911 and the painting was not recovered until twenty-eight months after the theft.

My expression of amazement prompted a laugh from my friend. "Can you imagine one of the men Hassim mentioned with the original in his hands. He could certainly laugh at the world and yet, though I don't deny the possibility, I find it a little difficult to swallow. What good is a supreme joke if the world cannot enjoy it as well. To laugh alone is a solitary sport indeed."

I must have looked vague since Holmes backtracked to alleviate my confusion. "We have come across situations akin to what I'm referring to. The affair of the 'Ruby of Alkar' and the matter of the 'Midas Emerald' to name but two. In each case, the missing gem was too well-known to be sold legally and, like the Mona Lisa, was unalterable. Diamonds are a thief's best friend, ol' fellow. Being such a hard substance, they can be cut and lose their identity. Two of the crown jewels of England were once a single stone. But were you in possession of a painting as famous as the Mona Lisa, you certainly could never show it to anyone. Surely, that removes some of the joy of acquisition. I contend that Selkirk or Manheim or any of those sub-rosa collectors mentioned by Hassim would really move mountains to secure an unidentified masterpiece."

"Like Morgan's Pearls."

"Exactly. Their size and luster would be proofs of their value but they were never weighed, no description of them exists, and in fact they had no owners. Morgan stole them from the Spaniards, who had squeezed them from the suppressed native population who knew where they were to be found in their virginal state."

"The same situation existing with the spoils of the Rhodes campaign."

"Of course. There are others, Watson, undoubtedly more than we imagine. Hassim mentioned the Pharoahs. Our archeologists haven't uncovered one tomb so far that wasn't looted rather thoroughly."*

* Holmes was correct since this adventure predated the Carter expedition which discovered the tomb of Tutankhamun.

Tales of history and hidden treasure, coupled with speculations on the case involving us, helped hasten our trip but as the Calais coach approached the channel, I could sense Holmes urging it forward. He was eager to return to our abode and resume the chase of the Golden Bird, which interested at least two shadowy individuals, only one of which was known. I rather suspected that Holmes would center his energies on uncovering the employer of the man with the lisp and voiced this idea.

"Quite right, ol' chap. However, we have another thread in this tangled skein to consider. We were decoyed from England, of that I am sure. What has happened in our absence? What incident prompted someone to remove us from the scene of action?"

At every station, my friend secured newspapers, which he eagerly scanned for mention of some event that might have an association with the golden statue, but his diligence was not rewarded.

When we finally arrived at 221B Baker Street, it was with delight that I surveyed familiar sights. Mrs. Hudson made much of our return, though, in truth, we had not been absent any great length of time despite the fact that we had crossed Europe twice and had been but the length of a bridge from Asia.

Holmes immediately resumed investigations, or at least tried to, but he encountered unexpected difficulties. Mrs. Hudson insisted that we consume some good English fare after all that foreign food. Our concerned landlady was a great believer in the health-giving properties of British provender, and, consuming her rare roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with gusto, I readily concurred in her theory.

There followed what I have always considered as the difficult period in any case. One day crowded upon the heels of another and Holmes's manner became increasingly brusque while his hawk-like face seemed even thinner under the stress of frustration. He was in and out of our Baker Street chambers at all hours, scarcely touching the meals which Mrs. Hudson repeatedly prepared to tempt him from his monastic fast. Each morning he feverishly searched the journals for some item to buttress his theory that we had been lured from London by the spurious cable. Unrewarded, he would disappear, with scarcely a word, to haunt the byways and shadowy corners of the great metropolis and to query the army of contacts and informers at his disposal. That he used one or more of the secret quarters that he maintained in the City, I know for a fact, for he returned to Baker Street on several occasions in some strange garb, looking nothing like the famous resident who had departed. Holmes stated on more than one occasion that the brain needed facts to chew on and masticate. While Mrs. Hudson worried unceasingly about his stomach, as did I, the truth, made obvious by long experience, was that it was his superb mentality that was suffering from malnutrition. However, years of association bred patience on my part and that of the other members of the Baker Street establishment.

It was a bright morning four days after our return from the Continent that I descended from my bed chamber and found a smiling detective voraciously devouring rashers of bacon along with two coddled eggs.

"Ah, Watson. You are in time to join me in that mainstay of the British Empire—a stout breakfast," he said, with a smile that belied his dark mood of recent days.

"I am delighted to see that you are partaking of one," I replied, gratefully accepting a cup of steaming coffee which he poured for me.

"Your concern for my nutritive needs could not go unnoticed, ol' chap. I fear this matter of the elusive art object has affected me considerably." An expression of irritation crossed Holmes's drawn face. "Alas, Watson, it is the flow of the inexorable tide that is called time, which defeats the investigator. For a rapid solution, give me the event which occurred within the hour. Clues have not yet been sullied by clumsy hands. Descriptions and recollections are clear and accurate. The now situation is child's play compared to the then one. And the way back when is the most difficult of all. Spinning in the undertow of time, fact and fantasy become entwined in an embrace that baffles. The truth is reflected in a misty mirror and becomes conjecture, not fact. This matter of the Golden Bird extends over three generations and that is what makes it such an obstinate nut to crack."

"From your manner, I would infer that you have come upon news."

"Let us say that since no information came our way, I went in pursuit of it."

"Oh, come now, Holmes. I am familiar with your methods. For nigh on a week you have been haunting London in pursuit of a clue—a thread of information."

"Agreed. But it was an aimless quest. Finally, I allowed reason to shine upon my despair. I have been lame of brain indeed."*

* This particular remark of Holmes gives rise to an interesting possibility. Did this see the birth of the much-used colloquialism "lamebrain"? I must allow those more versed in the history of figures of speech to decide the matter.

My expression of disagreement prompted Holmes to go into detail as I hoped it would.

"Consider that in the matter of the Golden Bird and the rival collectors . . ."

"Mere conjecture," I said quickly, as the great detective had frequently said to me.

"Nonsense! Their footprints are everywhere. If we were lured from England, and I can see no other reason for that counterfeit message from Berlin, then something was planned and, considering those involved, I see no reason for the event not happening. Ergo, it did, but did not cause sufficient interest for the news to reach us. It was not a robbery for I have been in close contact with Scotland Yard and there has not been a reported crime that I have not considered with care. A fatality, then. But we cannot scan the journals of every city in England. Therefore, I finally did the obvious."

"Which was?" I prompted. He did seem to gain enjoyment by leaving me on tenterhooks.

"I went through the files of various insurance companies. We have discussed the dedication of the Egyptian Pharoahs in taking their worldly goods with them on that final journey into the unknown void. It is a custom of the Anglo-Saxons to make detailed arrangements for their final resting place. The most common means of assuring their burial in other than potter's field is insurance. You will recall that Lindquist remarked that when the end grows near there is a desire to tidy things up. 'Clean the slate' were his actual words, I believe."

"Never mind, Lindquist," I said, biting my lips. "What did you learn?"

"In the hamlet of St. Aubrey one Amos Gridley died a week ago. The name is unfamiliar to me, but I found it quite interesting to learn that the late Mr. Gridley had a pronounced lisp."

"Of course," I said, with elation in my voice. But second thoughts dispelled it quickly. "Surely, Holmes, that is a thin reed you are grasping. How many are born with a speech impediment?"

"I really don't know. However, St. Aubrey is but thirty miles away and if you are available for the journey, we can satisfy our curiosity."

"Let us do so. How did this Gridley die?"

"Ostensibly from a fall but there seems to be some confusion regarding the matter. Enough to make the insurance people wish to take a second look."

This set well with me, since if the death was by mysterious means, it gave credence to Holmes's fastening on this particular matter. I could not picture him dashing away from his beloved London merely to follow the trail of a man with a lisp, even if said gentleman was now a corpse.

I had but to throw a few necessities in a light valise should we find it necessary to stay overnight, though my friend anticipated that we would be able to return to Baker Street that evening.

At St. Pancras Station we caught a train, and were soon headed north of London to the ancient city of St. Aubrey. Holmes did not seem disposed to discuss our journey or the case, but I would have none of that, still being most ignorant of the reason for our trip and what we expected to find at the end of it.

"How did you happen to chance upon the matter of this Amos Gridley, Holmes?"

"Elimination. I had to wade through the case of a manufacturer in Liverpool, who slipped getting into his bath and died from a fractured skull. Then there was a woman in Leeds who drowned while taking a hot bath. She had a medical history of minor heart murmurs and her death was listed as drowning due to syncope. She had white foam at her mouth, certainly a sign of drowning."

I confess I had grown somewhat excited as he recounted in his matter-of-fact manner these two fatal accidents. "But, Holmes, surely this goes beyond coincidence. Two deaths both involving bathtubs."

"The number of deaths which occur in bathrooms might well stagger you, ol' fellow. But those cases did not interest me. Gridley's death did."

"Because he had a lisp."

"You must admit that it does have an association with the matter of the Golden Bird."

Somehow Holmes's explanation did not satisfy me, but I had little choice but to accept it. Holmes, as he frequently did, discussed matters alien to our case of the moment, dwelling on the fact that the files of an insurance company provided a treasure trove of information. This did give me an opportunity to return to the Amos Gridley matter.

"You mentioned that there was some mystery regarding the death."

"The possibility of suicide which, if true, would relieve the Trans-Continental Company of their obligation. As a gesture of appreciation for the use of their files, I promised to explore the matter for them."

"Surely, there is some other peculiarity that would prompt the insurance people to secure your services."

My friend's smile was on the sardonic side. "Insurance companies do not lean toward deduction or intuition or what you might call 'feel,' ol' chap. They are governed by averages. In a manner similar to a gambling casino."

This analogy must have elicited a look of surprise from me so he continued the comparison.

"A gaming establishment, from tune to time, may incur heavy losses due to a run of luck by a player. But they adopt the long range view based on the fact that in games of chance, the odds favor the house. In a similar vein, our great insurance institutions issue coverage and govern premiums according to averages of what has happened over a period of time. In general, things follow a pattern. Men tend to die at an earlier age than women. Of total deaths a certain percentage are accidental, another percentage due to cardiac disorders, and still another, to epidemical diseases, and so on. The actuary tables have become a science. If something upsets the balance or seems to run counter to the norm, a sharp eye spots it and questions are asked."

Holmes's mercurial mind fastened on a new topic and he proceeded to regale me with facts regarding our destination, St. Aubrey. Really, the man's knowledge of geography and history was amazing. I was unaware that the city was ancient, indeed being built on the site of a Roman camp which dated back to 40 A.D. The area had once been rich in tin, which explained the presence of the Romans. It boasted some ruins that had provided a tourist attraction at one time. But this had died out and the tin mining had petered out as well.