Sherlock Holmes and the Golden Bird

14

The Removal of the Bird

147

The following morning there was no trace of the Chinaman on the street outside. Holmes, with his breakfast coffee at hand, wrote a cable to the Trans-Continental Insurance Company advising them to settle the claim of Amos Gridley, and composed another to Vasil D'Anglas in Berlin intimating that the Bird might be in his possession shortly.

This last communique piqued my interest, of course.

"Then you really expect Basil Selkirk to place the statue in your hands."

"How I wish I had a direct answer for you, Watson. He said he would and there was no reason for him to make an idle promise. Unless it was a ploy to gain time. But time for what? Selkirk spent a great deal of money securing the Bird for the sheer joy of foiling his rival, Chu San Fu. Why relinquish his prize at the moment of triumph? Wait!" Holmes said, suddenly.

Whatever idea had come to his mind, it was sufficiently promising to cause him to spring from his chair at the breakfast table and begin to pace our sitting room nervously.

"It ties in," he muttered, after four or five circuits of the immediate area. His thin face dominated by the famous hawklike nose centered on me and there was a realization in his piercing eyes. "Let us backtrack, good fellow. We were decoyed from London to Berlin and upon arrival were under the surveillance of at least two Chinese. They stayed with us as far as Serbia and then disappeared. Upon our return to London and during our excursion to St. Aubrey, there was no sign of them. Then last night we were again under the observation of a tool of Chun San Fu. Why, it is all becoming as plain as a pike staff. The Oriental divined that Amos Gridley was the man who secured the Golden Bird from Dowson. He did not realize that the wood-worker was but an emissary and assumed that if he could find him, he would find the statue. Knowing we were also on the trail of the Bird, he lured us from London at the time that he closed in on Gridley." An added thought furrowed Holmes's brow and he resumed his pacing for a moment before continuing.

"Why his hatchet men should follow us on the Orient Express is puzzling. My theory grows thin there. However, of a sudden, we are of interest to Chu again even though he has disposed of Gridley without retrieving the Bird and has certainly realized that Basil Selkirk is the man who has thwarted him."

Another thoughtful silence allowed me to try and collect my thoughts. "Dear me, Holmes, I am more confused than ever."

"As well you might be. But consider Selkirk, the master chessman who uses men as pawns and countries as bishops. Selkirk realizes that Chu's attention will be attracted to him. In his guarded enclave this might cause him scant concern, but still, he does not underestimate Chu. Fortuitously, a splendid catspaw drops into his lap. Something to divert the Oriental crime tsar away from him."

"A catspaw?"

"That we are both looking at, my good Watson. We are the catspaw. Basil Selkirk lets it be known that we shall be in possession of the Golden Bird, which explains the Chinaman's renewed interest in our movements."

Holmes crossed to the window with his quick stride.

"No watcher in evidence, which tells us nothing.

Chu's spies may have secured a less conspicuous vantage point than a dark doorway. But here come, not one, but two carriages and it seems as though they will stop outside." Turning to me with that bright, almost small-boy look of triumph, he repeated a favorite phrase of his: "It had to be."

It was. Joining Holmes at his observation point I watched two closed carriages come to a stop at the curbing adjacent to our door. There seemed to be a number of burly men in the vehicles, but only one emerged from the lead one. It was the heavily built Sam Merton. There was a box in his hand and he gave the street a rapid glance up and down before proceeding to the entrance to 221B, with that insolent grace frequently evident in the very powerful. I had last seen the professional boxer in Selkirk's castle. A known intimate of Count Negretto Sylvius, Dowson's right-hand man, I was not surprised to see the puglilist on this mission once Holmes had explained what was in the wind.

Since our dwelling had been placed on the alert the night previous, Holmes signaled to Billy, the page boy, from our landing. A sudden thought caused me to dash upstairs to my room and when I returned with the reassuring weight of a revolver in my dressing-gown pocket, Merton had already been shown up. The fighter was standing, somewhat awkwardly, beside the desk on which he had deposited the box in his keeping.

"There, Guv," he was saying to Holmes, "is the bloody box what I was tol' to give ya. No one tol' me what's in it but the big man said you would know."

"Let us say I have an idea," responded Holmes, laconically. "Sam, I had hopes for you but you're back to your old tricks, I see."

Rather than take umbrage, Merton nervously shifted from one foot to the other. Belatedly, he removed his cap and, for all the world, resembled a nervous student brought before the headmaster.

"We all gotta live, Mr. 'Olmes. Me speed ain't wot it was, ya know, but I can still drop 'em if I can get to'em," he added, with a flash of pride. "You spotted me down at Selkirk's in St. Aubrey. You knew I was back on the shady side."

"I knew that you again became involved with Count Sylvius over three months ago," said Holmes, sternly. "I don't know what to do about you, Sam."

"Don't worry Mr. Holmes. Maybe it ain't as bad you think." Nervously, he made his way to the door.

"You take care of yourself, Mr. 'Olmes."

With that he was gone. It had been an unusual exchange, but I knew that ever since the Crown Diamond Affair, the bruiser with the slab-sided face had been in complete awe of Holmes.

My friend erased the disappointed expression from his face and turned his thoughts from the wayward fighter to matters at hand. Crossing to the box, his thin and dexterous fingers released the twine encircling it.

"Let us view the prize, Watson, but with dispatch. As our American cousins might say—we have a hot potato here."

With the lid off, he extracted the statue from the box and placed it on the desk top, stepping back to view the object which had left a trail of violence and death behind it.

To my untrained eye, it appeared identical to the Bird we had seen in Dowson's office at the Nonpareil Club. It was of a peculiar whitish gold and glistened in the morning sunlight that suffused the room. Its face was as fierce as a falcon in flight and the legs of the legendary creature seemed capable of grasping a miniature world. The workmanship was exquisite and I had never seen anything quite like it before. But then, how often does one see a roc?

Holmes gave the object a rapid inspection with his pocket glass and seemed satisfied.

"It appears genuine, Watson, though I'd like to have an art expert verify my opinion. But time is pressing."

"You feel Chu will attempt to take it away from us?"

"He ordered an assault on the Dowson gang in their own back yard, you might say. Our lodgings should hold no terror for him. However, he must plan the method of separating us from the object and while the wily Oriental is so occupied, we shall take action."

Leaving the box and twine on the desk, Holmes rapidly secured newspapers with which he blanketed the small golden treasure. Tucking his precious cargo under his arm, he gestured to me.

"Come, Watson, the game is not afoot; it is on the wing."

I followed him out on the landing, up the stairs to the second story, and into the room that Holmes and I used as a catch-all, though, in truth, I could not remember the last time I had been in it. The shelves of books were as I remembered them along with several sizeable bundles of newspapers awaiting inclusion in Holmes's files. My old army trunk was in one corner along with several other pieces of luggage that we had stowed there. One wall was changed completely, however. There was a Jacobean oak bench with a back rest suitable for two to sit upon, flanked by end tables. The bench was somewhat recessed in a manner that seemed strange to me.

"I ordered a little construction work at that time, two years ago, when you felt the call of Brighton. You recall, ol' chap, the considerable tan which you acquired at the seashore?"

While speaking, Holmes gestured me toward the bench, for what reason I could not imagine. As I sat down, I recalled the brief holiday that my friend referred to along with the burn induced by the sun and saltwater that had been most painful. Holmes had by now locked the door to the storage room, a most unusual action, and joined me on the bench. The fingers of one hand fiddled with the oaken side rail and, of a sudden, we were moving in a circular fashion. The bench and the wall behind it swiveled in a half-circle and I was staring into the darkness in a completely reversed direction than a moment previous. I was too stunned to utter a sound and it was most reassuring to hear Holmes's heartening words.

"But a moment, Watson, and there shall be light on the scene."

I heard the sound of a wooden match and then there was a sulphur flame with which my friend ignited a gas jet. We were in the house adjacent to 221B. No other explanation was possible.

After total darkness, the light dazzled me momentarily, but soon I observed a room somewhat sparsely furnished but with definite indications of tenancy.

"Where are we, Holmes?" I asked, in a rather quavering voice.

"In the lodgings of Hans Von Krugg, the well-known language expert of the University of Munich. The professor is on leave from his university post to explore the link between the ancient Cornish language and the Chaldean. His theory is not without supporters in the academic field and he has printed several papers on the subject, which, translated, of course, have appeared in English journals."

"Where . . . where is the professor?"

"Standing right here with you, ol' chap. I am Professor Von Krugg. At least, I have been from time to time during the past two years. However, today the professor will experience a slight identity change. Not a noticable one or the idea is unsound."

Completely amazed, I allowed Holmes to lead me from the mechanized bench that had miraculously transported us from one address to another and, before I knew it, had me seated before a sizeable dressing table with a large mirror. On the table top were a number of tubes and jars similar to ones I had seen Holmes perform miracles with before. Various wig-holders displayed a variety of toupees, beards and moustaches. Holmes surveyed my startled features in the mirror with a professional eagerness.

"We shall have to shadow your face quite a bit, you know. The professor is on the thin side. However, his luxuriant white beard is his most distinguishable feature and it does make it rather difficult to observe his features. Very near-sighted, too, you know. Wears thick glasses. Most people who view him have their eyes drawn to his hump and then look away."

"Hump?"

"Oh yes. The professor is a hunchback, but he gets around rather nicely with the help of his cane."

Over my futile protestations, Holmes was working a dark grease paint into my upper cheeks already.

"You know, Watson, this is going to work quite well. I should have had you play the professor before this. A nice touch to have Sherlock Holmes and the professor pass each other on the street."

"Now see here, it's all very well for you to go charging off in a disguise, but I'm hardly the type for such play-acting."

"Come now, Watson, it is much easier than it might seem. Most people give others no more than a cursory glance. Have I not, on many occasions, stated that the Homo sapiens looks but does not really see. Rather good reason for that. Most people are interested in themselves. The rest of the world they see, but not too much registers. However, for the sake of the prying eyes without that I am sure are there, we shall have you tidied up in Von Krugg's beard and glasses and with his loose-fitting clothes and the rather bent way that he walks, your tendency toward avoirdupois will be concealed. By the way, when you walk, be sure to swing your cane somewhat erratically. You must remember that. Small boys sometimes try and touch the back of a hunchback because of an old wives' tale of its being good luck. If you flail around a bit in a short-sighted way with your cane, such miscreants will make sure to avoid you."

"But; Holmes, this is ridiculous. What, by all that is holy, gave you the idea of a hunchback?"

"The anticipation of just such a situation as we face today. The back is the least of our problems since I have a splendid hump for you designed by Daziens of New York, according to my specifications. Inside the hump, of course, will be the Golden Bird."

With my mouth hanging open in surprise, I must have looked like the dolt, indeed, but Holmes paid me no heed nor did he listen to my protestations, which grew fainter as he worked his legerdemain. Within fifteen minutes I did not recognize myself in the dressing-room mirror. I could have sworn that I could enter the Bagatelle Club without drawing one greeting.

As Holmes dressed me in a longish dark coat, somewhat shiny in spots, and the rest of the professor's regular habiliments, he cautioned me as to gestures and a shuffling walk. By this time, I was quite caught up with the idea, for the urge toward exhibitionism lurks within us all, however dormant. It was no easy job, for my friend rehearsed me strenuously like a dramatic director intent on a perfect performance for a thespian.

Some time later, I stood before Holmes with my shoulders hunched forward because of the ersatz hump attached to my back. Within it was secreted the Golden Bird.

"Now, Watson, should anyone address you, keep walking, by all means, and mumble something. Your German is passable enough for a few words. The professor knows very few people so there is little possibility of your being approached.

"Make your way to the Diogenes Club by the most direct route. I have a note here for my brother, Mycroft, with whom you will leave the Golden Bird. Once this is accomplished, remove the beard and make-up and the hump as well. The coat you are wearing is reversable. Pull the sleeves inside out and turn the garment around and you will find that it has a different appearance altogether. Mycroft will lend you a suitable hat. You can then return to our quarters as yourself."

"But what will you be up to, Holmes? You'll be in danger."

"Tut, tut, ol' fellow, do you think those two constables of MacDonald have eluded my notice? I shall make it apparent that I'm on the premises so that Chu's watchers will not think we've flown the coop. And I shall be available should the Oriental make some overture as regards the statue of the roc. You see that your debut in the field of drama will be most valuable to our cause."

I was buoyed up by Holmes's assurance that mine was an important task, and my determination to make it a good show had an added impetus which I did not reveal to Holmes. I was most anxious to talk to his older brother, the very capable and influential Mycroft.

While the following half-hour was nerve-wracking, matters progressed as Holmes had anticipated. Departing from the edifice adjacent to our quarters, I wandered down the street, attempting to follow my friend's instructions, and my performance must have been passable since I could detect no one dogging my footsteps, nor did anyone greet me as I progressed from Baker Street toward Pall Mall and the mysterious Diogenes Club.

In the public mind, this highly respectable and sedate establishment was the haven for elderly gentlemen devoted to silence, where members could immerse themselves in the daily journals without bothersome remarks from or to fellow members. Conversation in the meeting rooms of the establishment was strictly forbidden. The idea was sufficiently bizarre to be completely acceptable and arouse no suspicions as to the real purpose of this most impressive citadel of silence.

As I mounted the stone steps and entered between the marble pillars to present my card at the desk, several venerable members were in evidence reading the financial news or dozing with a tot of port at their side and partially smoked cigars that had grown cold in mottled, shaky hands. But one can be remarkably observant when one knows what to look for. Several of these seemingly archaic members had a shoulder breadth unusual for their age and their beards and moustaches could well have been commercially produced, just as the pallor of their seemingly lined faces could have come from a master of make-up, as my stooped shoulders and bearded visage had. Evidently, I was expected, for the club manager who knew me gave no indication that my appearance baffled him but accepted my card and retreated from the main desk for a brief moment, returning and signaling for me to follow him.

My feet sunk in the Persian carpets that formed islands in the polished oak flooring, and I crossed toward an ironwood door leading from the entrance hall of the club and into the room, which I knew from experience served as one of Mycroft Holmes's offices. The door was lined with steel from within, but swung easily on massive hinges and then I was in the presence of the second most powerful man in England.

I had shared quarters with Sherlock Holmes for some years before realizing that his older brother was not the auditor for some little-known branch of the government but, instead, had created a unique position for himself in the small group that handled the reins of the Empire on which the sun never set. Prime ministers came and went, but the meticulous mind of Mycroft Holmes continued to collate information from all over the world and evaluate it and piece it together in the series of patterns that most influenced that policy of Her Majesty's government. Be there a whisper in the Montmartre or on some remote Tibetan mountain that might prove of import to the destiny of Britain and the organization created and headed by this large, dreamy-eyed man would relay it to their chief.

Though Holmes, after the crucible of time had forged the metal of our friendship, had never been evasive regarding his brother's influence or power or abilities, he had never voiced what I suspected was the actual truth, namely that Mycroft Holmes headed up England's intelligence operations. On paper, such an organization did not even exist and, while I was certain of the man's far-flung apparatus and his commitment to our nation's destiny, I had no curiosity to have my suppositions confirmed on the theory that 'tis best to let sleeping dogs lie.

The older Holmes's massive desk was, as usual, clear and tidy with no indication of the immense flow of business that passed over its surface daily. He greeted me with genuine warmth though when referring to his brother his manner, by habit, became slightly sardonic. During my association with both these quite amazing men, I had never detected the slightest rivalry or jealousy between them. Sherlock Holmes stated openly that his brother would make a superior detective if he could but pursue crime to the scene and follow the tedious paths that a thorough investigation required. Mycroft Holmes confessed himself completely incapable of doing so and contended that his brother's devious mind was better-suited to anticipating the potential paths of national policy then his own. Since each of the Holmes family offspring contended that the other could be the superior, they followed their chosen paths with a mutual respect, and I felt that their chiding of each other, on occasion, was simply a family characteristic adopted in their childhood.

"Dear me," said Mycroft, his watery blue eyes absorbing my unusual appearance. "What has Sherlock got you involved in now? Can it be that you have abandoned the role of biographer and are apprenticed to the mummer's trade?"

"My involvement is not what concerns me at the moment but rather that of your brother," I replied, somewhat testily. Handing him the message from Sherlock Holmes, I began to divest myself of my disguise with some relief. When the statesman had concluded his reading, I had the infernal hump off my back and was extracting the statue from it.

"And this is the focal point of Sherlock's latest escapade," he commented, surveying the golden roc. "A piece of considerable value. Well, I shall accede to Sherlock's request and place the statue in safety here.

From your unusual garb I must assume that there is considerably more to the story than just this art object."

"Indeed there is. This Golden Bird has excited the interest of two of the most powerful criminal organizations in London. It is my feeling that your brother is in considerable danger, since it surely is now known that the statue has come into his hands."

Mycroft shifted his corpulent figure and nodded with resignation. "With his usual aplomb, Sherlock is, no doubt, completely ignoring the possibility of personal danger. To his credit, I will admit that the cloak of invincibility, which he seems to consider himself enveloped in, has served him well."

"To this point," I interjected, "but there are matters here as yet unknown and the players on the stage of this drama wield frightening power."

Evidently, the concern in my manner communicated itself and for the first time since the Bruce-Partington affair, Mycroft Holmes abandoned his Buddalike calmness.

"So, Basil Selkirk is involved."

I was startled, having forgotten momentarily that the elder Holmes was reputed to have greater powers of deduction than his brother.

"Elementary," he continued. "With an art object, Selkirk's interest is a foregone conclusion. Since the shadowy financier is of concern to Her Majesty's government, I can instigate some official moves. What would you have?"

His innocence did not hoodwink me. Were his brother endangered, I knew Mycroft Holmes would employ the powers at his command even if he had to invent a reason. However, his subterfuge paralleled my interests and I was glad to humor it. I chose to confide in the espionage expert without feeling a tinge of disloyalty to my intimate friend, since his brother could well learn whatever facts I had and in short order too.

"Holmes has been after this art object for some time. MacDonald of the Yard is privy to the case since homicide plays a part in it. Basil Selkirk employed the Dowson gang to secure the Bird and has now placed it in the hands of your brother."

"And Chu San Fu is after it?"

"Why, you know all about the affair," I stated with some heat.

"I know that if a sinister criminal organization is in pursuit of this statue, it would have to be the inscrutable Chinaman. Art objects are seldom the target of smash and grabbers or the pedestrian criminal. Besides, the involvement of Selkirk clued me. The fiancier and the supposed Oriental importer have been rivals for years."

"I'm sure Baker Street is under observation by minions of the Oriental. MacDonald is aware of this and has men on duty in the area."

"Then we shall see that the diligent inspector gets no interference from the Commissioner."

"Holmes also has his Irregulars involved and, for all I know, detachments of that shadowland army that seems to be at his beck and call." I made this statement in a tentative tone, trusting that the acute statesman would divine my plea, which he, naturally, did.

"But something a little more is needed, in your opinion," he said, with a dry smile. "I agree. If Sherlock has rallied his forces, he is treating the affair with the utmost gravity and it behooves us to do as well. Fortunately, a gentleman of my acquaintance is but recently returned from foreign lands. I shall suggest that he might find this affair and Sherlock's involvement of interest. Does that satisfy you, my good Watson?"

Indeed it did. I well knew the frighteningly efficient person that Mycroft Holmes was referring to and made my way back to Baker Street minus my disguise with a much lighter heart. A knight had been added to the complex chessboard, and he was not only positioned on our side but very much dedicated to the interests of my friend, Sherlock Holmes.