Sherlock Holmes and the Golden Bird

15

Holmes Plans Our Defense

161

Upon my return to 221B, I was heartened by the obvious expression of relief upon Holmes's face. Clad in his dressing gown, he was sawing aimlessly on his violin. Seated close to one of our windows facing on Baker Street, it occurred to me that the sound of music must have been audible without, especially since the window was partially open and the room quite cold because of it.

Holmes laid aside his violin, standing and crossing before the window several times as he spoke to me. It was as though he were performing and the aperture was the proscenium arch of his theatre. While Holmes frequently used his musical moments as a spur to deep thought, the reappearance of the violin suggested a. stratagem on his part.

"My dear Watson, I'm delighted to see that your performance was acceptable. Soon we shall have you on the bill at the Tivoli."

I must confess that I swelled with pride as I related my meeting with Mycroft Holmes, though I did not reveal the latter part of our conversation.

"Excellent! Excellent! Now we are assured of the safety of the art object. During your absence, there have been things stirring here as well. A cable from Berlin notifies us that our client, Vasil D'Anglas, plans to come to England."

This news fell on very welcome ears. "How fortunate! With D'Anglas on the scene, we can give him the Golden Bird and be done with the matter," I exclaimed.

Holmes regarded me with his head half-cocked to one side and a slight smile on his keen face.

"I am reminded once more of the remark of Basil Selkirk. 'This matter has a way to go yet or I miss my guess.' "

As I began to remonstrate, Holmes picked up his violin and with a warning gesture struck some authoritative notes, moving toward the window as he did so. Most of the time, his violin periods consisted of aimless wandering with no musical progression, though they were not unpleasant to the ear. But now he was obviously playing the introductory notes to a composition. Coming to a pause, he activated the gramophone, which I had not noted until this moment. The instrument began playing a lively air. Holmes made a dumb show of playing his violin as he moved past the window easily visible from without and then retreated from public view to rejoin me.

Placing his musical instrument in its case, he regarded me with an expression of sly satisfaction.

"It is my thought, Watson, that the Oriental ear is not closely attuned to the violin. Our observers without will not note the difference between my technique and that of Sarasate. At least, we hope not."

I must have exhibited my frequent expression of bafflement since he laughed softly and jogged my mind with the quicksilver of his own.

"Nothing is more reassuring to a watcher than to have the subject of their scrutiny in full view. The next best thing being a sound that indicates what he is involved in. Now we can devote ourselves in matters of importance while presenting a placid picture to the outside world. Certain allies have been busy and we now know for a fact that chambers across from us have been taken over by a supposed Russian gentleman who has had a number of Chinese visitors. You will be reassured to know that two of MacDonald's men are consuming enormous quantities of tea in Parkinson's down the street, at a table which has a clear view of our outer portal. Elements of that singular organization known as the Irregulars under the leadership of that grimy little rascal, Wiggins, are covering our back area."

"Good heavens, Holmes," I responded, with a chuckle, "don't tell me Slim Gilligan is perched on the roof."

"Hardly. Though I expect his presence. The point is, Watson, that we are under a state of siege, but we have the advantage. They—the disciples of Chu San Fu—are watching us but they don't know that we know it."

"What is your plan?"

"Fate may be forming one for me."

Holmes retreated for a moment into his inner world of contemplation, emerging from it quickly with a trace of apology in his sharp eyes.

"Let us consider the situation, ol' comrade. Chu San Fu is convinced that we have the Golden Bird in our possession. The information reaching him in his Limehouse headquarters positions us firmly in his sights. I am in hopes that this fact will not prompt any rapid move on his part but rather lull him into some carefully arranged plan to secure the object of his desire."

"Here we are then, the sitting ducks."

"But knowledgeable ducks, Watson. How much better to have our adversary come at us where we reside in strength than to go about our daily existence casting looks of apprehension over our shoulders. I well recall when Moriarty was bent on my destruction and I adopted the role of a moving target. It was a nerve-wracking time."

I nodded instinctively, remembering clearly that period immediately prior to the downfall of the Napoleon of crime, when Holmes had avoided open windows like a plague and walked in the shadows and only at night. It flashed through my mind that at that time he had mentioned that it was stupidity rather than courage to refuse to recognize danger when it was close upon you.

"You certainly expect them to make a move. Why not have MacDonald's men on the premises?"

"If we flush the grouse, they will settle elsewhere. The obvious presence of the constabulary will prompt a change of plans, which I don't want." My expression caused him to continue. "Yes, good chap, I'm inviting an attempt on our quarters."

I must say this line of thinking was wearing my patience thin.

"See here, Holmes, you preach the doctrine of rationality. If it's a confrontation you desire, I'm with you, as you know. But where is the advantage? The Golden Bird, due to your far-sighted planning, is as safe as if it were in the vaults of the bank of London. Intruders cannot gain by their efforts. But neither can we. Chu San Fu will not be present if an assault is made. The matter will be handled by his dacoits and Chinese scrag-men. If we trap them, what do we gain? Suddenly, they lose any knowledge of English, respond to all questions in their native tongue and. look bewildered. If I judge the hold Chu has on his followers, five to ten in Pentonville will not frighten them into betraying him."

An additional confirmation of my theorizing crossed my mind and I voiced it. "No doubt, his people have family in China on whom the master criminal could wreak vengeance. An additional guarantee of silence."

Holmes had been gazing at me with an almost beatific expression of satisfaction.

"My good chap, obviously our years together have not been wasted. You have given a surface evaluation which would command respect at a conclave of Scotland Yard inspectors."

My momentary elation was chilled by the cold water of second thought. "But where have I missed? Were I right, you would argue the point."

Holmes indulged in a chuckle. "You know me too well. In answer, let us lift the carpet of your thoughts and look beneath. Who is our opponent? How does he think? In what way will he react? Were we expecting a visitation from Count Negretto Sylvius, Dowson's chief lieutenant, I might not be sitting here so smugly. Sylvius is much inclined toward spur-of-the-moment action. He is impetuous, hence irrational and difficult to anticipate. But Chu San Fu is cut from different cloth. A planner. If lulled into the belief that we are the sitting ducks you mentioned, he will meticulously polish every facet of his scheme. Like all master criminals, he has two audiences to deal with."

"How so?"

"His first purpose is to hoodwink me. But he must do so in the manner of the magician to impress those who follow his flag. A great deal of his power is psychological. Show me the army that believes its general cannot fail and I'll show you a victorious one. The aura of omnipotence is indispensable to one like Chu San Fu."

"If so," I thought, "he's not alone in that." I'd seen many a hardened criminal fall before the name of Sherlock Holmes. Seldom had my friend been so loquacious regarding a case, but patience is not one of my virtues.

"See here, your reasoning, as always, is quite faultless but how does it affect your purpose in this matter? I'm still in the dark."

"Let the Oriental strike, Watson, since we can almost set the time. But let the results be unknown. If he tastes either victory or defeat, he will know what to do. But if he is in doubt, then we turn his intricate mind against himself. Doubt and egotism cannot coexist. We'll make him vulnerable yet, good chap."

As though satisfied with his review of the situation, for I was no more than an audience to his assessment, a background sound to provide punctuations to his sentences, Holmes rose and turned off the gramophone at a suitable point, appearing at the window again at intervals to keep our watchers assured of his presence. The afternoon wore on, though not without incident.

Several times, Wiggins slipped into the house through the back to report to Holmes and leave with written instructions for unknown destinations. As the early darkness of a winter's evening approached, Gilligan materialized. To my mind, he never appeared but suddenly became present. I assumed that he came in over the roof. Now Holmes had no time for play-acting and resorted to the most lifelike waxwork reproduction of himself created by Tavernier, the French modeler, a device which he had used to good effect in former times and would, indeed, use again.

Seated in an armchair with Holmes's dressing gown, the effigy was startlingly lifelike and could fool someone within our sitting room, to say nothing of watchers without. I was assigned the job of adjusting the move-able head from time to time and to all intents the great detective was placidly reading a book. Needless to say, I took great precautions with my job, but managed to keep my ears attuned to the animated conversation between the cracksman and Holmes.

"I went over the Barker digs and gave it the full treatment, Guv. There's nothin' wot's 'id there. That's the first thing I established. So I give 'is belongin's a real hard look. 'E weren't one fer makin' notes and 'e traveled light."

"A temporary residence," said Holmes. "Barker's home was in Surrey."

"I went over 'is books carefully, lookin' for some clue. 'E had the usual bible, a Bradshaw, Whitaker's Almanac, a 'ole batch of railroad timetables."

"Standard equipment, the last. Barker did quite a bit of traveling in his line of work."

"There wuz a complete copy of the works of Edgar Allan Poe and I went through that page for page. A bust. Then there wuz this kinda strange piece o' work."

I noted that the cracksman extracted a slim volume from a pocket. "I brung it wiv me, Guv."

Holmes seized the volume eagerly and his manner betrayed excitement as he read the title.

"Jonathan Wild, Master Criminal" He threw a glance of triumph at me.

"Again Wild appears in this tangle. Let's see. Published by Leadenhall Press. Obviously, a limited edition and I would judge not well-received since it has never come to my attention. An old volume, but Wild was at his zenith in the last century and his career was not common knowledge even then." Holmes had been leafing through the book as he spoke. "Evidently, this was written by a member of the Wild gang who was apprehended and served out his time and later attempted to capitalize on the dubious reputation of his former master. It will bear close inspection."

"You feel you've stumbled onto something?" I asked, as bait to learn what intrigued the sleuth.

"Wild keeps coming up. Lindquist told us that it was Wild's man, Hawker, who stole the Bird from the Island of Rhodes. Barker had learned something that he tried to tell Lindquist before he died. Barker had this book. Surely, there is a connection." Suddenly, Holmes's lips tightened with a grimace. "It just occurred to me that I told Basil Selkirk about the Rhodes incident. I wonder if that was the service that I performed for the financier and for which he sent me the Golden Bird?"

Holmes had no time to dwell on the machinations of Basil Selkirk or the book dealing with the career of Jonathan Wild, for other matters claimed his attention.

At his instigation, Mrs. Hudson and Billy, the page boy, vacated the premises. I could hear our esteemed landlady, obviously instructed by her eccentric boarder, discussing a meeting of the Marylebone Sewing Circle with a neighbor as she departed. What Billy's connection was with this sedate group was never made clear, but my friend had removed the domestic staff from the danger area and, in the process, had made things seemingly simpler for anyone desiring to invade 221B.

A communique from Mycroft Holmes assured Holmes that the Golden Bird was indeed genuine or Mr. Halcroft Crouder, art expert by appointment to Her Majesty, did not know his business. I could see that the confirmation of the authenticity of the art object was no surprise to Holmes and his double-check was but one of the precautions which he took automatically. My delivering the Bird to Mycroft Holmes had served two purposes—removed it from the possible clutches of Chu San Fu, and made it available for close scrutiny by an authority in the field. What did claim my undivided attention was the fact that Mycroft Holmes's message to his brother was delivered by none other than Wakefield Orloff. This surprised Holmes, who stated that he was under the impression that the security agent was abroad. In his quiet tones, that impassive man mentioned that he had just returned from the Continent.

As this seemingly plump figure seated himself in a straight-back with the flowing grace that was his trademark, I felt much comforted. Whatever plots were being hatched by Chu San Fu, there had to be unpleasant surprises for the Oriental with Orloff on the scene. Heavens, I had no doubt that Sherlock Holmes was capable of frustrating the master criminal, but Orloff's arrival was like having a detachment of the Coldstream Guards drop in.

Seated with his back straight and his weight balanced on the balls of his small feet, the fearsome security agent surveyed the scene with his habitual half-smile and fathomless green eyes. His bowler hat, with its steel-reinforced brim, was within easy reach. Of course, there was a Spanish throwing knife between his shoulder blades, for there always was. Whatever other armament he carried was superfluous, since I had seen him, with my own eyes, totally demolish the strongest man in the world in a matter of seconds.* * The Case of the Mysterious Imprint.

If Holmes had any suspicions that I was a motivating factor in the presence of this walking arsenal, he gave no indication. He seemed genuinely delighted to see his brother's agent on the scene, for they had worked together before on a number of occasions. As for Orloff, the faintest sense of danger was like the huntsman's horn to a foxhound. A chilling man not given to jest or banter, yet I noted that whenever he greeted my friend, his green eyes kindled with a warmth completely foreign to them.

"Do I sense a pending crisis?" he inquired.

"If you do," replied Holmes, "I'm comforted by the thought that others are not as acute."

"Two emissaries from New Scotland Yard are down the street and since I know they would not have you under observation, I assume their presence is of a cooperative nature."

"If the back is clear, my Irregulars are going to spirit MacDonald in here. Best have his men maintain their posts. If they have been noticed—a possibility—it continues to draw attention to our front, obviously not the line of attack." Suddenly, his alert eyes locked with Or-loff's. "You have posed no questions as to what is going on or who is behind it." His eyes swiveled quickly to me, though without irritation or accusation, then they returned to the security agent. "Possibly, you are briefed on the matter already."

Orloff was too old a hand to reveal anything. "Two members of the force outside, Mrs. Hudson and the page boy gone, Gilligan present, and Watson's pocket weighted down with his service revolver, it hardly seems that you are prepared for a pleasant evening at Simpson's."

Holmes chuckled. "As I grow older, it seems I become obvious. I assume you know about the golden statue?"

Orloff admitted as much with a nod.

"Chu San Fu thinks it is on the premises and he wants it."

Orloff's lips pursed in a soundless whistle. "That being so you can hardly turn me out. It would be the mark of an unfriendly act. What is the plan?"

"There will be a police van standing by with a flying squad of MacDonald's men. The Chinaman has his people in the building across the street. How many I don't know, but I doubt if they are the strike force. I hope to bag the lot."

There was a glint in Orloff's eyes but his chubby body, which was actually solid muscle, never moved and had not since he had seated himself. The man's ability to relax completely and remain immobile as though saving himself for the critical moment was absolutely amazing to my medically trained mind.

"What makes you feel that Chu hasn't got your rear covered?"

"I've made myself conspicuously present throughout the day. No need to guard against my departing via the back when I'm ostensibly in full view. Besides, the Irregulars would know. Wiggins is no fool."

"Nor are his fellow street urchins." Orloff thought for a moment. "How do you think they'll do it?"

Holmes's reply was swift. "They might try a diversionary tactic but that's doubtful. By rights, they should have no idea that their visit is expected. Therefore, they'll wait till dark and then attempt to sneak in, feeling that there are but two sedate, middle-aged men to deal with. We will make the rear very inviting for them. Since the ground-floor windows are barred, the cellar seems their obvious choice."

"Any arrangement for an alarm?" asked Orloff, as though he knew there was.

"When they come, one of the Irregulars will be positioned in the plane tree in back. He'll signal a cohort and the alarm will be relayed around to Baker Street. Slippery Styles will appear in his organ-grinder guise to signal us."

"What if the hour is late?" I asked, voicing a reasonable possibility.

It won't be. They'll want to get inside and take care of us, Watson, before Mrs. Hudson and Billy return. Then they can start searching the premises and attend to our landlady should she arrive before they've completed the job."

"Good heavens, Holmes, do you think they plan to murder us in our sleep?"

"I doubt it. 'Tis the statue Chu is after. Chloroform seems more likely. When MacDonald arrives we'll be ready for them. Actually, that's more manpower than we need, but I'm quite obsessed with the idea of making this a very silent and sudden job. If we take them to the man without a fuss, Chu will be at a distinct disadvantage. Right where I want him, of course."