Sherlock Holmes and the Golden Bird

18

The Taking and the Rescue

191

The following morning, I had some medical calls to make. Again, Holmes had risen in advance of me or possibly he had never gone to bed. His manner never indicated whether he had slept or not. But somebody, and I suspected Billy, had been busy. Holmes was seated in his chair adjacent to the fireplace deep in a book and the desk had a number of unfamiliar volumes scattered on it, several open.

"What have we here?" I said, indicating the books.

"Research, Watson." Holmes's irritated and frustrated manner had disappeared. He was hot on the scent again and the fact delighted him. "Works by such experts on diamonds as Jean Baptiste Tavernier and our own Edwin Streeter. Benvenuto Cellini wrote some interesting comments on diamonds. Some scholarly work on social life by Capefigue and Brantome are also revealing."

"Good heavens!" I said with a rueful smile. "We are most often knee-deep in your criminal files and now we are inundated by books on diamonds."

"A momentary inconvenience, Watson."

"Have you discovered anything?"

"As yet, no. But I will. Once one knows what one looks for, the job becomes easier. Of course, we do have a last resort." I gazed at Holmes blankly, so he continued. "A cablegram from Berlin informs me that our client, Vasil D'Anglas, will be in London in two days. Surely you realize, ol' fellow, that he knows the secret that was concealed in the Golden Bird."

"Why not just ask him, Holmes?"

"Will he give a truthful answer?" The sleuth laid his book aside. "Besides, he is a client. We must inform him, not the reverse."

Before I could think of a suitable retort to this, Holmes shifted subjects again.

"You know, this whole matter does present a most inventive idea. A diamond of great value is concealed. Not in some object which might be mislaid or lost. No indeed, but in an object of considerable worth itself. The greater treasure is secreted within the lesser. I cannot recall of a similar situation. Fascinating!"

Following my breakfast, I left Holmes pouring over aged books and descended to Baker Street to hail a hansom. There was one conveniently available and I stepped within it and was about to give the driver a Mayfair address. That is the last thing I remembered for a considerable period of time. . . .

When I awoke, I was lying on a pallet and someone was shaking my shoulders, forcing me back to consciousness. When my eyes became accustomed to the dim light, I was surprised at the gentleness of the hands that drew me erect and to my feet and half-supported me as a wave of nausea caused me to sag. The man was mountainous, with arms like the hawsers on a sea-going liner. His head was shaven and looked lost on a bull neck that tapered into the shoulders of a gorilla. His hamlike hands steadied me and he stood patiently till my brain stopped spinning. After a moment, he said, in a soft voice: "You come."

I had little choice in the matter.

There was the smell of earth and a musty odor that suggested the presence of the river, though the air was good and not damp. I was guided out of the small cubicle where I had evidently slept off some kind of narcotic that had rendered me instantly unconscious and helpless. There was a smarting in my eyes, but the nausea disappeared. I could not fathom what kind of drug had been used upon me.

We were in a narrow corridor with a dirt floor that slanted downward. There were doors on both sides at regular intervals marked with Chinese characters in a garish red paint. We came to a corner and a massive hand on my shoulder guided me to the left. I noted that I could have turned to the right as well. Wherever I was, and I suspected Limehouse, it was a labyrinth for the passageway split again before we came to a flight of rickety stairs. At the top, we passed through a curtain and into a sizeable room fitted with wooden benches and lit with gas jets. My guide extinguished the candle he had been carrying and unlocked a door on the far side of the room, gesturing for me to pass through it. The smell of incense assaulted my nostrils and I almost gagged, but the moment passed.

I was in a small room, its walls covered by tapestries. There were numerous candles and I noted the illuminating flame of each was motionless, like those in a church. It had a hypnotic effect and I jerked my head to dispell the sleepy passivity induced. My guide crossed the room and drew aside a tapestry exposing a heavily inlaid wood paneling. He scratched against it and the door behind us swung shut. I could hear its lock click. The huge Chinaman slid the wood panel to one side and indicated that I was to enter, so I did.

I was in another room of unknown size. Tapestries hung from ceiling to floor everywhere. Whether there were walls behind them or not was impossible to say. I heard the panel close behind me. I stood ten feet from a sizeable table that was elaborately carved. It could have been rosewood and it was oiled and polished to a subdued sheen. Behind it in a high-backed chair sat a Chinaman. His Oriental robe fit tightly around his neck and tended to slenderize his body. His face was a round yellow mask dominated by shrewd, slanting eyes. His head was domed and festooned with a few wisps of hair and from his chin hung two thin strands of white hair quite separated in the manner of some Chinese I had seen. While his white hair gave him a rather benevolent look, he did not seem of great age, though I would have been hard-pressed to guess his years. His fingers were long and the nails were of unusual length. One hand was gently stroking a small-headed animal with a pointed muzzle, short legs, and a long, nervous tail. It was regarding me with bright, inquisitive eyes. I looked at the small beast with familiarity. ___.

"A very nice specimen. Herpestes, of course. His coat is in excellent condition."

The Chinaman was surprised. "You recognize a mongoose? But then, you were in service in India."

"I had that honor."

"Please be seated, Doctor Watson," he said, indicating a chair, placed lower than his and so arranged that the light in the room was centered on it. When one is associated for so long with a detective, one becomes conscious of these things. Also India, while not the Orient, makes one aware of the difference between East and West."

"I prefer to stand, a request which I am sure Chu San Fu would not deny a guest in his establishment."

The Chinaman was forced to look upward at me, a fact that nettled him though his impassive face gave no indication.

"I am sorry that you have been inconvenienced, Doctor Watson."

He was prepared to continue in the same vein but one cannot let that sort of thing go by. It is not the way the Empire survived.

"You are not sorry, at all. In fact you're not the least interested in me. My abduction by your hirelings was for the sole purpose of supplying a tool to be used against Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You may find a sticky wicket there."

My interruption and, indeed, entire manner was vexing to the man and he bit his lips in annoyance, regretting the act immediately. I shifted my position a bit to one side, forcing him to look in a new direction and, since I had moved nearer to his desk, he had to look upward even more. Chu San Fu continued to stroke his mongoose, but I noted that his other hand was near a small gong on his desk. A quick flick of his really absurd fingernails would sound an alert to the giant on the other side of the wooden panel or other henchmen lurking behind the tapestries. I shook my head slightly.

"Really, sir, I am considerably disappointed."

His eyes widened, indicating that I still had him off balance. "You are disappointed in being here, of course, but ..."

"Piffle!" I said, quickly. "I might just as well have been coshed by a ruffian or bagged, which is an expedience of the American underworld. In any case, here I stand and no doubt you have an emissary even now contacting Holmes with dire threats regarding my safety. 'Tis kidnaping, no more than that, a device of the criminally minded."

The Chinaman could not tolerate the position he was in and rose, with an attempt at dignity, so that his face was on the same level as my own.

"Doctor Watson, as you have anticipated, you are being used as barter in a trade which I will propose to Mr. Holmes. Your stay in my—ah—establishment— may be for some time. Holmes is not without resources and he may delay the exchange by use of subterfuge. There is not reason that your sojourn should not be pleasant."

Suddenly, he clapped his hands and a portion of one of the hangings was raised. Two exquisite Chinese girls stepped into the room. They could not have been more than sixteen with smooth oval faces and docile almond eyes. Their robes were of a tighter fit than is common, enhancing slim, nubile forms.

"Good food and spirits and companionship can help while away the hours, Doctor."

This charlatan had the effrontery to almost leer at me, as though we two men of the world understood such things. I drew myself up with an expression of haughty disdain.

"Sir, it is plain that we are wasting time. You would, no doubt, like to hear my views as to what Mr. Holmes has discovered and what his next steps might be. After my return, that is. If I return," I added, before he could make that obvious comment.

"Now, really," I continued, before he could regain the initiative, "what would I, who am no more than a biographer, know of the workings of the greatest mind in England. If I did, do you honestly believe that I would reveal anything to you?" I tried to infuse that last statement with sufficient scorn. "This is England, sir. Here, we are made of sterner stuff."

Chu San Fu angrily clapped his hands and the two girls disappeared from view. How many other followers were lurking within earshot I shall never know but the Oriental looked as though he wished no one had been present during our interchange. He turned his back on me for a moment and I could see he was breathing deeply. Then he flicked a finger at the small gong on his desk and there was a treble-sounding chime. Immediately, the panel through which I had entered slid open. My giant escort stood in the entrance with his bulging arms folded over his massive chest. Chu San Fu turned back toward me.

"You shall return to your place of confinement and we will see what Mr. Holmes's next move will be."

"Whatever it is," I replied, with considerable bravado, "it will entail the element of surprise."

As I began to retrace my steps, I noted a naked expression of worry in the Chinaman's eyes. Holmes had been right. Chu San Fu was a planner and a departure from the norm had thrown him off guard. I positively swaggered from the room.

My huge guardian escorted me back through the maze of underground passageways. It seemed that we followed the same route we had traversed before and I was struck again by the idea that this headquarters of the Oriental criminal was nothing more than a miniature underground city. Other humans were present. I could sense it, but we saw no one as we trod the dirt flooring back to the cubicle in which I had awakened. All the tunnels must have required the labor of large numbers of people and I wondered how the excavated dirt was disposed of. The thought that Chu San Fu might have made use of an abandoned spur of the underground crossed my mind and I made note to mention it to Holmes as a possible clue to the whereabouts of this hideaway.

My captor waited till I had seated myself in the cubicle and I sensed that he would assume guard duties outside my tiny prison with the stoic patience of an Oriental. Suddenly, I thought of the cellar at 221B Baker Street and a huge Chinaman being disposed of by Wakefield Orloff.

"You have a brother?" I asked, as my jailer prepared to leave.

Unwinking amber eyes regarded me and his shaved bullet head moved in a slight nod.

"He is quite all right. In good hands."

It may have been my imagination but it seemed the amber eyes softened. Again, the giant turned to leave. Before closing the door to my room, he glanced inside again. "You all light?"

I nodded that I was. The door closed. A small candle illuminated my limited quarters. Outside the door, I heard the lock being engaged. Slim Gilligan could have opened that lock in less than a minute. The door seemed sufficiently flimsy that even I could have executed an escape. However, I could certainly not get free of my massive guard so I abandoned any plans of freeing myself.

Had I been privy to certain beliefs of India, I might have passed the time contemplating my navel. Instead, I thought back on the strange trail of the Golden Bird. Obviously, Chu San Fu expected to barter me for the Bird. Actually, I was not overconcerned about the situation, knowing that Holmes could surrender the statue without any great loss. The treasure it had concealed was no longer there. Comforted by the thought that I had not placed my friend in too difficult a position, I fell off to sleep. ...

The sound of the door being opened roused me after a period. With the complete lack of windows and nothing but artificial light, I had no idea of the time. My amber-eyed jailer stood within the door as I rose to my feet, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Also present was a scrawny little yellow man with a close-fitting black cap set directly on the middle of his head. He had a blue coat buttoned from neck to belt-line and loose-fitting pants. He shuffled into the room in slippers, a black silk sash in his hands.

For a moment, I envisioned a professional strangler, but he revealed a toothless grin and indicated for me to turn around. As he slipped the sash over my eyes, I suppressed an indication of relief with difficulty. My wrists were secured in front of me with a thin cord that felt no larger than string. However, it held me firmly and I could detect the odor of hemp. I was then led from the room.

Bound and blindfolded, my journey can only be recounted via sound and conjecture. I was led down corridors, up and down stairs and around corners, certainly no attempt to confuse me since I did not know where I was to start with. Another of many doors opened and I knew that I was in open air again. Now there was the smell and the sounds of the river, reaffirming my idea that Chu San Fu's lair was in Limehouse, though we could have been anywhere in the Thames estuary. Hands held me on either side. Something about the texture of the sleeve fabric led me to believe that my other attendants had been replaced. Certainly, my giant friend was no longer with me. Neither of the hands on my arms could approach his in size. Then I was maneuvered into a conveyance that had to be a hansom. As it assumed motion, I tried to keep alert to any impressions I might get, but could make little of our trip. I judged that we progressed for at least a half-hour with no more than one or two stops.

The sound of companion traffic seemed to increase. At one point, I was sure we crossed a bridge. Then the hansom came to a halt. There was the clatter of a dray, the sound of voices and close by I heard an internal combustion engine of some kind come to life. I opened my mouth to make a comment and a thin palm instantly covered it. A voice, not Oriental, cautioned me to remain quiet, and the manner was authoritative enough to encourage me to comply. Suddenly, the horse of our cab was gigged into action and we were in motion again. Our speed increased and, suddenly, the others who shared the hansom with me changed position. I was pushed to one side so that I was adjacent to the window of the cab. The blindfold was removed from my eyes.

The first sight was of another hansom progressing alongside and there was Holmes looking right at me with, I'm happy to say, an expression of intense relief. His eyes shifted to my captors, two in number I noted, and my friend nodded, seemingly a signal of agreement. I spied the coachman of Holmes's hansom, recognizing the form of Wakefield Orloff. Suddenly, I pictured the security agent jumping from cab to cab and disposing of those around me in jig time, something he was completely capable of doing. However, an agreement must have been reached and it seemed the terms were being mutually honored.

Orloff swung the hansom he was guiding closer to the one I was in and Holmes reached out with his long and wiry arm and passed an object to the outstretched hand of one of my captors—a small, dark man with a Balkan face. This Occidental—his companion was Western as well—took the object within our cab and removed the cloth bag that enveloped it, revealing the Golden Bird. He nodded to his companion who rapped on the roof of the hansom, which drew to a stop as did the one containing Holmes. I was urged from the hansom, which immediately took off to vanish in the traffic of the Strand. I scrambled into the adjacent hansom and leaned back in the seat with a sigh.

"My good Watson, you are all right, I trust?"

"Quite," I replied. "Actually, they treated me with considerable care."

Holmes's grunt had a tinge of menace. "I made it clear that if any harm befell you I would haunt their footsteps through eternity, if necessary."

He had a long-bladed knife in his hands with which he severed the cord binding my wrists and I was glad to massage circulation back into them.

"I cost you the statue," I began, in an apologetic manner.

"Purely a gesture, though Chu San Fu does not know this as yet. The Golden Bird will be returned to us shortly. I have plans regarding that. The important thing is that you are back, sound of mind and limb. What actually happened, ol' friend?"

As Orloff guided the vehicle back to Baker Street, I related my experiences and I have seldom heard my friend laugh so heartily as when I described my encounter with the Oriental criminal.

"Capital! Capital! I shall recommend a study of criminal psychology for Scotland Yard with you as dean, good Watson. No doubt, the Chinaman expected you to be frightened, or awed. That was his first surprise. Then he chose to appeal to your weaknesses to learn of my plans and to glean what knowledge he could of his burglar squad that has disappeared. Faced with an indignant and scornful doctor and threatened with a loss of face, he had to pause and regroup. The moment his emissary approached me, I pressed for a rapid exchange to get you out of the bounder's clutches. The statue was what he was after and since I agreed to the exchange plan on the spot, he jumped at the chance. When Chu San Fu discovers that the Golden Bird will not hatch a diamond for him, he will regret allowing himself to be pressed into rapid action. In his own heart, he will really lose face, a situation which we can exploit to the fullest".