Sherlock Holmes and the Golden Bird

4

The Solving of a Message

31

When the hansom delivered the three of us to 221B Baker Street, I couldn't help thinking that the domicile of Mrs. Hudson had never looked more appealing.

Billy, the page boy, had the door open before we could ring the bell.

"I give your message to Mr. Gilligan," he stated to Holmes with a shy smile.

"And how fortunate for Doctor Watson and myself that you did," replied Holmes.

I echoed this thought most emphatically, though silently.

In the sitting room, with glasses in our hands, we tried to make some sense from the pattern of madness that had been the road map of the past few hours. Holmes seemed in no hurry as he thoughtfully extracted shag from the famous Persian slipper and fueled his pipe. Nothing could shake the habitual calmness of Slim Gilligan, but then nerves of steel were what had made him the leading cracksman of his day, until he had abandoned the paths of the lawless because of his association with Sherlock Holmes. One felt that Gilligan had seen so much in his colorful career that no surprises remained.

Of course, questions bombarded my poor befuddled brain, but fortunately I managed to preserve my silence as the quickest means of learning what had been going on.

Puffing furiously on his pipe, Holmes finally broke the silence.

"Your deus-ex-machina appearance was most fortunate for Doctor Watson and myself, Gilligan. Our thanks."

The former safecracker gestured aimlessly with one of his abnormally long and thin arms, as though rescues from rooftops were a daily occurrence.

"I knew you was on the lookout for me, Mr. 'Olmes. When Billy told me you was investigatin' the Nonpareil Club, I figgered there moight be a little excitement so ol' Slim sneaked up on the locale—-sorta. I was a little leery, you see, because of that Barker fella."

"He contacted you?" asked Holmes.

"By post. Kinda caught me off guard 'cause I didn't really know the cove."

"He's dead," stated Holmes flatly.

A nod was Gilligan's response. He passed a sealed envelope to Holmes.

"Some light is coming to dark places," said the sleuth. "Barker sent you a letter for delivery here. He also left a communique for me in his lodging. Let me hazard a guess that when I consider this letter in connection with the one already received, the true message that Barker intended will be revealed."

Gilligan's brow was furrowed. "But why would 'e given a message to me iffen I never even knew 'im?"

"Strangely enough, Watson here is the answer to that. Barker was one of his devoted readers. The letter he left me was full of references to those cases that Watson has recorded for the reading public. Obviously, the late investigator from Surrey knew of our close association, Gilligan."

He showed good sense there, I thought, for Slim Gilligan was one of the staunchest of Holmes's allies. The safecracker's head was now nodding in understanding.

"I will study this communique later," continued Holmes. "For now other vistas beckon. Have you ever heard of an object called the Golden Bird?"

The name meant nothing to Gilligan and he indicated as much.

"It is an ancient art object, a statue of solid gold."

Gilligan's lips pursed in a silent whistle. "Iffen something like that was 'round, I should 'ave 'eard of it."

"It is but recently in England," said Holmes. "That is not just a rumor, for Watson and I saw the object tonight. Let us try another tack, Slim. Has there been any unusual robbery or incident lately that comes to your mind?"

"Well, sir, always there's somebody tryin' to take somefing from some other bloke. But wiv most of the stuff wot's 'appened, I could make a fair guess as to 'oo is involved."

"As could I," said Holmes. "So let us consider a minor incident, something with an unusual twist but seemingly unimportant."

Gilligan's eyes narrowed in thought. "There was that Chinaman off the Asian Star."

"Chinaman?" I said, instinctively. "We were knee-deep in Orientals tonight."

Holmes's questioning eyes remained glued to Gilligan.

"This 'ere Chinee got 'isself knifed. Nothin' unusual about that. Them 'eathens gamble for fair and they got Tongs and feuds wot we don't know nuffin' abaht. The reason the story comes to moind is that there was a fuss abaht 'is belongin's after 'e got 'isself killed. Seems 'e 'ad this 'ere idol. 'E was a common seaman on the Asian Star and 'is fo'c'sle mates' remember it right enough. But the bloomin' thing disappeared. Couple o' slant eyes turned up claimin' the seaman was a relative and the idol belonged to their family. Well, one Chinee looks pretty much like another. Maybe these blokes was 'is relatives 'n' maybe they wa'n't."

"Was it by chance an image of Buddha?" questioned Holmes, his eyes alight with excitement.

"That's the nyme, Mr. 'Olmes. You 'eard abaht it, eh?"

"No," admitted the sleuth, "but it is common for those of the Buddhist faith to carry an image of their god with them."

He sprang to his feet crossing to the bookshelf. "I believe we have a lead here."

Holmes subscribed to a number of periodicals of a specialized nature, and I noted that he selected the latest "Lloyds' Shipping Guide" from a shelf. As Gilligan and I exchanged puzzled glances, my friend leafed rapidly through the pages, then read intently for a moment before turning to us with a triumphant smile.

"This tells a story. Asian Star out of Hong Kong. Ports of call: Colombo, Alexandria, Constantinople, Trieste, Venice, Lisbon, and London. Constantinople is the clue, of course, since it was the last-known locale of the Golden Bird until it appeared here in London."

"You associate a common seaman with the theft of the Bird?" I fear my voice and expression registered disbelief, a fact that did not bother Holmes.

"My dear Watson, reproductions of the god Buddha can be considerable size. Being a religious piece, it would arouse no suspicions, especially from customs. But suppose within this Buddha figure was the relatively small Golden Bird?" "

Holmes's logic had an immediate appeal. "Of course, the Oriental seaman was but the means to bring the Bird into this country." Then another thought forced itself upon me. "But what is the significance of the Chinaman, especially since Dowson's gaming house suffered a full-scale attack from Orientals?"

"Let us construct a hypothetical situation," said Holmes, rather smugly I thought, "though I'll wager it turns out to be very close to the truth. The Golden Bird was stolen in Constantinople at the same time that the Asian Star was in port. The Bird, secreted within the Buddha, came by sea, a trip that would require considerable time. We must assume that the robbery was engineered by an Oriental or someone who employs Orientals. When the Asian Star arrives in Southhampton, another factor is introduced. The messenger is murdered and the Buddha disappears."

"Dowson's gang," I exclaimed.

"Employed by someone else, also after the art object."

"The man with the lisp?"

Even the imperturbable Gilligan registered surprise at this remark of mine.

"I doubt it," responded Sherlock Holmes. "I rather picture him as an emissary. He was in Dowson's headquarters with a large sum of money and the possibility of double-dealing is to be considered. As an employee, if mischance befell him Dowson and his crew would be open to retaliation. But that's is not of importance. What does seem obvious is that the original instigator of the robbery in Constantinople learned that it was Dowson's gang that had hijacked the Bird. Hence, the attack on Dowson's establishment."

"You've got it, Holmes," I stated with pride. "Two gangs are involved in this affair."

"There's little doubt about that," admitted my friend. "But again the haunting question. Such elaborate machinations. So much planning and manpower involved. Why? I will admit that twenty-five inches or so of solid gold is worth a tidy sum, but surely not enough to warrant the efforts so far expended. Dowson's organization is for hire but they command a heavy price."

Remembering the valise full of currency on the Baron's desk, I could well agree with that statement.

Holmes continued and I sensed his mercurial brain was racing ahead of his words.

"It was a small scale war we were involved in tonight. Surely there were thirty or so Orientals in action. The whole affair was much more reminiscent of an American criminal conflict than anything we are familiar with in England. What is the unknown value of this product of an ancient goldsmith's art that prompts such actions?"

"Could the Golden Bird have some religious significance?" I guessed, somewhat desperately.

Holmes registered a negative. "To my knowledge, the roc is simply a figure in mythology and plays no part in an organized religious movement. No, Watson, we are faced with a problem here that indicates deep water indeed. Possibly, Barker's last message will reveal a factor that we have not considered."

He paced the room thoughtfully for a moment and then came to a decision.

"We do know the Golden Bird is in London and an important, nay vital, question is whether it remains in the possession of Baron Dowson or if the man with the lisp departed from the Nonpareil Club before or during the outbreak of violence. Slim, best to learn what you can about the Nonpareil affair with particular attention to anyone carrying a black attache case."

Gilligan nodded. I knew that his lock and key establishment had been financed by Sherlock Holmes and suspected that the detective paid him a monthly retainer as well for his unique abilities. Rising to his feet, he had but one question.

"Any description of the cove?"

"Alas, no," replied Holmes, with distaste. "We did not see him, but he was closeted with Dowson and Sylvius prior to the attack and may well have left with the Bird in his possession."

As the cracksman departed, Holmes turned his attention to the letter that Gilligan had delivered. After reading for some moments, his eyes found mine briefly. "This should interest you, Watson: 'My dear Sherlock Holmes: Having long been an admirer of your career, let me send this message for your consideration. Your faithful biographer, Dr. Watson, makes frequent reference to the fact that you delight in puzzles and I have composed this to provide you with mental stimulation.' " Holmes looked up with approval in his eyes. "You will note that Barker's introduction is written as though we had never met. A clever touch, that, to allay suspicions should this fall into other hands. He now lists a series of questions," he added, returning to Barker's words:

" 'One: What was of Agra?' "

"That's simple enough," I said. "The Agra Treasure. I well recall that, Holmes, since it was the second of your cases that I revealed in print."

"With the melodramatic title of The Sign Of The Four,'" agreed Holmes. " 'Two: The Yoxley Case was?'"

"The Golden Pince-Nez."

"I believe we can accept golden as the key word," said Holmes. "Our knowledge of the Lindquist case makes our reading of this cryptic letter considerably easier. Consider the third clue. 'Three: Wilson dealt with? . . .'"

"An easy one," I said, triumphantly. "The reference has to be to Wilson, the notorious canary trainer."

"With what we already know, the meaning is not canary but rather bird. We now have: treasure, golden, bird, which certainly fits. The fourth question, however, puzzles me. See what you make of it, Watson.' 'Four: What gave the tadpole fever?' "

"Good heavens, that's a strange clue. But wait . . ." —I almost shouted with excitement—"Tadpole was the schoolboy nickname of Percy Phelps."

"Good show, Watson! Phelps had brain fever because of the theft of the Naval Treaty. Obviously, the key word is theft since it fits so nicely with the next one. 'Five: From Trincomalee to? . . .' "

I thought for a moment. "The reference must be to the singular adventure of the Atkinson Brothers at Trincomalee . . . but ..."

"But do recall that, following exposure, the brothers fled to Constantinople."

"That's it, Holmes! Treasure . . . golden . . . bird . . . theft . . . Constantinople . . . what's next?"

" 'Six: Eduardo Lucas and Milverton.' "

I gazed at Holmes in astonishment. "But they are both dead."

"True, but they certainly had something in common."

"They were both blackmailers. Lucas came within an ace of ruining the Secretary for European Affairs in that 'Second Stain' affair, as you well know."

"And Charles Augustus Milverton was an even greater and more heartless rascal, if that is possible."

"But, Holmes, it was coming along swimmingly to this point. Now we have two deceased blackmailers who could not be involved."

"But you will accept two. I think that is rather important. Let us look deeper, ol' chap. What do blackmailers do?"

"Extort money, bleed their victims dry."

"Agreed. And they are able to ply their nefarious trade because they are collectors."

I did not follow this at all so Holmes elaborated. "Both Lucas and Milverton collected indiscreet letters, proofs of crime or infidelity, knowledge of sordid episodes in their victims' lives. What Barker suggests is that two collectors are involved in the pursuit of the Golden Bird. It being an art object, we must assume that both are collectors of art. Now our adventure of this evening reveals that one of these collectors could put his hand on a very large sum of money."

"The payoff to Baron Dowson," I said, mechanically, and was rewarded with a nod.

"While the other could command a sizeable group of henchmen. Is it not obvious that these mysterious collectors are men of wealth and power?"

As I nodded, Holmes referred to the letter again.

"Here you must help me, good fellow. 'Seven: The birth of Mary Morstan?' "

"My dear Mary was born in 1861," I said sadly. "Of course, the date may not have been what Barker was referring to."

"Possibly the next clue will give us an indication. 'Eight: Victor Hatherley was? . . .' "

"He was an engineer," I said, promptly. "He was young."

Holmes puzzled on this for a moment. "He was also unfortunate."

"I would certainly say so having his thumb chopped off like that."

"I note," said my friend, "that Barker seems partial to the titles of your stories and "The Engineer's Thumb' was the name you gave it."

"Hmm . . . Victor Hatherley was without a thumb? Missing a thumb?"

"Wait," said Holmes. "Possibly a number is our seventh clue. Would not the word minus go along with that?"

"Victor Hatherley was minus a thumb. He certainly was. What is the next clue, Holmes?"

"Here is an easy one and I think a picture is coming into focus. 'Nine: The objects in Holder's security.' "

"The Beryl Coronet," I said, hastily.

"And there were thirty-nine Beryls in the Coronet."

"Why, Holmes, it's obvious. 1861 minus 39 gives us 1822."

"Indeed, it does and that is the last clue. Does it have any significance to you?"

I tried, dear me how I tried, but my efforts were fruitless. Holmes was obviously stumped as well.

"What do you make of all this, Holmes?"

"Two things. 1822 is the prime bit of information. Note that the rest of this message relates to matters we have already learned about. I believe the date was the information that poor Barker was taking to Lindquist when he met his fate."

"What is your other conclusion?"

"Simply that Barker was a devoted reader of your printed words, my good Watson."