Unknown (12 page)

"Following the fire in the
dealer's shop in Amster
dam,
the Bird did disappear. But it is definitely known
that
it was displayed in the museum in Dubrovnik
around
1810. You will recall that the walled city
blunted
the sword of Islam when the muslem tide engulfed other parts of
the Balkans. It is reasonably well-established that the Bird was
given to the Turks as part
of
a peace offering. Then it vanished again."

"Until it turned up in a shop
on the Island of Rhodes
and
was stolen. Then it vanished again, resurfacing in
Constantinople."
Holmes's voice dwindled away and he seemed in a deep brown study.

"Obviously, something
intrigues you about this series
of
events, Mr. Holmes."

The sleuth nodded. There was a
touch of irritation in
his
manner, indicating that a thread of thought was
proving
annoyingly elusive.

"The Tartars probably gained
the Bird as a prize of conquest. After all, they systematically
looted a large portion of the civilized world of their time. It's
progress
from the
Russians to the French and, finally, the Dutch
bankers
is reasonable. The fact that it disappeared after
a
fire is not unusual. It might have been discovered by
almost
anyone in the ruins and its worth not realized.
Its
passage from the Serbians to the Turks is also straightforward. But
then something happened. It ap
pears
in Rhodes and is stolen. In its long history this is
the
first definite indication of criminal involvement and
quite
a criminal at that. As soon as it appeared in Con
stantinople,
it was stolen again."

"Your facts are accurate, Mr.
Holmes, but what
thought
do they prompt?" D'Anglas's elephantine face
was
regarding Holmes intently. Had a tinge of alarm
crept
into his manner?

"The facts warrant an
assumption," said Holmes.
"Between
the time the Bird was in the possession of the
Turks
and its appearance on the Island of Rhodes,
something
happened. Something made the statue more
valuable."

D'Anglas permitted himself a
smile. "The interest in
collections
grew, Mr. Holmes. Also an appreciation of fine craftsmanship and
ancient artifacts. With the com
ing
of modern times, art objects are not as plentiful as
in
times gone by."

"And your interest in the
Bird, Mr. D'Anglas?"
Holmes's
tone was casual, but I had a feeling that this was a major piece in
the puzzle he was fitting together.

The man spread his large and
knobby hands. "Call it a compulsion, sir. I am a goldsmith by
trade as was my
father
and his father before him. It was my grandfather who first fell under
the spell of the Bird. Drawings of it exist you know. He felt that
the ancient object was the
finest
example of his art in existence. His passion for
the
golden roc must have been communicable, for my
father
was equally obsessed with the desire to possess it. Being without
family, I am able to indulge myself some
what
and the pursuit of the Bird has become the driving force in my life
as well."

The man's dull eyes had been
sparked with an inner
light
for a moment but now the mental fire was banked. "For a wondrous
moment I felt that the quest of three generations was ended and that
the Bird would be mine
before
my time had come. Now, alas, I'm not so sure."

My medical training would not let
this ominous re
mark
go unchallenged. "Surely, you are a man not be
yond
the prime of life. Your
magnum
opus
still lies
within your reach."

D'Anglas's face slowly registered
appreciation for my
encouragement.
"Nils
desperandum,"
he
muttered.
Then his
mood shifted and became grim. "However, my
family
is short-lived on the male side. Unless . . ."

His ponderous jaws snapped shut
and he summoned
a
smile that was more an exercise of his facial muscles than any
reflection of mirth. His massive head shifted toward Holmes. "My
general health and longevity po
tential
are of no assistance to you in your search. Tell
me,
sir, is there any other information regarding the
Bird
which I can furnish you?"

Holmes, who had been listening
intently to my words with D'Anglas and not drifting off into his own
mental kingdom as he sometimes did, signified that he had no
additional questions.

"Then, perhaps, you'll answer
one of mine." The
man
seemed determined to preserve a businesslike fa
cade
and I sensed that he regretted his foray into family history. "If
your visit here was arranged to remove you
from
London, what do you deduce might be happening
there?"

Holmes took his time in answering,
probably debating as to how much he wished to reveal to our
unusual
client at
this time. "I have good reason to assume that
two
prominent collectors are after the Bird and one has
secured
possession of it. Therefore, the next move will
be
an attempt to recover the object."

D'Anglas gave another display of
native shrewdness.
"Your
words indicate that one of the collectors had pos
session
and then lost it to the other."

"I suspect that is the
situation," replied Holmes.
"Whatever
countermove has been planned, I imagine it is now a
fait
accompli.
Therefore,
rather than rush back to London to tilt at unknown windmills, I
propose to
continue
our journeys."

"Constantinople," said
D'Anglas, nodding.

"Possibly, the art dealer,
Aben Hassim, can provide
some
additional information," said Holmes.

"He is honorable and enjoys a
fine reputation." D'An
glas
rose from his chair and moved slowly to a desk in the corner of the
room. "Let me pen a brief note to him
requesting
that he be of assistance to you."

As his quill pen slowly scratched
on parchment pa
per,
Holmes posed a query. "Actually, Mr. D'Anglas,
you
are not a collector in the true sense?"

The oversized head shook
negatively. "Nor in any
sense.
The Bird is my sole passion."

"Since it has produced such
interest from other
sources,
I'm puzzled that you were able to secure it."

D'Anglas looked up from his
writing. "When Hassim
placed
the Bird on the market, he sent a notice to col
lectors
who would be interested in such an object. He included me in the list
since I had approached
him,
pre
viously
relative to the object. In addition, Hassim knows
me
personally. Possibly, my competition delayed in re
sponding.
Rest assured I made a bid immediately and
Hassim
accepted it. The agreed sum was received by
him
and the bill of sale mailed to me. I will show it to
you,
if you wish."

My friend waved this aside as
unnecessary and
D'Anglas
folded the note he had written and sealed it
with
wax, using a signet ring on his right hand for iden
tification.

Holmes and I had risen and as
D'Anglas crossed to
hand
the missive to Holmes, the detective looked at him
with
those piercing, all-observing eyes of his.

"One of the collectors so
enthusiastically pursuing the
Bird
is an Oriental. Does this surprise you?"

Possibly, it did. Or, possibly, it
was some other emo
tion
that made the massive man sway for a moment.
Instinctively,
I started forward to lend him support but halted as I realized it was
but a momentary reaction.

"Chinese, no doubt?"
inquired our client. He continued almost before Holmes nodded.
"A rare puzzle, for
you
are speaking of a man with one of the largest pri
vate
collections of art in the world. Why would the
Golden
Bird mean so much to him?"

"A thought that puzzles me as
well," said Holmes.

There seemed little else to say
and our client showed no desire to continue our conversation so
Holmes and I
departed
from the strange house in the suburban West
End
of Berlin and its even stranger owner with whom
fate
had placed us in contact.

7

The
Hatchet Men

63

We had little trouble hailing a
carriage and I was sur
prised
when Holmes did not direct the vehicle to our
hotel
but rather to the Alexanderplatz.

"We are under surveillance,
my dear Watson," said
Holmes,
by way of explanation. "Our movements
should
not be so obvious that the two Chinese gentle
men
become bored. Therefore, some official assistance
will
prove advantageous."

In previous cases, I had been made
conscious of the
efficient
workings of the machinelike Berlin police de
partment
with its brain core of the Meldwesen located
in
Alexanderplatz. Holmes maintained a friendly asso
ciation
with Wolfgang Von Shalloway, the chief of the
German
police, and I deduced that he intended to in
volve
his friend in our proposed trip to Constantinople.
I
was right.

Progressing through busy streets,
the detective ex
plained
that the Orientals, having lost us, would doubtless return to
the Bristol Kempinsky to pick up our trail
when
we returned. What surprises he had in mind for
the
Chinese, he did not go into.

A presentation of the simple card
with the name of
Sherlock
Holmes transformed a stiff, formal sergeant of
police
into a somewhat flustered and excited servant of
the
people.

"Herr Holmes . . . but, of
course, sir. Would you
kindly
be seated. Hein! Hein!" he almost shouted to a
passing
policeman.

Crossing, he whispered to the
surprised man, fiercely
and
with effect since the policeman hastened from the main reception room
towards the lift.

Somewhat recovered, the sergeant
resumed his post
behind
his desk. "It will be but a moment, Herr
Holmes,"
he explained, with rare deference. The great
detective
nodded calmly and, turning to me, the ser
geant
said, with a stiff smile, "Doctor Vatson, I pre
sume?"