Unknown (15 page)

Since the shop of Aben Hassim was
on Istikial Caddesi near Taksim Square—a fashionable
address, by the
way—we
walked to it. I did get a taste of the city with its mosques,
palaces, crowded bazaars and beautiful
shops.
I had viewed the Galata Bridge over the Bospo
rus
from our hotel window.

It did not occur to me at the
time, but Holmes di
rected
our steps unerringly. The man's knowledge of cities and
geography in general was, as I have mentioned
before,
uncanny.*

* It is interesting to note that a latter-day
detective of widespread
fame and girth
who was born in Montenegro spent a great deal of time studying maps.

Hassim's place of business was
relatively small but
tastefully
furnished, with the quiet and affluent atmosphere that
frequently sedates the visitor into paying considerably more for an
object than intended. Again, Holmes's card provided instant action
and a salesman
escorted
us to the small office adjacent to the show
room,
which was the lair of the owner.

Aben Hassim was a small man with a
Vandyke
beard, the
swarthy complexion clued by his name and,
of
all things, a monocle. Somehow it seemed out of place next door to
Asia, but he twirled it in his right
hand
when talking and was as at home with it as a
French
diplomat. I grew interested in the eyepiece, es
pecially
since he did not choose to use it when reading
the
letter from Berlin that Holmes presented to him
after
we had exchanged customary greetings. Closer inspection
convinced me that Hassim's monocle possessed
a
powerful lens and I realized that he used it to inspect
objets
d'art
without
resorting to the pocket or desk glass of common usage. No doubt he
had garnered a consid
erable
reputation for instant appraisal in this manner.

"D'Anglas's letter explains
your presence, Mr.
Holmes,
though a visit by such a famed criminologist would naturally be in
connection with the Golden Bird.
Its
disappearance is the only incident in the history of
my
establishment that could pique your interest."

"Could you tell us how you
came upon the piece and
how
it was removed?"

"Happy chance allowed me to
acquire it. A woman
was
cleaning her attic in a house that, in times gone by, had served as a
modest lodging place. Her mother and
grandmother
as well had rented rooms. In the attic was
an
old trunk and when she succeeded in opening it she
found
the Bird. There was nothing else of value in the trunk. I inquired as
to that, but the most untrained eye
detects
gold, Mr. Holmes. The lady brought the object
to
me and I recognized it immediately." Hassim's monocle was
twirling in his hand. "It is the eye that does it,
always.
Just as a book-lover can recognize that rare
first
edition on some second-hand book-shelf, so the art
dealer
must be able to capitalize on that rare moment
when
serendipity graces his door. I will be frank. It was
with
difficulty that I suppressed my excitement. The
workmanship
of the Bird certainly rivals that of Cellini
or
Lorenzo Ghiberti. I informed the woman that the
piece
was indeed gold and weighed it, referred to the
present
gold price on the international market, and
made
her an offer which she accepted. Now my prob
lem
was not to dwell overlong on my acquisition since,
if
I fell in love with the piece, it might prove difficult to
part
with it."

Hassim paused to regard us with a
wry smile. "An
industrial
disease native to my calling, gentlemen, and a most unprofitable
affliction. When a dealer falls prey to
the
avarice of the collector, he ceases to function as a
cog
in the commercial world. True, gloating over his
treasures
provides an inner reward but does not place food on the table. I have
seen cases . . ." He broke off
with
an apologetic expression. "But that is another story
and
not of interest to you. I immediately took steps to
affirm
my legal ownership. No problem since, though the Bird has had many
owners, I had purchased it from
a
source that had, however unwittingly, held possession
for
forty years or better. With the necessary paperwork
effected,
I made known to the world of art that the
piece
was for sale. D'Anglas made an immediate offer
by
post, which I was glad to accept. Considering the Bird's history, I
was rather relieved to sell the object
while
it was still in my hands."

"Your concern indicates that
you took pains to se
cure
the golden roc while you had it," said Holmes quietly. "A
bank vault, perhaps?"

The dealer indicated the wall
behind his desk. "For
tunately,
the house of Hassim has a number of valuable
objects
from time to time and I have installed the latest
in
modern safes."

Holmes was viewing the squat
strongbox in the wall with interest. "Mills Stroffner, I see.
That model was
manufactured
three years ago and they haven't un
proved
on it."

"Quite right, Mr. Holmes,"
replied Hassim, with
some
pride. "But then, Sherlock Holmes would natu
rally
know about the best in safes. As would Doctor
Watson,"
he added, quickly.

I found the attitude of the
Continentals that we had
met
on this trip quite delightful. Long association had
placed
me on friendly terms with Lestrade, Gregson, MacDonald, and others at
the Yard, but they never
considered
me as an expert on criminological matters.
However,
the police sergeant in Berlin and Hassim
viewed
matters differently. Obviously, my writings rela
tive
to Holmes had led them to misjudge my fund of
information
and aptitude. Notwithstanding, having
played
such a distant second fiddle for so long, it was charming to be
clothed in the garment of expertise even though the material was
spurious.

"You accepted D'Anglas's
offer and then what happened?" asked Holmes. "I don't
recall that the Bird was lost in the mails."

"No, sir. It was packed and
ready for shipment. I
placed
the container in the safe and was ready to take it the next morning
to supervise the shipment. During the
night
something must have happened since the Bird was
gone
the next day."

Holmes regarded the art dealer for
a long and thoughtful moment, certainly not, to the normal ob
server,
unusual for one hailed on all sides as the finest mind of England.
But to one who had been associated with him for so long, the
orchestra was playing a more sprightly air. The hawk was prepared to
swoop on the
wings
of logic and drive an unsuspecting pigeon to the ground.

"The statue was taken, then,
from your safe?" A nod was Holmes's answer. "Surely,"
continued the sleuth innocently, "someone other than
yourself has the combination?"

Hassim shook his head with an air
of protest.

"We of more peaceful pursuits
are not familiar with
the
criminal mind or intricate subterfuges but there are
certain
necessary precautions that are obvious. Even my
family
do not know the combination of that safe."

Holmes rose to move closer to the
strongbox, which
he
inspected briefly with his pocket glass.

"No marks of any kind. How
was it opened?"

The dealer spread his arms and
shrugged his shoul
ders
expressively, but there was a sudden flicker of
worry
in his eyes. Holmes's question seemed naive, a quality at variance
with his worldwide reputation.

"How else but by a skilled
burglar? Do not the
Anglo-Saxons
refer to them as 'master cracksmen'?"

Holmes's manner hardened. He was
ready to spring
the
trap.

"I know this Mills-Stroffner
design well and there are
four
men in the world who could open it in one night
without
using explosives." His eyes swung to engage
mine
for a brief moment. "One is now in Dartmoor
where
I put him a short time ago.* The second, a blind
German
mechanic named Von Herder, is dead. The
third
is a trusted employee of the British Special Branch,
while
the fourth, Jimmie Valentine, is in America."
*
The Case of the Soft Fingers

A thin sheen of perspiration
appeared on Hassim's
forehead.

Holmes continued with that
inexorable doomsday finality that had struck terror in harder cases
than this Turkish dealer in art. "The crib was not cracked, to
use
a colloquialism
cherished by the ha'penny dreadfuls."

Hassim, visibly wilting, tried to
rally a protest of denial but was not given the chance.

"I picture a different
scene," continued the detective.
"You
had concluded your arrangements with D'Anglas
in
Berlin and the bill of sale was mailed to him. No
doubt
his payment was banked. Then an unexpected
visitor
appeared. Oriental, of course."

Hassim winced as though in receipt
of a sharp blow. The panic of defeat flooded his eyes.

"The Chinaman presented
himself as an emissary
possibly
using the overworked and ubiquitous title of
'Commision
Agent.' He stated that his client had to se
cure
the Golden Bird and offered a sum beyond your expectations."
Holmes surveyed his victim with a more mellow manner. "I suspect
that ethics compelled you to
refuse
but it was pointed out that, should the Oriental not depart with the
object he wished, certain things
would
happen to you, or possibly to your shop or your
loved
ones."

As though to escape from Holmes's
compelling, al
most
hypnotic gaze, Hassim's eyes sought mine. "It is as
though
he had been here," he said. "In the next room
listening."

I believe I shrugged. I know I
tried to preserve a
stolid
expression. The poor wretch was suffering as my
friend's
recreation had been a dead-center hit.

"You admit it, of course,"
pressed the detective.

The Turk buried his face in his
hands. His urbane,
man-of-the-world
manner was a thing of the past and
he
was but a poor, harassed individual sadly beyond his
depth.

"Yes . . . yes
...
I refused the offer, as you said.
I
wanted no part of such dealings, but when . . .
when
. . ."