Unknown (26 page)

13

Our
Quarters Under Seige

135

When we had regained the road
outside the feudal
establishment
of the financier-collector, Holmes set the
horse
to a good pace. He seemed distracted and showed
no
signs of voicing his thoughts but I could not preserve
our
silence, which was out of step with the mood I had
anticipated.

"My dear Holmes, surely you
are not disappearing
into
that mental world of yours. The old man said that
you
would have the Golden Bird. Your promise to
Lindquist
will be fulfilled. If you believe Selkirk, that is,"
I
added.

"Oh, I believe him, Watson.
Which is why I am
sorely
puzzled. Consider, if you will, that we were not engaged in a fishing
expedition. Actually, we were at
tempting
to land a whale with no line at all."

Holmes consistently referred to
his adventures using the plural, which was gratifying but had no
basis whatsoever in fact. I seldom knew what was flitting
through
his massive
intellect and could certainly divine no rea
son
from his last remark. But I knew that he would re
lieve
my befuddlement if it suited his fancy, which it
usually
did.

"All we did, Watson, was drop
a little bait into the
water.
A consulting detective and his associate acting in the interests of a
metal worker in Berlin are hardly capa
ble
of mounting an offensive against one of the most
powerful
men in the world. So I hoped to tempt the old
rascal
with a colorful tale that might brighten his exis
tence
and, in return, gain some information which he
might
see fit to throw us in the manner of a king throwing a bag of
coins to traveling minstrels."

"Instead of which he promised
to solve the matter for you."

"I don't recall his saying
that," replied Holmes. His
small
smile had a grim quality to it. "Actually, he sug
gested
that this matter had a way to run yet. But he did promise us the
Bird, that I cannot deny."

"What is nagging at you,
Holmes?"

"What did I do for him? He
said that possibly I could
be
of use. Evidently, I was. True, he used my mention
of
Chu as an excuse to repay me but I'd told him noth
ing
he did not already know. Watson, somehow I bene
fited
the old brigand in some way. The Basil Selkirks of our world never
give something without full value in re
turn.
He used me in some way and for the life of me I
cannot
fathom how." The clip-clop of the horse's
hooves
was the only sound for a considerable period of time. "Did
Selkirk seem intrigued when I mentioned the
year
of 1822?"

"I can't say that he did,"
I said, trying to recall that
moment
in the baronial surroundings we had just left.
"What
prompted your remark, by the way?"

"It was the final clue given
to us by the departed Barker."

Following our return to St.
Aubrey, we left the four-
wheeler
with Doctor Witherspoon and bade a rapid fare
well
to the rural hamlet. Fortunately, a train to Lon
don
was due soon. Evidently, Holmes found no answer
to
the question plaguing him for our trip to the metrop
olis
was made in silence.

The following morning, when I
descended to the sit
ting
room of our chambers, Holmes was not in evi
dence.
This came as no surprise. The smell of tobacco
was
strong in the room and I sensed that my companion
had
spent much of the night ruminating on the strange
collection
of facts so far unearthed in this most unusual
case.
It took but little imagination to picture Holmes's
tall,
thin frame pacing the floor and arranging bits and
pieces
into various patterns only to sweep them aside
like
a mental jigsaw and begin all over again. That his
restless
disposition would cry for action and drive him
elsewhere
in search of a wisp of information which "had
to
be" was in accord with his mode of operation in pre
vious
cases.

Mrs. Hudson, when serving
breakfast, did reveal that
he
had departed at an early hour. In response to a ques
tion,
she stated that he was clad in his familiar deer
stalker
and not decked out as an aged sea captain or
any
one of the myriad disguises which he could assume
on
short notice. This, of course, was no indication of
where
he had gone. I well knew that Holmes had other hideaways in the great
city to which he could retire and
clothe
himself in a false identity to prowl the shadow-
land
of the lawless. It had often crossed my mind that
he
might have established domiciles under false names and recognized
personalities with which to pursue the information, the whispers that
often guided his precise mind to a solution. The thought of three or
four Holmes in one city was, in my mind, a frightening concept for
anyone bent on
preying on society and I thanked my
stars
for a good honest upbringing among law-abiding people, the
immunization from the plague that was the
sharp
and piercing eyes of Sherlock Holmes.

Since he had left no message, I
devoted the day to
catching
up with my much-neglected practice, ably han
dled
by Vernier or Goodbody during my frequent absences. It was in
the early evening hours that I returned to Baker Street, where I
found Holmes, in his familiar
dressing
gown, attended by familiars of our residence.

The bony figure, topped by the
large cranium of In
spector
Alec MacDonald, sat in our visitor's chair,
while
lounging in a straight-back was the almost skeletal
form
of Slim Gilligan. The master cracksman had removed his cloth cap, but
the unlit cigarette dangled
from
his lips as it had on so many other occasions.

"Ah, Watson, you time your
arrival well," said
Holmes,
genially. "It seemed appropriate that we have a
council
of those directly involved in this matter and
your
presence completes the circle. I have related to
Slim
and Mr. Mac something of our trip to rural surroundings and we
were just considering the next step."

"I have a thought regarding
that," I said with deter
mination,
placing my medical bag by the cane rack and
divesting
myself of my coat and bowler. "Does not a
summation
seem in order? This case has led down so
many
paths that I am hopelessly mired in a sea of con
fusion."

Gilligan's toothy smile was
immediate. "It's some
times
wiser, Doc, not to know too much."

"But Watson's point is
well-made," said Holmes,
somewhat
to my surprise. "Our interests are identical
here
since Mr. Mac is officially involved in the death of
Barker,
a matter in which we have considerable interest
as
well."

"What about the Chinese
seaman on the
Asian
Star
or Amos
Gridley?" I asked, quickly. If answers were
forthcoming,
I had a number of points that required
clearing
up.

"The mystery of the Golden
Bird is interwoven inextricably with the homicides," said
Holmes.

"But if you come into
possession of the Bird," I be
gan,
but was interrupted by Holmes.

"There is more to the puzzle
of the elusive statue
than
simple possession."

I hoped the detective would
continue to explore this vein but he shifted his tack.

"Have there been any recent
rumblings in the underworld?" he asked our visitors.

MacDonald placed his Irish whiskey
on the occa
sional
table by his side. "You are thinking of Baron
Dowson
and his boys. No, they havena' made moves
toward
Chu San Fu in retaliation for the fracas at the
Nonpareil
Club. I had pictured a gang war breaking out
but
there are no indications of it."

"Exactly the opposite,"
commented Gilligan. Slim
was
not loquacious by nature, so when he made a statement, there was
reason behind it. Three pairs of eyes
swiveled
in his direction and he elaborated. "Whitey
Burke
an' four of his best lads left London this morn
ing'
bound for St. Aubrey, of all places." My breath
came
in suddenly but neither Holmes nor MacDonald
reacted
to this news.

"I'm thinkin' that if Dowson
was gunnin' fer the
Chink,
'e'd 'ave use fer Whitey. Burke bosses the Lam
beth
Duster Gang and they 'ave a sorta workin' ar
rangement
with Dowson."

"Now that's interesting,"
said MacDonald, ponder
ously.

"And very logical,"
commented Holmes. "Watson
and
I know that Dowson is in the pay of Basil Selkirk.
The
industrialist may be anticipating the attention of
Chu
and his people."

MacDonald absorbed this news for a
moment. "Then
Burke
and his men are goin' down-country as mercenaries."

"That is my thought,"
agreed Holmes.

"So, as you intimated before
Doctor Watson's arrival,
'tis
Selkirk and the Chinaman. Dowson's gang is the
army
that the financier is puttin' into the field. Well, I
wouldna'
welcome bein' quoted, but if they have at each
other
a bit, 'twould be no loss to the Yard."

"Save that we have no
guarantee that only their
blood
will be split," remarked Holmes, with his quiet
smile.
"There was a certain efficiency in the manner of
the
Italian city states, which hired their mercenaries and
fought
their wars with a minimum of loss to the civilian
population.
However, back to our problem: Watson
and
I have been fortunate enough to discover much
about
the history of the elusive Bird, information I con
sider
important in attempting to uncover why this art
object
has acted as such a catalyst in this affair. We
know
who is after the statue, though not why. However,
one
thing remains a complete mystery: the death of
Barker,
the Surrey investigator. He was delving into the
matter
of the Golden Bird at the time of his death. He was employed at the
Nonpareil Club. As I have fre
quently
stated, premature theories are the bane of investigations but it
is reasonable to assume that he learned Dowson had been hired to
recover the object from Chu San Fu. It is what else he learned that
is so important.
Something
prompted him to hasten to his employer,
Nils
Lindquist, and he was killed in the process. Before
dying,
he said one word to Lindquist:
'Pasha!'
Does
that
mean anything to you, Mr. Mac?"