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 potential 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 facade 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 possession 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'Anglas 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 paper, 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 collectors who would be interested in such an object. He included me in the list since I had approached him, previously relative to the object. In addition, Hassim knows me personally. Possibly, my competition delayed in responding. 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 identification.
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 emotion 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 private 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 surprised 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 gentlemen 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 department with its brain core of the Meldwesen located in Alexanderplatz. Holmes maintained a friendly association with Wolfgang Von Shalloway, the chief of the German police, and I deduced that he intended to involve his friend in our proposed trip to Constantinople. I was right.
Progressing through busy streets, the detective explained 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 sergeant said, with a stiff smile, "Doctor Vatson, I presume?"
Never having received attention like this at Scotland Yard, it crossed my mind that Holmes and I should travel abroad more often. But the sergeant, whose name proved to be Dienstag, was not finished. Obviously, he felt that a heaven-sent opportunity for criminal research had presented itself and was loath to let the great moment slip away.
"Doctor Vatson," he continued, "in your masterly account of the case of 'The Speckled Band' . . ."
"Another of those overly melodramatic titles," interjected Holmes with disdain.
"Der speckled band vas from India und a swamp adder. But der is no svamp adders in India, vich has puzzled me greatly, Herr Doctor."
Since Sergeant Dienstag was, to my delight, directing his question in my direction, I hastened to clear the matter up. "Your confusion is understandable, Sergeant. However, when I first made that adventure available to the reading public . . ."
Alas, my explanation could not be completed since Wolfgang Von Shalloway appeared and advanced upon Holmes with his hands outstretched.
"Ach, Holmes! And Doctor Watson? Such a happy surprise. Come . . . come, my office is yours."
Murmuring greetings, we were escorted to the lift with much pomp and Sergeant Dienstag remained confused since more important matters had to be dealt with.*
* The loathsome serpent in The Adventure of the Speckled Band was, by most herpetologists' judgment, the Russell's viper.
In but a short time we were in the office of the chief of the Berlin police. Von Shalloway shooed out members of his staff and ordered a cessation of all other business during the visit of his illustrious friend.
Holmes protested that he did not wish to intrude on official matters but Von Shalloway waved his objections aside. I did not take my friend's disclaimers at face value and was quite certain that the sleuth was secretly delighted at the furor that his appearance had caused. Now Von Shalloway exhibited the sagacity that had made him one of the most famous man-hunters in the world.