The Turk exhibited a wan smile for us both. His sigh was a deep one. "Gentlemen, an interesting conversation and a subject which fascinates me, but now does not the piper have to be paid?"
Since Holmes merely looked at him quizzically, he continued, though the words came hard: "One has to circulate if only for business reasons. I am acquainted with Colonel Sakhim of the Turkish Secret Police and know that he corresponds with you, Mr. Holmes. He is quite an admirer of yours, by the way. Is it to him that we go?"
"You refer to your selling the Bird, an object which no longer belonged to you, to the Oriental intermediary. Hmm! A problem, indeed!"
Holmes indulged in a weighted pause but I suspected what his next move would be. My friend was never averse to playing the role of prosecutor, judge, and jury simultaneously and his record of leniency was rather good, a fact known to readers of "The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle." He did not disappoint me.
"I am not a family man, but it takes little to realize the pressures that you were subjected to. So, Mr. Hassim, we shall not visit the esteemed Colonel and, instead, mark this down as a most instructive happening in your life. One that will underscore the value of scrupulous honesty."
The art dealer just stared at Holmes in complete amazement. Then tears welled in his eyes and, following creases, slowly moved down his face; but he made no movement to brush them away. His voice was that of a somnambulist.
"My great grandfather cut rare stones. My grandfather, and father, dealt in art objects, as do I, and during this near century the House of Hassim has preserved the highest reputation. Only I transgressed."
Holmes was showing signs of discomfort, a rare thing for him. He had an intense aversion to any display of feeling, especially one of deep gratitude.
"Come now, let us not be emotional," he said. I was prepared to rise, sensing that Holmes would beat a hasty retreat, but he surprised me. "Is there not something else you wish to tell me about this unusual affair?"
The question so startled Hassim that his flow of tears terminated abruptly. "I ... I was about to mention it. How did you know?"
"It had to be." Holmes shot a glance in my direction. "Missing piece, you know."
I nodded with counterfeit certitude, not having the faintest idea what he was thinking of.
Hassim, who now regarded my friend with complete awe, spoke rapidly: "The very next night another man came to my shop. He also wanted the Golden Bird and did not choose to believe that it was gone. He felt I was haggling for a better price. With him was a very large man who spoke with a strange accent, though he was English."
"Cockney," I exclaimed, automatically.
Hassim shook his head. "He was, I believe, from what you call the section of Lancashire. When I kept insisting that the Bird was no longer in my possession, the large man grabbed me by the throat. I still have the marks."
Loosening his collar, Hassim exposed part of his throat on which there were three livid marks that I could see, possibly more.
"When I blurted out that the Bird had been bought by a Chinese, both the men lost interest in me. The smaller man informed me that I had never seen them, that they had never been here or it would not go well with me. Then they departed, to my great relief."
"You feel that the smaller man was the leader of the pair?" asked Holmes, as though he already knew the answer.
Hassim nodded. "The large one was, as you might say, the enforcer."
"Describe the smaller man as best you can."
This proved difficult for the Turk. "He was nondescript. Thin. Fairly old. Medium height. He had trouble with his speech. A lisp."
"The man with the lisp," I burst out in a most unprofessional manner.
Holmes rose. He had learned what we wanted to know.
9
Back to Baker Street
87
Our departure from Constantinople was almost as rapid as our exit from Berlin. Upon leaving the shop on Istikial Caddesi, Holmes made haste to return to the Golden Horn Hotel, where he booked us on the Orient Express to Calais. Much to my displeasure, the fastest connection involved taking the boat train to Constanza, Romania, where the Express made up to return through Vienna to Austria and Germany with the special section continuing to the French coast.
Fortunately, the Black Sea was calm and we made connections without incident or without arousing the curiosity of any fellow passengers. I must have let my irritation show somewhat and while Holmes could not conceive of my interest in the historical city we were leaving with hardly a glance, he did show compassion during our long return journey by relating various historical facts about Constantinople.
He did not dwell on ancient Troy since, as he put it, "That story was clouded by time and legend," though he did state that he felt there must have been a factual basis for the recounting of the Greek and Trojan war immortalized by the Iliad. Of King Byzas of the Megarians, who expanded the city seven centuries before Christ, my friend was most fluent. He was also versed in the reign of Emperor Constantine who changed the city's name from Byzantium to Constantinople and proclaimed it the capital of his Holy Roman Eastern Em pire. Possibly, dry history teachers had tried to inculcate me with these facts but they did not have Holmes's colorful delivery. Then he progressed to the reign of Suleiman the Magnificent and really hit his stride. I had not realized that this greatest of Ottoman rulers had besieged Vienna and was beaten back in defeat by So-bieski of Poland. Soon, my friend's graphic recreation of history was explained, in part, when he dwelt at some length on Suleiman's invasion of Rhodes and his defeat of the Knights of St. John who retreated to Malta.
"An interesting situation here, ol' chap. The Knights of St. John, using the strategic position of Rhodes, had been pillaging Mediterranean shipping for years. When the island fell, Suleiman must have captured an immense amount of booty. But it has never been found."
Since the sleuth had fallen into a thoughtful silence, I was able to express a thought that came to mind. "Good Lord, Holmes, you don't think some private collector got his hands on that?"
"Hardly. I imagine the Treasure of Suleiman is, like Morgan's Pearls, hidden somewhere awaiting that astute visionary capable of deducing where the ancient wealth is secreted. Possibly, when I hang up my shield, I shall not devote my time to bee-keeping at all but embark on a search for the famous and undiscovered caches."
"You mentioned Morgan's Pearls," I said, questioningly. Holmes had referred to England's famous, or infamous, pirate on more than one occasion.
"Henry Morgan's most famous coup was his attack on the Spanish settlement of Panama. He used an overland route to strike at the treasure port, by the way, unusual for a seafaring man. Having sacked the city, Morgan is reputed to have secretly taken the pearls, the most valuable part of his loot, and buried them somewhere on the Isthmus of Panama. Evidently, he never returned to recover them for they have not appeared to this day."
"But they are known to have existed."
"Oh yes. Pearls were Panama's chief contribution to the swollen coffers of the Spanish crown. It took money, Watson, to support the Spanish armies in Europe and to build the great Armada."
I must confess my friend's intimate knowledge of history proved somewhat surprising, but then I recalled that he could remember obscure items in his newspaper files years after filing them away. How reasonable that colorful incidents of mankind's background should be at his fingertips, especially if they touched upon unsolved mysteries.