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 reason from his last remark. But I knew that he would relieve 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 capable 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 existence 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 suggested 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 nothing he did not already know. Watson, somehow I benefited the old brigand in some way. The Basil Selkirks of our world never give something without full value in return. 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 farewell to the rural hamlet. Fortunately, a train to London was due soon. Evidently, Holmes found no answer to the question plaguing him for our trip to the metropolis was made in silence.
The following morning, when I descended to the sitting room of our chambers, Holmes was not in evidence. 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 previous cases.
Mrs. Hudson, when serving breakfast, did reveal that he had departed at an early hour. In response to a question, she stated that he was clad in his familiar deerstalker 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 handled 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 Inspector 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 determination, 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 confusion."
Gilligan's toothy smile was immediate. "It's sometimes 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 began, 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 occasional 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 morning' 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 Lambeth Duster Gang and they 'ave a sorta workin' arrangement with Dowson."
"Now that's interesting," said MacDonald, ponderously.
"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 consider 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 frequently 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?"