The sound of the door being opened roused me after a period. With the complete lack of windows and nothing but artificial light, I had no idea of the time. My amber-eyed jailer stood within the door as I rose to my feet, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Also present was a scrawny little yellow man with a close-fitting black cap set directly on the middle of his head. He had a blue coat buttoned from neck to belt-line and loose-fitting pants. He shuffled into the room in slippers, a black silk sash in his hands.
For a moment, I envisioned a professional strangler, but he revealed a toothless grin and indicated for me to turn around. As he slipped the sash over my eyes, I suppressed an indication of relief with difficulty. My wrists were secured in front of me with a thin cord that felt no larger than string. However, it held me firmly and I could detect the odor of hemp. I was then led from the room.
Bound and blindfolded, my journey can only be recounted via sound and conjecture. I was led down corridors, up and down stairs and around corners, certainly no attempt to confuse me since I did not know where I was to start with. Another of many doors opened and I knew that I was in open air again. Now there was the smell and the sounds of the river, reaffirming my idea that Chu San Fu's lair was in Limehouse, though we could have been anywhere in the Thames estuary. Hands held me on either side. Something about the texture of the sleeve fabric led me to believe that my other attendants had been replaced. Certainly, my giant friend was no longer with me. Neither of the hands on my arms could approach his in size. Then I was maneuvered into a conveyance that had to be a hansom. As it assumed motion, I tried to keep alert to any impressions I might get, but could make little of our trip. I judged that we progressed for at least a half-hour with no more than one or two stops.
The sound of companion traffic seemed to increase. At one point, I was sure we crossed a bridge. Then the hansom came to a halt. There was the clatter of a dray, the sound of voices and close by I heard an internal combustion engine of some kind come to life. I opened my mouth to make a comment and a thin palm instantly covered it. A voice, not Oriental, cautioned me to remain quiet, and the manner was authoritative enough to encourage me to comply. Suddenly, the horse of our cab was gigged into action and we were in motion again. Our speed increased and, suddenly, the others who shared the hansom with me changed position. I was pushed to one side so that I was adjacent to the window of the cab. The blindfold was removed from my eyes.
The first sight was of another hansom progressing alongside and there was Holmes looking right at me with, I'm happy to say, an expression of intense relief. His eyes shifted to my captors, two in number I noted, and my friend nodded, seemingly a signal of agreement. I spied the coachman of Holmes's hansom, recognizing the form of Wakefield Orloff. Suddenly, I pictured the security agent jumping from cab to cab and disposing of those around me in jig time, something he was completely capable of doing. However, an agreement must have been reached and it seemed the terms were being mutually honored.
Orloff swung the hansom he was guiding closer to the one I was in and Holmes reached out with his long and wiry arm and passed an object to the outstretched hand of one of my captors—a small, dark man with a Balkan face. This Occidental—his companion was Western as well—took the object within our cab and removed the cloth bag that enveloped it, revealing the Golden Bird. He nodded to his companion who rapped on the roof of the hansom, which drew to a stop as did the one containing Holmes. I was urged from the hansom, which immediately took off to vanish in the traffic of the Strand. I scrambled into the adjacent hansom and leaned back in the seat with a sigh.
"My good Watson, you are all right, I trust?"
"Quite," I replied. "Actually, they treated me with considerable care."
Holmes's grunt had a tinge of menace. "I made it clear that if any harm befell you I would haunt their footsteps through eternity, if necessary."
He had a long-bladed knife in his hands with which he severed the cord binding my wrists and I was glad to massage circulation back into them.
"I cost you the statue," I began, in an apologetic manner.
"Purely a gesture, though Chu San Fu does not know this as yet. The Golden Bird will be returned to us shortly. I have plans regarding that. The important thing is that you are back, sound of mind and limb. What actually happened, ol' friend?"
As Orloff guided the vehicle back to Baker Street, I related my experiences and I have seldom heard my friend laugh so heartily as when I described my encounter with the Oriental criminal.
"Capital! Capital! I shall recommend a study of criminal psychology for Scotland Yard with you as dean, good Watson. No doubt, the Chinaman expected you to be frightened, or awed. That was his first surprise. Then he chose to appeal to your weaknesses to learn of my plans and to glean what knowledge he could of his burglar squad that has disappeared. Faced with an indignant and scornful doctor and threatened with a loss of face, he had to pause and regroup. The moment his emissary approached me, I pressed for a rapid exchange to get you out of the bounder's clutches. The statue was what he was after and since I agreed to the exchange plan on the spot, he jumped at the chance. When Chu San Fu discovers that the Golden Bird will not hatch a diamond for him, he will regret allowing himself to be pressed into rapid action. In his own heart, he will really lose face, a situation which we can exploit to the fullest".
19
The Revelations of the Royal Jeweler
203
It was late afternoon and I was most pleasantly ensonced in our Baker Street sitting room. Mrs. Hudson had clucked over my return insisting that a good meal was an absolute necessity. Since there were a number of guests, the dear woman ended up providing quite a spread, but she magically produced half a baked ham, a goodly portion of cold roast beef, cold cuts and even some paté-de-foie-gras-pie. Having taken a welcome bath, I made inroads on the provendor with some gusto, washing it down with good and heady stout.
Alec MacDonald accepted some of our best Irish whiskey for medicinal purposes. Both Holmes and Wakefield Orloff fancied an excellent vintage burgundy that I had chanced upon the year previous while Slim Gilligan was satisfied with a flagon of ale. The way the cracksman applied himself to the paté-de-foie-gras-pie made Holmes wince. I noted that my friend secured a goodly wedge for himself while he was still able to.
With so much criminological talent present, there had to be a council of war. However, the speculative and questioning nature of previous meetings was singularly absent. Action was the order of the day and firm convictions had supplanted tentative attitudes.
Possibly I have misrepresented the situation. Those allies of Holmes present were very definite in their thoughts. It was Holmes, the hero of so many tour de force solutions, who sounded the only questioning note.
"Gentlemen, I am much in your debt for recent assistance." Standing by the mantle, his noble head turned toward Inspector MacDonald. "The presence of any constables during the hansom exchange might well have panicked the forces of evil and our good Watson might not be with us now." His eyes swiveled to Gilligan and Orloff. "While there was reason to suspect the recovery of Watson would go smoothly, I felt more in command of the situation with you, Orloff, disguised as the cabbie and Slim curled up in the luggage compartment."