Standing on the floor, it seemed no more than four feet in height. Small eyes, which were flicked with yellow, searched the room, and I was careful to remain frozen at my vantage point. Finally the figure moved, or rather glided with the grace of a wild animal, and I was reminded of the quick but fluid motion of a weasel. The creature gave scant attention to the furnishings, once convinced that the room was empty, but surprised me by crossing to the bay window and, after some effort, succeeded in opening it. I could not fathom what this strange form of humanity was up to and was further bemused when it returned to the center of the room, peering at the bookshelf with a nervous glance. Then it clambered onto the chair to survey the desk top and evidently found the object of its search. The ornamental dagger that Cruthers had brought with him was plainly visible, and a tiny hand scooped it up. I thought the figure would hop down from the chair, but primitive curiosity took over and the blade was drawn from the scabbard and tested on the tongue of the creature. Then the dagger was returned to its sheath and the figure did descend to the floor as the front door swung open and the beam of a bull's-eye lantern fixed the native in its light. There was a high-pitched, tinny sound from the small throat and, dropping the Egyptian dagger, the creature shot across the room and without pause dove through the bay window!
I was in the room myself now, and as I ignited one of the lamps I heard the sound of a horse suddenly in the outer darkness. There was the lash of a whip and the hoof sounds accelerated and there was the rumble of wheels.
Holmes, by the window, was peering out, but in a moment his face turned to me with a woebegone expression.
"I've been had, Watson. Outwitted, and by a pigmy, no less."
"But Holmes," I sputtered, "what happened?"
"I should have known when the little devil opened the window. We had him cornered, but he sailed out of the window and into a wagonload of hay, which is how he intended to leave our quarters even had he not been discovered. The hay wagon is four blocks away by now, and we shall never find it. Our little friend has made a clean getaway, but he didn't take what he was after. We can console ourselves with that."
"He was after the dagger, of course. Why?"
"Possibly that cartouche reveals something of its point of origin. Evidently, Chu San Fu doesn't want the ancient blade in our possession."
"Ah, then this pigmy was sent by the Chinaman?"
"You know Chu's methods, Watson. He employs dacoits, Lascars, and other unusual types with strange aptitudes. I'll give him credit for a most ingenious scheme of gaining entry here."
Holmes was closing the bay window as he spoke. "Fortunately, there was not enough sound to rouse the household. Best we not mention a barefooted pigmy to Mrs. Hudson, for she might not sleep soundly for a week."
His remark brought an alarming thought into focus in my mind.
"If the pigmy is one of Chu San Fu's bizarre entourage, then the Oriental must know of your involvement."
"It would seem so, Watson. I'll have the golden box taken to Mycroft tomorrow. Possibly it will be informative to him, though I doubt it. Just a device to get the little devil in here." Locking the front door, he made for the bedroom stairs again. "I'll also have the house watched during our absence."
"Then tomorrow it is off to Surrey?"
"Why not? We may pick up the trail of the insidious Chu San Fu quicker there than here in London."
"A moment, Holmes. This chap, Deets—or Spaulding—"
"For the time, let us refer to him by his assumed name, Deets."
"Very good. But I don't recall his giving you directions."
"Mayswood, the name of his residence, was enough, my good Watson."
And on this puzzling note, Holmes retired to his bedroom.
With my lights extinguished for the night, a myriad of thoughts tried to march down the corridors of my mind. Long experience with the affairs of Sherlock Holmes allowed me to erect roadblocks, and sleep was not long in coming. However, it was invaded by filmy figures spawned from the imagination. Wild horsemen thundered over an endless sea of sand with pyramid shapes in the background sharply defined by a blazing sun. Each nomad had sharply filed teeth and was swinging a huge, curved, scimitar-shaped weapon. Heads will roll, I thought before sinking into total oblivion.
Chapter Five
Surrey Interlude
Mid-morning on the following day found Holmes and myself at Waterloo Station where the sleuth purchased two tickets to Litchfield.
Our train journey to Surrey was uneventful. During most of it my friend leaned back in his seat with his hat pulled over his eyes, his chin sunk on his chest and his long legs stretched out before him. He might have been catnapping, or his brain could just as easily have been churning. I guessed that neither was the case and that he was, instead, disassociating himself from our discussion with his brother and the events of the previous evening so that he could approach the Deets mansion and its problems with a clear mind. It was Holmes's contention that a brain free of supposition and unclouded by half-truths was like an unused photographic plate, ready to take impressions.
A four-wheeler awaited our arrival at the station and whisked us into the countryside. The rain had passed through the area on its way to London and the greens were greener because of it. A spring sun projected lukewarm rays to brighten the scene, and everywhere was a soft, almost melodious sound as swollen rivulets attempted to drain off the surface water that had accumulated during the torrents of the past few days.
As we wound through curved lanes bordered by hedges and trees eagerly displaying the first new growth of the season, there was the musty but not unpleasant odor of wet leaves and moist earth. Into these tranquil surroundings a seeming contradiction sprang to my mind and traveled to my lips.
"Did Deets mention why he lived down country?"
"It would seem your interest in the racing world is confined to the equines that you wager on, ol' fellow."
I admitted as much.
"But they had to come from somewhere. Mayswood is well known as a stud farm."
"By Jove, I have heard of it."
"But did not associate it with our client. No matter. Possibly you can secure some hot tips on potential winners of the future."
Our road now left the trees and progressed up a slope towards an imposing marble building, much as Deets had described it. I noted a considerable cluster of buildings in the rear, obviously stables, and white rail fences that subdivided lush meadowland. In one area there were several jumps, and everywhere there was the neat and clipped white-on-green one would expect at a breeding farm.
As we reached the crest of the incline, our carriage swept round the imposing house and we found Clyde—I forced myself to think of him as Deets—speaking to two gillies in the stable area. He crossed towards us immediately, a smile creasing his firm face.
"I trust your journey was pleasant, gentlemen."
"Quite," replied Holmes.
His busy eyes were absorbing the scene as were mine. A number of horses were being released to follow familiar paths towards pastures. Some of the animals were mature, powerful beasts given to demonstrate their fit condition with leaps and lashing feet as they gained momentum and streaked into the fenced areas that surrounded the establishment.
Our host, in riding trousers and cavalry boots with an open shirt, was a far cry from the dandy of the previous day. As he led us toward the mansion house, I could not suppress a question.