Frank Thomas - Sherlock Holmes and the Sacred Sword

It had been but the work of a moment and the resultant sounds had been inconsequential. The door was open, our guards were unconscious, and we were free.

Holmes retrieved the lamp from the floor with a sweep of his arm, and then he had the Mauser as well.

"We're going down, Schadie. This place is crawling with Chu San Fu's people. I think we can consider your payoff as made in full, so if you want to leave the way you came, why not?"

"I could do dot," replied Schadie. "But dot dere iss a Cherman gun vot you got, undt I know how to use it."

Holmes tossed the Mauser to the thief, who caught it effortlessly. "You are so good at following people, best to lag behind. If Watson and I are apprehended, they won't be looking for a third man."

"Zo—I'm der ace up der hole. Vell, ve giff it a try."

Chapter Nineteen

The Clash of Two Minds

One has to become acclimated to rapidly changing situations when associated with the world's greatest detective. While I accompanied Holmes down the dark corridor outside our former cell, my brain spinning like a child's top, I was able to retain a grip on reality by virtue of the fact that positions had been switched in a similar manner in past cases as well. Only a few moments before, we had been the imprisoned ones, and now it seemed we were cast in the role of the stalkers.

Holmes had kept the lamp, and its illumination guided us to a flight of stairs leading downward. Nowhere were there light fixtures or furnishings, and the building was but a deserted shell that housed the apparatus of Chu San Fu.

"What exactly are we doing, Holmes?" I queried in a soft whisper not only inspired by a desire for secrecy but by our stark surroundings as well.

"Searching for confirmation. Since a metalworker requires heat, I feel that will be available in the furnace area of this extensive rum."

Holmes did not elaborate on this thought and as we progressed downward, our ears attuned to any sound, it hardly seemed the time to badger him. The myriad questions that fluttered through my mind like aimless butterflies could remain unanswered for the moment. My principal concern was some means of removing ourselves from the crumbling walls of masonry that surrounded us, producing much the same depressing sensation that I had suffered through within the great pyramid.

Shadow Schadie must have been following in our wake, though no sight or sound served as a clue to his presence.

It occurred to me that if this ruin was teeming with the followers of the Oriental master-criminal, we were marching round in a most free and open manner. As though to confirm this thought, when we rounded a corner leading to the second landing, Holmes and I found ourselves face to face with a pair of villainous-looking Arabians.

Holmes immediately began speaking, quite loudly, in the fluent German that, along with other languages, he had mastered during his boyhood travels on the Continent: "These words are for your ears, Schadie. We are facing two more Arabs, no doubt looking for the other two in the cell. Delay them by all means, ol' chap."

With a half-gesture, Holmes acknowledged the presence of the Arabs who were gazing at us in surprise and then shouldered past them, leading me by the elbow.

I noted one of the Arabians shrug at the other, and then they continued up the stairs we had just vacated. As they disappeared, I let out a deep sigh.

"What, by all that is holy, did you do, Holmes? Hypnotize them?"

"Merely assumed that this is a multilingual establishment, Watson. A potpourri of dissidents, opportunists, and mercenaries of crime, not all known to each other. Those Arabs are looking for our two guards who have not returned, and I instructed Schadie to dispose of them."

"Rather imagine he will. Seems like an efficient chap though he was critical of your methods, Holmes."

"We shall not take umbrage at Mr. Schadie's manner, Watson. After all, he can walk up walls and did so in our behalf."

There were now sounds, previously inaudible, in this rambling wreck of a place. They were not distinguishable but merely joined forces with the feel of people present somewhere. One in particular remained constant, and it was towards this that Holmes directed our footsteps.

"Internal combustion engine of some sort, Watson. From the narrow stairwell and the lack of traffic, I would say we are descending the back stairs, which should lead to the area that we seek."

It did so somewhat faster than I anticipated, though we did not encounter any more stray members of the criminal conspiracy that we were in the middle of, and unarmed at that. With the thought that Schadie might be occupied elsewhere with the disposal of the two ruffians we had met on the stairs, I felt the lack of a backup person in this mad adventure. I was casting a worried glance over my shoulder when I felt Holmes tense at my side. In front of us loomed a door, and there was a definite indication of light on the far side. Holmes extinguished the lamp that had guided us, and we made for the portal.

It proved unlocked. Holmes eased the door open, and the first thing I saw was an iron railing. Peering over the sleuth's shoulder, I could see a large room with its floor at a lower level. Now the cyclical sound of an engine was quite apparent. This had to be the boiler room of the building, and the door through which we peered opened on a narrow catwalk running its length. I assumed that further on there was a flight of iron stairs leading to the basement level. What captured my eyes was a number of men busily engaged in some process, the purpose of which I could not divine.

In the center of the sizable area was a table, much like that of a draftsman, and seated by it on a high stool was a tall man of advanced years. He was peering with a hand glass at a gleaming object that I estimated was four feet in length and at least two and a half feet wide. The basement chamber was brightly lit and the tablet, for such it was, glistened. Its reflected light was that which, through the centuries, has driven men to prodigious efforts and to deeds that promote a shudder. It was the yellow gleam of gold that has fired the furnaces of greed throughout history. But the tablet, whose worth in rare metal must have been enormous, seemed of no concern to the man at the table. He was studying the inscriptions that covered it and referring to a number of photographs spread out on the table along with several lithographs.

"Memory Max," whispered Holmes. "Possibly it was his name that led me down the wrong trail. I recalled his fame as one of those rare photographic-memory types and did not consider relevant that he was also a master forger."

Holmes's words would not have been audible five feet from where we were standing. Perhaps it was a subconscious recognition of the fact that his name had been used that caused the man at the table in the basement to suddenly raise his head, and then, to my horror, he turned and was looking straight at us. The light of the large room penetrated through the half-open door that was our observation post, and I saw Memory Max suddenly spring to his feet in alarm, his mouth opening to sound a warning.

Holmes closed the door quickly, seizing me by the arm and propelling me back along the corridor that we had traversed.

"We were spotted, Watson, worse luck. But all is not lost. Let us strategically make ourselves known of our own volition."

We were rushing towards the front of the building. Then it dawned on me what Holmes intended to do.

"Good Lord, you are not just going to brazenly burst in on Chu, are you? Let us take to our heels, Holmes."

"We're outnumbered and surrounded, ol' fellow. When all is lost, attack! A theory that you used quite effectively in your adventure with Loo Chan, if you will recall."