Frank Thomas - Sherlock Holmes and the Golden Bird

"Nils Lindquist had made some discoveries in the matter of the missing golden object and I have been able to pick up parts of the trail he was following."

For reasons of his own, Holmes did not choose to mention Barker, the Surrey investigator, and his sad end.

"No doubt you can fill in a few pieces in this puzzle," continued Holmes. "But, first, do we understand that our visit today surprised you?"

"I guess not," was the reply. "Correspondence can hardly equal a personal confrontation. Do allow me to provide any facts at my disposal."

Holmes leaned back in his chair thoughtfully and directed a quick glance in my direction. Evidently, a suspicion of his had been confirmed.

"Mr. D'Anglas, did you not send me a cable in London requesting Dr. Watson and myself to come here to Berlin?"

The thick skin of the man's face twitched and his expression of surprise was a quick thing in comparison to his previous ponderous movements.

"I certainly did not, sir."

"There has been no recent news, no event that has cast light on the disappearance of your possession?" persisted Holmes.

"None at all. But this telegram? ..."

"Was signed with your name. No great problem, that. But it presents interesting grounds for speculation. I must assume that Doctor Watson and I were decoyed away from London. Therefore, something is going to happen there, probably already has, that is connected with this case."

D'Anglas was nodding again. A sharp note of interest livened his slow and pedantic speech. "This bogus telegram, if it was to serve the purpose you suggest, certainly indicates that the Bird is in London."

"And that someone involved with the Bird knew not only that you had instigated a search for it, but that I was involved."

"My interest in locating it is obvious since I am the legal owner. However, before you ask, let me state that I have not mentioned your taking over the case to anyone."

"Yet someone knew," I said.

D'Anglas looked at me in surprise as though he had forgotten my presence.

"An immediate question," said Holmes. "After the Bird disappeared in Constantinople, you secured the services of an art expert in England. What prompted that move?"

"The current market in art. The Golden Bird is a well-known piece. The finest private collections these days are in England. I assumed that the Bird was stolen not for the worth of the gold but for its appeal to a collector."

"Which answers, in part, another question," commented Holmes. "An object of that size would weigh, I assume, in the vicinity of three pounds."

"Two pounds, seven ounces."

"Hmmm," said Holmes, calculating mentally. "Thirty-nine ounces, then."

"Actually thirty-one, Mr. Holmes. Troy ounces are the weight measure used for gold and there are twelve troy ounces to a pound."

"Interesting," commented the sleuth who was seldom corrected on a technical matter. "With the finest gold at certainly no more than six English pounds per ounce, we have an object whose metal value would be around one-hundred and eighty-six pounds. Less than a thousand American dollars."

Something kindled for a moment in D'Anglas's lackluster eyes and then disappeared. "You wonder at the great interest this object, whose intrinsic value is limited, stimulates. But consider the workmanship. There is another factor, of course. Collectors are generally romanticists. If an object has a colorful history it has additional appeal."

"If there is a story that goes with it," murmured Holmes, almost to himself. "Well, the Bird has been much-traveled. The Tartar capital of Samarkand, the Russian and French court, Napoleon, then the Dutch bankers. Lindquist outlined some of its history and left other details in his case report. I note that its presence was known for a considerable period and then it began disappearing."

D'Anglas was obviously dealing with a subject of fascination to him and, not surprisingly, was well-informed.

"Following the fire in the dealer's shop in Amsterdam, the Bird did disappear. But it is definitely known that it was displayed in the museum in Dubrovnik around 1810. You will recall that the walled city blunted the sword of Islam when the muslem tide engulfed other parts of the Balkans. It is reasonably well-established that the Bird was given to the Turks as part of a peace offering. Then it vanished again."

"Until it turned up in a shop on the Island of Rhodes and was stolen. Then it vanished again, resurfacing in Constantinople." Holmes's voice dwindled away and he seemed in a deep brown study.

"Obviously, something intrigues you about this series of events, Mr. Holmes."

The sleuth nodded. There was a touch of irritation in his manner, indicating that a thread of thought was proving annoyingly elusive.

"The Tartars probably gained the Bird as a prize of conquest. After all, they systematically looted a large portion of the civilized world of their time. It's progress from the Russians to the French and, finally, the Dutch bankers is reasonable. The fact that it disappeared after a fire is not unusual. It might have been discovered by almost anyone in the ruins and its worth not realized. Its passage from the Serbians to the Turks is also straightforward. But then something happened. It appears in Rhodes and is stolen. In its long history this is the first definite indication of criminal involvement and quite a criminal at that. As soon as it appeared in Constantinople, it was stolen again."

"Your facts are accurate, Mr. Holmes, but what thought do they prompt?" D'Anglas's elephantine face was regarding Holmes intently. Had a tinge of alarm crept into his manner?

"The facts warrant an assumption," said Holmes. "Between the time the Bird was in the possession of the Turks and its appearance on the Island of Rhodes, something happened. Something made the statue more valuable."

D'Anglas permitted himself a smile. "The interest in collections grew, Mr. Holmes. Also an appreciation of fine craftsmanship and ancient artifacts. With the coming of modern times, art objects are not as plentiful as in times gone by."

"And your interest in the Bird, Mr. D'Anglas?" Holmes's tone was casual, but I had a feeling that this was a major piece in the puzzle he was fitting together.

The man spread his large and knobby hands. "Call it a compulsion, sir. I am a goldsmith by trade as was my father and his father before him. It was my grandfather who first fell under the spell of the Bird. Drawings of it exist you know. He felt that the ancient object was the finest example of his art in existence. His passion for the golden roc must have been communicable, for my father was equally obsessed with the desire to possess it. Being without family, I am able to indulge myself somewhat and the pursuit of the Bird has become the driving force in my life as well."

The man's dull eyes had been sparked with an inner light for a moment but now the mental fire was banked. "For a wondrous moment I felt that the quest of three generations was ended and that the Bird would be mine before my time had come. Now, alas, I'm not so sure."

My medical training would not let this ominous remark go unchallenged. "Surely, you are a man not beyond the prime of life. Your magnum opus still lies within your reach."

D'Anglas's face slowly registered appreciation for my encouragement. "Nils desperandum," he muttered. Then his mood shifted and became grim. "However, my family is short-lived on the male side. Unless . . ."

His ponderous jaws snapped shut and he summoned a smile that was more an exercise of his facial muscles than any reflection of mirth. His massive head shifted toward Holmes. "My general health and longevity potential are of no assistance to you in your search. Tell me, sir, is there any other information regarding the Bird which I can furnish you?"