Frank Thomas - Sherlock Holmes and the Golden Bird

"You feel that Jean D'Anglas told Wild about the diamond?"

"It would seem he must have. Wild was old at this time. Though he sent out inquiries through his widespread organization, he was not successful. Shortly afterwards, Jonathan Wild died. My grandfather had contracted a strange and fatal malady and he died as well, leaving the legacy of the Golden Bird to my father. He also was a talented goldsmith and was commissioned by a Chinese noble to create some golden masques in Peking. When he completed his assignment in China, word spread of a robbery on Rhodes. Harry Hawker, now old himself, was recognized and as soon as the object of his theft was described, it was known that the Golden Bird had resurfaced again."

"Along with Harry Hawker," added Holmes. "Formerly, part of the Wild organization. Hawker had learned the secret of the Bird from his employer and when he recognized the statue in an obscure shop on Rhodes, he could not resist trying for it."

"That was my father's reconstruction, Mr. Holmes. The Rhodes robbery was in 1850, three years before I was born."

I gave a start which I hoped passed unnoticed. The man could not be so young.

"My father," our client continued, "made haste to return from China bringing with him a metal-worker of that country who had assisted him. As my mother told the story, it was rumored that Hawker had fled to Budapest so investigations were made there. In 1853, the year of my birth, a man was knifed on the waterfront of Constantinople. Something about the matter intrigued my father and he dispatched his Chinese assistant to Turkey. The man returned with the news that the victim was Harry Hawker. The Bird had disappeared again. The following year, my father, who had contracted the same dread affliction as Jean D'Anglas, died."

My medical background would not permit me to stifle a question at this point. "Then your own physical problem is of a hereditary nature?"

The oversized head turned to me and there was something strange in his deep-set eyes. "That fact, Doctor Watson, we can certainly accept. I, like those before me, was not only infected by a deformity but also by the compulsion to recover the Bird. I have pursued every lead, followed every rumor, for my entire adult life."

"This Oriental metal-worker you mentioned," said Holmes, who had gotten his pipe going again, "did he return to his native land after the passing of your father?"

Our client was nodding. "Yes, Mr. Holmes, and I agree with the thought that has occurred to you. The Chinaman was very close to my father."

The obvious crystallized in my mind. "Of course. That is how Chu San Fu learned about the Golden Bird."

Since my statement was not denied, I felt more of a part of this unraveling.

"After the death of Hawker," said Holmes, "better than thirty years passed before the Bird appeared again. Those who knew its secret sprang into action."

"It certainly did," said our client factually. "As did Chu San Fu."

"And Basil Selkirk," I exclaimed, and then corrected myself. "No, he learned about the diamond later."

"But now, the tale is told and the loose ends resolved. Watson, would you be good enough to place the object in your breast pocket on the desk?"

I was delighted to do so. The tale of fatalities and frustrations had made me all the more anxious to rid myself of the awesome diamond. Removing it from my handkerchief, I placed it on the desk's oaken surface and stepped back, relieved to be separated from the fascinating object.

Vasil D'Anglas, making use of his walking stick, levered himself up from his chair and stood staring down at the burst of brilliance that gleamed at us like a giant crystal eye. His deep, throaty voice had a removed quality, like a somnambulist's mumbling, but his words were audible.

"I am the first D'Anglas to view it since that fateful day in '22, yet it always has been ours. A thing of deadly beauty and the cause of the curse."

Suddenly, there was the gleam of the fanatic in his eyes and a wild look about his mouth. I saw Holmes step back from the desk and his hand went to his jacket pocket.

"Let the order be carried out." D'Anglas almost screamed this and then, to my astonishment, he moved with a speed of which I could not believe he was capable. His walking stick, clutched by its end, swirled about his head and then came crashing down on the stone. The bronze handle found its mark with astonishing accuracy and in an instant the magnificent gem was completely shattered into fragments and shards of crystal, devoid of value.

I have seldom seen Holmes astonished, but he was now. I was thunderstruck.

Panting, the wildness in our client's face disappeared to be replaced by a look of exaltation.

"Good heavens, man, what have you done?" I cried. Even as I spoke the words, I saw a look of sudden understanding pass over Holmes's face.

"Removed the curse," replied D'Anglas. There was a sharpness to his eyes that had not been there before. I explained it away as due to the violent emotions of the moment. "As a medical man, sir, you have no doubt diagnosed my affliction as glandular. The finest doctors of Europe suggest this, but they cannot name the fatal deformity which claimed my grandfather, my father, and has me in its embrace. I know what the doctors do not. Jean D'Anglas was ordered to shatter the diamond and, because of greed, he disobeyed. Since that tune, the curse of Ali Pasha has dogged my family."

Considering the events of the last minute, his voice was remarkably clam. He turned toward Holmes, whose lips were twitching, from self-castigation, no doubt.

"Mr. Holmes, I have committed no crime. Destruction of one's own property does not warrant that accusation. I have merely fulfilled my destiny. The debt has been paid. I leave you with the Golden Bird and my heartfelt thanks."

Before Holmes or I could think of a thing to say, he was gone. It sounds ridiculous but I swear he departed in a far more agile manner than he had entered.

Alone in our chambers, Holmes and I stared at each other. The climax of this strange case had certainly been unanticipated. A wry smile played round the mouth of the great detective.

" 'Ol chap, after all our adventures, it is you and I who end up with the statue. You might well say that we have been given the Bird."

About the Author

Physician, medical researcher, and man of letters, John Hamish Watson was the most painstaking and diligent biographer to grace the printed page. Born of an English father and Scottish mother in 1852, he spent his boyhood in Australia, returning to England to take his degree of Doctor of Medicine in 1878. Following a tour of Army duty in India, he was invalided back to England. There, because of the famous chance meeting with young Stamford at the Criterion Bar, he came in contact with that man who was to become his intimate friend and companion. The rest is history.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

SHERLOCK HOLMES AND THE GOLDEN BIRD

Copyright © 1979 by Frank Thomas

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

An original Pinnacle Books edition, published for the first time anywhere.

First printing, September 1979 ISBN: 0-523-40616-9 Cover illustration by David Mann

Printed in the United States of America

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