Sherlock Holmes and the Golden Bird

during the past two years. However, today the professor will experience a slight identity change. Not a noticable one or the idea is unsound.'

Completely amazed, I allowed Holmes to lead me from the mechanized bench that had miraculously transported us from one address to another and, before I knew it, had me seated before a sizeable dressing table with a large mirror. On the table top were a number of tubes and jars similar to ones I had seen Holmes perform miracles with before. Various wig-holders displayed a variety of toupees, beards and moustaches. Holmes surveyed my startled features in the mirror with a professional eagerness.

'We shall have to shadow your face quite a bit, you know. The professor is on the thin side. However, his luxuriant white beard is his most distinguishable feature and it does make it rather difficult to observe his features. Very near-sighted, too, you know. Wears thick glasses. Most people who view him have their eyes drawn to his hump and then look away.'

'Hump?'

'Oh yes. The professor is a hunchback, but he gets around rather nicely with the help of his cane.'

Over my futile protestations, Holmes was working a dark grease paint into my upper cheeks already.

'You know, Watson, this is going to work quite well. I should have had you play the professor before this. A nice touch to have Sherlock Holmes and the professor pass each other on the street.'

'Now see here, it's all very well for you to go charging off in a disguise, but I'm hardly the type for such play- acting.'

'Come now, Watson, it is much easier than it might seem. Most people give others no more than a cursory glance. Have I not, on many occasions, stated that the Homo sapiens looks but does not really see. Rather good reason for that. Most people are interested in themselves. The rest of the world they see, but not too much registers. However, for the sake of the prying eyes without that I am sure are there, we shall have you tidied up in Von Krugg's beard and glasses and with his loose-fitting clothes and the rather bent way that he walks, your tendency toward avoirdupois will be concealed. By the way, when you walk, be sure to swing your cane somewhat erratically. You must remember that. Small boys sometimes try and touch the back of a hunchback because of an old wives' tale of its being good luck. If you flail around a bit in a short-sighted way with your cane, such miscreants will make sure to avoid you.'

'But; Holmes, this is ridiculous. What, by all that is holy, gave you the idea of a hunchback?'

'The anticipation of just such a situation as we face today. The back is the least of our problems since I have a splendid hump for you designed by Daziens of New York, according to my specifications. Inside the hump, of course, will be the Golden Bird.'

With my mouth hanging open in surprise, I must have looked like the dolt, indeed, but Holmes paid me no heed nor did he listen to my protestations, which grew fainter as he worked his legerdemain. Within fifteen minutes I did not recognize myself in the dressing-room mirror. I could have sworn that I could enter the Bagatelle Club without drawing one greeting.

As Holmes dressed me in a longish dark coat, somewhat shiny in spots, and the rest of the professor's regular habiliments, he cautioned me as to gestures and a shuffling walk. By this time, I was quite caught up with the idea, for the urge toward exhibitionism lurks within us all, however dormant. It was no easy job, for my friend rehearsed me strenuously like a dramatic director intent on a perfect performance for a thespian.

Some time later, I stood before Holmes with my shoulders hunched forward because of the ersatz hump attached to my back. Within it was secreted the Golden Bird.

'Now, Watson, should anyone address you, keep walking, by all means, and mumble something. Your German is passable enough for a few words. The professor knows very few people so there is little possibility of your being approached.

'Make your way to the Diogenes Club by the most direct route. I have a note here for my brother, Mycroft, with whom you will leave the Golden Bird. Once this is accomplished, remove the beard and make-up and the hump as well. The coat you are wearing is reversable. Pull the sleeves inside out and turn the garment around and you will find that it has a different appearance altogether. Mycroft will lend you a suitable hat. You can then return to our quarters as yourself.'

'But what will you be up to, Holmes? You'll be in danger.'

'Tut, tut, ol' fellow, do you think those two constables of MacDonald have eluded my notice? I shall make it apparent that I'm on the premises so that Chu's watchers will not think we've flown the coop. And I shall be available should the Oriental make some overture as regards the statue of the roc. You see that your debut in the field of drama will be most valuable to our cause.'

I was buoyed up by Holmes's assurance that mine was an important task, and my determination to make it a good show had an added impetus which I did not reveal to Holmes. I was most anxious to talk to his older brother, the very capable and influential Mycroft.

While the following half-hour was nerve-wracking, matters progressed as Holmes had anticipated. Departing from the edifice adjacent to our quarters, I wandered down the street, attempting to follow my friend's instructions, and my performance must have been passable since I could detect no one dogging my footsteps, nor did anyone greet me as I progressed from Baker Street toward Pall Mall and the mysterious Diogenes Club.

In the public mind, this highly respectable and sedate establishment was the haven for elderly gentlemen devoted to silence, where members could immerse themselves in the daily journals without bothersome remarks from or to fellow members. Conversation in the meeting rooms of the establishment was strictly forbidden. The idea was sufficiently bizarre to be completely acceptable and arouse no suspicions as to the real purpose of this most impressive citadel of silence.

As I mounted the stone steps and entered between the marble pillars to present my card at the desk, several venerable members were in evidence reading the financial news or dozing with a tot of port at their side and partially smoked cigars that had grown cold in mottled, shaky hands. But one can be remarkably observant when one knows what to look for. Several of these seemingly archaic members had a shoulder breadth unusual for their age and their beards and moustaches could well have been commercially produced, just as the pallor of their seemingly lined faces could have come from a master of make-up, as my stooped shoulders and bearded visage had. Evidently, I was expected, for the club manager who knew me gave no indication that my appearance baffled him but accepted my card and retreated from the main desk for a brief moment, returning and signaling for me to follow him.

My feet sunk in the Persian carpets that formed islands in the polished oak flooring, and I crossed toward an ironwood door leading from the entrance hall of the club and into the room, which I knew from experience served as one of Mycroft Holmes's offices. The door was lined with steel from within, but swung easily on massive hinges and then I was in the presence of the second most powerful man in England.

I had shared quarters with Sherlock Holmes for some years before realizing that his older brother was not the auditor for some little-known branch of the government but, instead, had created a unique position for himself in the small group that handled the reins of the Empire on which the sun never set. Prime ministers came and went, but the meticulous mind of Mycroft Holmes continued to collate information from all over the world and evaluate it and piece it together in the series of patterns that most influenced that policy of Her Majesty's government. Be there a whisper in the Montmartre or on some remote Tibetan mountain that might prove of import to the destiny of Britain and the organization created and headed by this large, dreamy-eyed man would relay it to their chief.

Though Holmes, after the crucible of time had forged the metal of our friendship, had never been evasive regarding his brother's influence or power or abilities, he had never voiced what I suspected was the actual truth, namely that Mycroft Holmes headed up England's intelligence operations. On paper, such an organization did not even exist and, while I was certain of the man's far-flung apparatus and his commitment to our nation's destiny, I had no curiosity to have my suppositions confirmed on the theory that 'tis best to let sleeping dogs lie.

The older Holmes's massive desk was, as usual, clear and tidy with no indication of the immense flow of business that passed over its surface daily. He greeted me with genuine warmth though when referring to his brother his manner, by habit, became slightly sardonic. During my association with both these quite amazing men, I had never detected the slightest rivalry or jealousy between them. Sherlock Holmes stated openly that his brother would make a superior detective if he could but pursue crime to the scene and follow the tedious paths that a thorough investigation required. Mycroft Holmes confessed himself completely incapable of doing so and contended that his brother's devious mind was better-suited to anticipating the potential paths of national policy then his own. Since each of the Holmes family offspring contended that the other could be the superior, they followed their chosen