The Chinaman could not tolerate the position he was in and rose, with an attempt at dignity, so that his face was on the same level as my own.
'Doctor Watson, as you have anticipated, you are being used as barter in a trade which I will propose to Mr. Holmes. Your stay in my—ah—establishment— may be for some time. Holmes is not without resources and he may delay the exchange by use of subterfuge. There is not reason that your sojourn should not be pleasant.'
Suddenly, he clapped his hands and a portion of one of the hangings was raised. Two exquisite Chinese girls stepped into the room. They could not have been more than sixteen with smooth oval faces and docile almond eyes. Their robes were of a tighter fit than is common, enhancing slim, nubile forms.
'Good food and spirits and companionship can help while away the hours, Doctor.'
This charlatan had the effrontery to almost leer at me, as though we two men of the world understood such things. I drew myself up with an expression of haughty disdain.
'Sir, it is plain that we are wasting time. You would, no doubt, like to hear my views as to what Mr. Holmes has discovered and what his next steps might be. After my return, that is. If I return,' I added, before he could make that obvious comment.
'Now, really,' I continued, before he could regain the initiative, 'what would I, who am no more than a biographer, know of the workings of the greatest mind in England. If I did, do you honestly believe that I would reveal anything to you?' I tried to infuse that last statement with sufficient scorn. 'This is England, sir. Here, we are made of sterner stuff.'
Chu San Fu angrily clapped his hands and the two girls disappeared from view. How many other followers were lurking within earshot I shall never know but the Oriental looked as though he wished no one had been present during our interchange. He turned his back on me for a moment and I could see he was breathing deeply. Then he flicked a finger at the small gong on his desk and there was a treble-sounding chime. Immediately, the panel through which I had entered slid open. My giant escort stood in the entrance with his bulging arms folded over his massive chest. Chu San Fu turned back toward me.
'You shall return to your place of confinement and we will see what Mr. Holmes's next move will be.'
'Whatever it is,' I replied, with considerable bravado, 'it will entail the element of surprise.'
As I began to retrace my steps, I noted a naked expression of worry in the Chinaman's eyes. Holmes had been right. Chu San Fu was a planner and a departure from the norm had thrown him off guard. I positively swaggered from the room.
My huge guardian escorted me back through the maze of underground passageways. It seemed that we followed the same route we had traversed before and I was struck again by the idea that this headquarters of the Oriental criminal was nothing more than a miniature underground city. Other humans were present. I could sense it, but we saw no one as we trod the dirt flooring back to the cubicle in which I had awakened. All the tunnels must have required the labor of large numbers of people and I wondered how the excavated dirt was disposed of. The thought that Chu San Fu might have made use of an abandoned spur of the underground crossed my mind and I made note to mention it to Holmes as a possible clue to the whereabouts of this hideaway.
My captor waited till I had seated myself in the cubicle and I sensed that he would assume guard duties outside my tiny prison with the stoic patience of an Oriental. Suddenly, I thought of the cellar at 221B Baker Street and a huge Chinaman being disposed of by Wakefield Orloff.
'You have a brother?' I asked, as my jailer prepared to leave.
Unwinking amber eyes regarded me and his shaved bullet head moved in a slight nod.
'He is quite all right. In good hands.'
It may have been my imagination but it seemed the amber eyes softened. Again, the giant turned to leave. Before closing the door to my room, he glanced inside again. 'You all light?'
I nodded that I was. The door closed. A small candle illuminated my limited quarters. Outside the door, I heard the lock being engaged. Slim Gilligan could have opened that lock in less than a minute. The door seemed sufficiently flimsy that even I could have executed an escape. However, I could certainly not get free of my massive guard so I abandoned any plans of freeing myself.
Had I been privy to certain beliefs of India, I might have passed the time contemplating my navel. Instead, I thought back on the strange trail of the Golden Bird. Obviously, Chu San Fu expected to barter me for the Bird. Actually, I was not overconcerned about the situation, knowing that Holmes could surrender the statue without any great loss. The treasure it had concealed was no longer there. Comforted by the thought that I had not placed my friend in too difficult a position, I fell off to sleep. ...
The sound of the door being opened roused me after a period. With the complete lack of windows and nothing but artificial light, I had no idea of the time. My amber-eyed jailer stood within the door as I rose to my feet, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Also present was a scrawny little yellow man with a close-fitting black cap set directly on the middle of his head. He had a blue coat buttoned from neck to belt-line and loose-fitting pants. He shuffled into the room in slippers, a black silk sash in his hands.
For a moment, I envisioned a professional strangler, but he revealed a toothless grin and indicated for me to turn around. As he slipped the sash over my eyes, I suppressed an indication of relief with difficulty. My wrists were secured in front of me with a thin cord that felt no larger than string. However, it held me firmly and I could detect the odor of hemp. I was then led from the room.
Bound and blindfolded, my journey can only be recounted via sound and conjecture. I was led down corridors, up and down stairs and around corners, certainly no attempt to confuse me since I did not know where I was to start with. Another of many doors opened and I knew that I was in open air again. Now there was the smell and the sounds of the river, reaffirming my idea that Chu San Fu's lair was in Limehouse, though we could have been anywhere in the Thames estuary. Hands held me on either side. Something about the texture of the sleeve fabric led me to believe that my other attendants had been replaced. Certainly, my giant friend was no longer with me. Neither of the hands on my arms could approach his in size. Then I was maneuvered into a conveyance that had to be a hansom. As it assumed motion, I tried to keep alert to any impressions I might get, but could make little of our trip. I judged that we progressed for at least a half-hour with no more than one or two stops.
The sound of companion traffic seemed to increase. At one point, I was sure we crossed a bridge. Then the hansom came to a halt. There was the clatter of a dray, the sound of voices and close by I heard an internal combustion engine of some kind come to life. I opened my mouth to make a comment and a thin palm instantly covered it. A voice, not Oriental, cautioned me to remain quiet, and the manner was authoritative enough to encourage me to comply. Suddenly, the horse of our cab was gigged into action and we were in motion again. Our speed increased and, suddenly, the others who shared the hansom with me changed position. I was pushed to one side so that I was adjacent to the window of the cab. The blindfold was removed from my eyes.
The first sight was of another hansom progressing alongside and there was Holmes looking right at me with, I'm happy to say, an expression of intense relief. His eyes shifted to my captors, two in number I noted, and my friend nodded, seemingly a signal of agreement. I spied the coachman of Holmes's hansom, recognizing the form of Wakefield Orloff. Suddenly, I pictured the security agent jumping from cab to cab and disposing of those around me in jig time, something he was completely capable of doing. However, an agreement must have been reached and it seemed the terms were being mutually honored.
Orloff swung the hansom he was guiding closer to the one I was in and Holmes reached out with his long and wiry arm and passed an object to the outstretched hand of one of my captors—a small, dark man with a Balkan face. This Occidental—his companion was Western as well—took the object within our cab and removed the cloth bag that enveloped it, revealing the Golden Bird. He nodded to his companion who rapped on the roof of the hansom, which drew to a stop as did the one containing Holmes. I was urged from the hansom, which immediately took off to vanish in the traffic of the Strand. I scrambled into the adjacent hansom and leaned back in the seat with a sigh.
'My good Watson, you are all right, I trust?'
'Quite,' I replied. 'Actually, they treated me with considerable care.'
Holmes's grunt had a tinge of menace. 'I made it clear that if any harm befell you I would haunt their footsteps through eternity, if necessary.'
He had a long-bladed knife in his hands with which he severed the cord binding my wrists and I was glad to massage circulation back into them.
'I cost you the statue,' I began, in an apologetic manner.
'Purely a gesture, though Chu San Fu does not know this as yet. The Golden Bird will be returned to us
