up the Golden Bird as a means of removing himself from the scene.'
'Pray continue,' said Holmes, with approval.
'Chu San Fu's motive is certainly clear. Where could he get a comparable stone to adorn his daughter? Both Doctor Bauer and Streeter referred to similar diamonds, but they would be hard come by being owned by ruling houses or titled men of wealth. How he learned that the Pigott existed is not clear.'
'Nor to me,' admitted my friend. 'Relative to Chu San Fu, let me interject some heartening news. You will recall that when his lawyer, Loo Chang, left here, I had arranged for Slippery Styles to be on his trail. That investment of effort produced rich dividends. Styles stuck with the Oriental and located his secret office. On my orders, Slim Gilligan burglarized said premises securing the lawyers files on the illegal activities of his client. Even now the Limehouse Squad is gloating over a veritable blueprint of Chu San Fu's illicit operations. In short order all of his opium dens, houses of prostitution, and similar noisome ventures will be shut down. I said I'd smash Chu San Fu, Watson, and we have.'
As was so often the case, I regarded Holmes with a slack jaw. He had crushed a kingpin of crime who had laughed at the law for years and now revealed the fact as a mere afterthought.
In Holmes's mind, the matter being a fait accompli Chu San Fu now commanded little attention. This was evidenced by his next words.
'Back to the matter of the fabulous gem, Watson How the Oriental crime tzar or Jonathan Wild, master criminal of the past century, became privy to its existence is a matter of speculation.'
'Our client, Vasil D'Anglas, must know more about the stone and its hiding place than anyone else,' I stammered.
'True,' agreed Holmes,' and it would seem that the very man you mention, who can resolve the entire matter, has just alighted from a hansom at our door.'
But a short time later, I heard a heavy and labored tread on our stairs. The ascent was interrupted by frequent stops but, finally, Vasil D'Anglas, breathing heavily, made his way into our rooms.
When Holmes and I had visited D'Anglas in Berlin, the man had not presented an attractive picture. Now. though the passage of time had been short, his appearance had worsened. His forehead seemed more craggy and overhung dull and deep-set eyes. His skin was shocking. Coarse and wrinkled with a dry, scaly look, the man reminded me of an elephant. While a surface examination seldom proved accurate, I had diagnosed his trouble in Berlin as acromegaly, a rare condition produced by the malfunction of the pituitary. It was with difficulty that I suppressed a desire to question our visitor regarding his problem. He had to know that his condition was critical and worsening, and certainly had placed himself in the hands of Berlin doctors. I recalled, from a series of articles in 'The Lancet,' that the Germans had involved themselves in more research into the mysterious pituitary gland than had our medical people. Just as well for our client that Holmes secured the Golden Bird when he did, for D'Anglas's sands were certainly running low, I thought.
Then my mind flashed back to our interview with Lindquist who had died the next day. Selkirk had just fallen before the grim reaper. Had someone, at that moment, offered me the golden roc as a gift, I would have refused it with enthusiasm. My mind directed a similar distaste toward the great diamond still resting in my breast pocket and I vowed to remove the fatal object from my person as soon as possible. Of a sudden, I felt that it radiated decay and death and that I would be contaminated by exposure to the priceless Pigott. A stimulated imagination can prompt weird fantasies.
D'Anglas, having greeted us both, had lowered himself ponderously into the chair adjacent to our desk. I secured his top hat from the man, placing it on the end table, but he clung to the thick, oaken cane, which aided his stumbling steps. The head of the stick was a heavy piece of bronze in the shape of a hammer. It seemed of Arabic design and I felt would have been of interest to a curator of antiques.
'Mr. Holmes, your cable filled me with joy. The despondency, which had weighed my soul ever since the news from Constantinople that the Bird had been stolen from Hassim's shop, was lifted.'
His face shifted briefly in my direction and then returned to Holmes. 'There cannot be another disappointment. Tell me that you have the statue.'
Holmes, his pipe in his mouth, gave a slight nod.
The man's sigh of relief was akin to ecstasy. 'Possibly it is not too late.' A keenness infiltrated his dull eyes. 'Let me savor this moment,' he said. 'Tell me, sir, how came you by the Bird?'
'As a gift or a payment,' said Holmes. 'Either interpretation has merit.'
'I would like to see it.' For the first tune, D'Anglas's face reflected anxiety.
'Shortly.' Holmes's manner was reassuring. 'There is some information I would like to secure.'
D'Anglas shoulders lifted in a shrugging motion. It was like movement of a water buffalo. The man was glandularly deformed but he certainly seemed powerful, an impression strengthened by his oversized, knobby hands.
'Mr. Holmes, I have told you of the search for the Bird by my family. I spoke the truth.'
'I know that you did. It is just that the story interests me and there is a great deal you did not tell.'
D'Anglas's oversized face hardened. 'You have the Bird. May I see it?'
'Of course.'
Holmes crossed to the desk. Opening the second drawer, he removed the statue and passed it across the desk to our visitor.
The roc was dwarfed in D'Anglas's hand and he peered at the masterpiece for a long time. Then his knobby fingers with swollen joints oscillated in a gentle movement like the scales in a gold-assayer's office. The creases in his overhanging forehead deepened.
'The weight is not what I expected.'
Holmes seated himself behind the desk, his eyes never leaving D'Anglas.
'The diamond is no longer in the base.'
D'Anglas's hand tightened and, for a moment, I thought that he would crush the statue in his grasp, but his movement was momentary. Ponderously, he reached toward the desk surface, depositing the Golden Bird there. His hand rejoined its mate in his lap and round the strange handle of his stout walking stick.
'You know.'
'Almost everything,' was the detective's response.
'What of the diamond?'
'I have that as well.'
The goldsmith's body had been inclined forward toward Holmes and now he leaned back, the frame of the chair creaking. His expression mirrored relief but there was a tinge of surprise as well.
'Am I to have the Pigott or does the pursuit go on?'
'I discussed this with Doctor Watson. When you commissioned Nils Lindquist to recover the statue, the diamond was still concealed within it. Since I fell heir to Lindquist's case, we consider that the return of the statue involves the passing of the gem into your hands as well.'
Two emotions—gratitude and astonishment—were fighting for supremacy on D'Anglas's face.
'But,' continued Holmes, 'I cannot afford to have loose ends lend confusion to my case histories. Not when answers are readily available. I have enough unresolved matters in my files now.'
My mind immediately flashed to the affair of 'The Engineer's Thumb' as well as that bizarre adventure of 'The Greek Interpreter.' Of course, 'The Case of Identity,' which Holmes had never brought to even a successful conclusion, had bothered him for years.
Holmes's manner had convinced D'Anglas that there was no sly ploy involved and he hastened to fall in with the suggestion of the great sleuth.
'If, as a bonus, your only request is the complete story, my knowledge now belongs to you. The quest of the Bird and what was within it has been the driving purpose of the ill-fated D'Anglas line for three generations.'
If there was anything Holmes enjoyed more than a good story, it was a strange tale that coincided with his conjecture. It was he who now sat back in his chair with an expression of anticipation.
'We can dispense with the history of the Bird prior to this century. Let us begin at the court of Ali Pasha of Albania when the Pigott Diamond and the statue became one.'
The goldsmith complied.
'Jean D'Anglas was a professional soldier, who first followed the banner of
