Lion of Janina. French by birth, he began to yearn for the peace of family life and applied his not inconsiderable talents to the goldsmith trade. Ali Pasha was a despot and a wealthy one, but he was a great fancier of art objects and much could be learned in his court. Of course, the ruler's main passion was diamonds.'
Holmes never liked to be completely left out of an explanation and made a comment to indicate his familiarity with the narrative. 'Passion, indeed! Was it not in 1818 that Ali Pasha paid Rundell and Bridge, the London jewelry firm, one hundred and fifty thousand pounds for the Pigott?' His eyes shifted to me. 'Truly, an amazing price for the time. Can you imagine the worth of the gem now?'
D'Anglas's pendulous lips exhibited a small smile that carried with it a touch of bitterness.
'Sometimes there is more at stake than worth,' he said. 'You know of the ruler's receiving a fatal wound and his summoning my grandfather to his side in his last moments. My forefather had been working on the Golden Bird, repairing the base, and had the statue in his hands when he hastened to Ali Pasha's throne room. The wife of the Albanian, Vasilikee, had also been summoned. The three were alone when Ali Pasha gave his final orders. My grandfather was to take the diamond, which the Albanian always kept in a pouch tucked in his sash, and smash it. Following this, he was to kill Vasilikee. With the destruction of his two most precious possessions, Ali Pasha felt that he would be able to die in peace. My grandfather was at a crossroads since he had established a clandestine relationship with Vasilikee. Fortunately, he did not have to face a decision for the Lion of Janina died.'
Though privy to a part of this tale. I did indulge in a sign of relief, which the goldsmith acknowledged with his dull eyes.
'Those were cruel times, Doctor, but knowing that his master was gone, my grandfather acted instinctively. In his hand was the fabled gem and there was the Golden Bird, its base still warm from fresh-poured gold. He pressed the diamond into the bottom of the statue and was artisan enough to remove the surplus gold and smooth the base. When the gold cooled and hardened, the Pigott was safely concealed in a perfect hiding place. Jean had Vasilikee secure some small diamonds and he smashed them to represent the wreckage of the great stone. He announced the death of his ruler and the ruination of the diamond. The court of Albania was in a turmoil, with various pretenders striving for the throne and the specter of Constantinople everywhere on the scene. My grandfather and Vasilikee were able to steal away without causing comment.'
'The king is dead! Long live the king!' said Holmes.
'Jean D'Anglas and Vasilikee had a Christian wedding soon after. They chose to bide their time as regards the statue, on the theory that it would not drop from sight. My grandfather was adept to the goldsmith trade and prospered. The Golden Bird returned to the Ottoman capital and he made plans to secure it. But then the unanticipated thrust its surprising head upon the scene. The Bird was stolen from the Ottoman court by an aide of the Sultan who had fallen from favor. Choosing to flee the wrath of the Turkish overlord, he undoubtedly seized the statue because it was at hand and gold is a commodity of value anywhere. Only two people knew that the Pigott diamond still existed. But when the Bird disappeared, my grandfather was in a frenzy. He made every effort to locate the object, to no avail. He was a man obsessed. Everything had been risked for the great gem encased in a tomb of gold and now it was gone. Finally, he enlisted the aid of the English master-criminal, Jonathan Wild, to find the statue.'
Holmes had to be delighted to hear his theories confirmed and he was nodding with the story.
'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.'
