The words were barely audible and there was a froth of blood in the corners of his mouth. 'Chu . . . it's Chu. . . .'
The colorless lips, stark against an ebony black face, tried to form more words, but the effort was too much. Suddenly the face fell to one side and the features sagged. His eyes had been closed tight as though screwed against pain, but now they opened as a final signal that the end had come.
My hands moved automatically, returning instruments to my valise. Then I gently closed those staring eyes, as inanimate now as two agate marbles.
In deference to a departed soul, there was a lengthy silence broken only by the somewhat stentorian breathing of Bertie standing alongside the whipcord body of my friend. I used pieces of the long silk sash to clean up the blood around the wounds in the corpse and then rose to my feet with a sigh.
''E went out like a man,' said Burlington Bertie to no one in particular.
'Best tell us about it.'
Holmes's eyes found mine, and after depositing the bloodstained silk in our wastebasket, I made for the tantalus and gasogene.
''Ow 'bout 'im?' A grimy thumb indicated the body.
'He's not going anywhere.' Holmes crossed to the mantel and extracted shag from the toe of the famous Persian slipper. 'Where did it happen?'
'East Hindian Docks, Guv. I was amblin' along mindin' me business loik always, but I ain't never been deef. There's this rumpus and some shouts and then, through the rine, I sees this cove battlin' with three boyos 'oo is definitely tryin' to do 'im in. The odds looks a little rum and while I'm tellin' meself to keep outa trouble, this 'un 'ere, the Negro, fetches one rascal a sharp crack and 'e comes stumblin' back agin me. 'E turns, 'e does, and I sees a flash of metal, so I coshed 'im alongside the ear and 'e staggers back off the end of the dock and there's a splash. Another one of these 'ere blokes turns on me and some'ow me foot gets tangled up wiv 'is and 'e goes down. I figgers 'e best stay there and I gives 'im a clip wiv me boot and 'e's quiet like. Well, by now I'm kinda gettin' me steam up but the Negro, 'e swings the third boyo in a sorta arm lock and then lets go of 'im and 'e flies across the dock and goes off the side. But there's no splash, just a kinda soggy sound like a glob of suet bein' thrown against a wall. 'E got mixed up with the pilings, you see, so it's not to worry 'bout 'im. But this 'ere Negro, 'e ain't in such good shape as I can readily see, so I pulls off my nuck—'
'Nuck?' I regretted my involuntary question as I handed Bertie a large glass. He did not choose to answer but thanked me with a wide smile that disclosed perfectly formed teeth, startlingly white against his grimy, stubbled skin. As he drained half the tumbler, Holmes filled the conversational void.
'The silk scarf around the man's body was Bertie's, my good Watson. A tool of the trade, one might say.'
'Now, Mr. 'Olmes, yew knows' I've been straight since you give me that break a mite back.'
'We'll not argue the point now,' replied the sleuth. Despite the situation of the moment, there was a fleeting spark of humor in his clear, piercing eyes. 'What happened then?'
Holmes accepted a glass from me, and with a look at the body on the couch, we all drank a toast. Out of common courtesy I was forced to retrieve Burlington Bertie's glass for a refill, listening intently as I did so.
'Well, Guv, 'e was sore 'urt but 'e manages to say your nyme . . .
'He said nothing else on the trip here?'
Burlington Bertie shook his head. ''Twas all 'e could do to breathe, Guv. Coupla times I figgers I'd be deliverin' a bleedin' cawpse! I didn't miss by much, at that.'
Holmes thought for a moment, then his features sharpened with decision. 'All right, Bertie, I'm interested in the men on the dock. The assailants. One went into the water, you say.'
'We can forget 'bout 'im, is me thinkin'. 'E'll surface in the Thames estuary iffen I reads the currents right. The other ain't no better. They'll 'ave to pry 'im off that pilin' and that's a fack.'
'Then it is the third man.' Holmes crossed to the desk, opening the cash drawer and extracting a bill. 'Here is the other fiver you were promised. Now get back to the docks. The last of the assailants may still be there, and I want to know who he is and, especially, who he works for. It's worth—'
'Never mind, Mr. 'Olmes,' Bertie's bull neck swiveled and he looked for a long moment towards the couch. 'Whoever that cove was, 'e put up a good fight. I figgers I owes 'im somethin'. I'll try and snare that third bird for yer, and hits on the 'ouse.'
The burly man made as though to depart but was arrested by a gesture from Holmes. The sleuth took a piece of the newspaper from the end table and wrapped it around the remnants of the silk scarf, which he retrieved from the wastebasket.
'Take this with you, Bertie, and dump it somewhere. For all concerned, I think it is best that you forget this incident. What about the hansom driver?'
''E's waitin', Guv. 'Tis me sister's fella, and 'e owes me. Mum's the word.'
The stairs creaked in protest at the weight of Burlington Bertie as he descended. Another of those unusual types that I encountered through my association with the world's only consulting detective. As Holmes crossed towards the couch, I heard the front door being shut and bolts going home as Billy secured our outer portal.
My friend was hunched down by the body, his eyes surveying the kinky hair, the ebony skin, and the tall and muscular body.
'Who is it, Holmes?' I inquired.
'Haven't the faintest idea.'
'But he asked for you by name.'
Holmes shook his head. His thin fingers extracted a seaman's wallet from the inside pocket of the man's coat with the gentle touch of a pickpocket. Opening it, he studied a passport for a brief moment and then replaced the wallet where he had found it.
'The name means nothing to me, Watson. However, the papers could be forged. There's a lot of that going on now.'
Holmes's eyes seemed to attack the dead face like twin scalpels, searching for some indication, some identity clue perhaps.
'A Nubian, I would say. Possibly a Wahhabi, but I don't think so. From the Sudan, no doubt.'
His fingers touched the head gently and then inspected the hairline, which was low on the forehead.
'Now this is interesting,' he stated almost to himself.
Suddenly he seized the man's hands, holding them palms-down, staring intently at the nails. He rose, crossed to the mantel, and seized the clasp knife that was thrust through unanswered correspondence. Allowing letters to spill on the floor, he returned to the corpse and, it seemed to me, began to scrape at the nail of one finger. I was momentarily horrified, but then that lean face turned towards me and there was the half-smile of triumph on his lips. 'I knew all was not as it seemed,' he said.
Flinging the knife to the floor, Holmes crossed to the door, which he opened as I watched in silent amazement. Before he could call, our loyal page boy appeared.
'Billy,' said Holmes in his clipped manner, always so evident when he was hot on the scent, 'I want you to secure a carriage and go immediately to the Diogenes Club. Tell Mr. Mycroft Holmes to come immediately. Speak only to him. If he is not there, do not leave a message. Then hasten to Scotland Yard and find Inspector Alec MacDonald. He is an habitually late worker and will probably still be there. Impress upon him the importance of coming back here with you.' He slipped the lad some coins. 'You understand?'
Billy's impish face was aglow. 'Right on, sir.' Then he was gone.
Holmes closed our door with satisfaction. He regarded the body on the couch for a brief moment and then surveyed me with his slow smile.
'A bit puzzled, ol' chap?'
'To say the least. What has your brother to do with this?'
'Everything. Burlington Bertie acted in good faith. The man said 'Holmes,' and he brought him here. The corpse is but recently from Egypt. His passport told me that, and in appearance he is of the Sudan. You see, Bertie brought him to the wrong Holmes. The dead man wanted Mycroft all along.'
