Authors: Unknown
Holmes had no time to dwell on the
machinations of Basil Selkirk or the book dealing with the career of
Jonathan Wild, for other matters claimed his attention.
At his instigation, Mrs. Hudson
and Billy, the page
boy,
vacated the premises. I could hear our esteemed
landlady,
obviously instructed by her eccentric boarder, discussing a meeting
of the Marylebone Sewing Circle
with
a neighbor as she departed. What Billy's connection was with
this sedate group was never made clear,
but
my friend had removed the domestic staff from the danger area and, in
the process, had made things seem
ingly
simpler for anyone desiring to invade 221B.
A communique from Mycroft Holmes
assured
Holmes that
the Golden Bird was indeed genuine or
Mr.
Halcroft Crouder, art expert by appointment to
Her
Majesty, did not know his business. I could see that
the
confirmation of the authenticity of the art object was no surprise to
Holmes and his double-check was
but
one of the precautions which he took automatically.
My
delivering the Bird to Mycroft Holmes had served
two
purposesâremoved it from the possible clutches of
Chu
San Fu, and made it available for close scrutiny by an authority in
the field. What did claim my undivided attention was the fact that
Mycroft Holmes's message to his brother was delivered by none other
than Wakefield Orloff. This surprised Holmes, who stated that he was
under the impression
that the security agent was
abroad.
In his quiet tones, that impassive man men
tioned
that he had just returned from the Continent.
As this seemingly plump figure
seated himself in a
straight-back
with the flowing grace that was his trade
mark,
I felt much comforted. Whatever plots were being
hatched
by Chu San Fu, there had to be unpleasant surprises for the
Oriental with Orloff on the scene. Heav
ens,
I had no doubt that Sherlock Holmes was capable
of
frustrating the master criminal, but Orloff's arrival
was
like having a detachment of the Coldstream Guards
drop
in.
Seated with his back straight and
his weight balanced
on
the balls of his small feet, the fearsome security
agent
surveyed the scene with his habitual half-smile
and
fathomless green eyes. His bowler hat, with its steel-reinforced
brim, was within easy reach. Of course,
there
was a Spanish throwing knife between his shoul
der
blades, for there always was. Whatever other armament he carried
was superfluous, since I had seen him,
with
my own eyes, totally demolish the strongest man in
the
world in a matter of seconds.*
*
The
Case of the Mysterious Imprint.
If Holmes had any suspicions that
I was a motivating
factor
in the presence of this walking arsenal, he gave
no
indication. He seemed genuinely delighted to see his
brother's
agent on the scene, for they had worked to
gether
before on a number of occasions. As for Orloff,
the
faintest sense of danger was like the huntsman's
horn
to a foxhound. A chilling man not given to jest or
banter,
yet I noted that whenever he greeted my friend,
his
green eyes kindled with a warmth completely foreign
to
them.
"Do I sense a pending
crisis?" he inquired.
"If you do," replied
Holmes, "I'm comforted by the
thought
that others are not as acute."
"Two emissaries from New
Scotland Yard are down
the
street and since I know they would not have you
under
observation, I assume their presence is of a coop
erative
nature."
"If the back is clear, my
Irregulars are going to spirit
MacDonald
in here. Best have his men maintain their
posts.
If they have been noticedâa possibilityâit con
tinues
to draw attention to our front, obviously not the
line
of attack." Suddenly, his alert eyes locked with Or-loff's. "You
have posed no questions as to what is going
on
or who is behind it." His eyes swiveled quickly to
me,
though without irritation or accusation, then they
returned
to the security agent. "Possibly, you are briefed on the matter
already
."
Orloff was too old a hand to
reveal anything. "Two
members
of the force outside, Mrs. Hudson and the
page
boy gone, Gilligan present, and Watson's pocket
weighted
down with his service revolver, it hardly seems
that
you are prepared for a pleasant evening at Simpson's."
Holmes chuckled. "As I grow
older, it seems I be
come
obvious. I assume you know about the golden
statue?"
Orloff admitted as much with a
nod.
"Chu San Fu thinks it is on
the premises and he
wants
it."
Orloff's lips pursed in a
soundless whistle. "That
being
so you can hardly turn me out. It would be the
mark
of an unfriendly act. What is the plan?"
"There will be a police van
standing by with a flying
squad
of MacDonald's men. The Chinaman has his
people
in the building across the street. How many I don't know, but I doubt
if they are the strike force. I
hope
to bag the lot."
There was a glint in Orloff's eyes
but his chubby
body,
which was actually solid muscle, never moved and had not since he had
seated himself. The man's ability to relax completely and remain
immobile as
though
saving himself for the critical moment was abso
lutely
amazing to my medically trained mind.
"What makes you feel that Chu
hasn't got your rear
covered?"
"I've made myself
conspicuously present throughout
the
day. No need to guard against my departing via the
back
when I'm ostensibly in full view. Besides, the Ir
regulars
would know. Wiggins is no fool."
"Nor are his fellow street
urchins." Orloff thought for
a
moment. "How do you think they'll do it?"
Holmes's reply was swift. "They
might try a diversionary tactic but that's doubtful. By rights,
they should
have no
idea that their visit is expected. Therefore,
they'll
wait till dark and then attempt to sneak in, feeling that there
are but two sedate, middle-aged men to
deal
with. We will make the rear very inviting for them.
Since
the ground-floor windows are barred, the cellar
seems
their obvious choice."
"Any arrangement for an
alarm?" asked Orloff, as
though
he knew there was.
"When they come, one of the
Irregulars will be posi
tioned
in the plane tree in back. He'll signal a cohort
and
the alarm will be relayed around to Baker Street.
Slippery
Styles will appear in his organ-grinder guise to
signal
us."
"What if the hour is late?"
I asked, voicing a reason
able
possibility.
It won't be. They'll want to get
inside and take care of us, Watson, before Mrs. Hudson and Billy
return. Then they can start searching the premises and attend
to
our landlady should she arrive before they've completed the
job."
"Good heavens, Holmes, do you
think they plan to murder us in our sleep?"
"I doubt it. 'Tis the statue
Chu is after. Chloroform
seems
more likely. When MacDonald arrives we'll be
ready
for them. Actually, that's more manpower than
we
need, but I'm quite obsessed with the idea of making
this
a very silent and sudden job. If we take them to the man without a
fuss, Chu will be at a distinct disadvantage. Right where I want
him, of course."
16
The
Attack
173
It is always the waiting that is
the worst. I am not of
a
buccaneering nature. My period in the service of
Her
Majesty involved medical duties and was not as a
soldier
of the line despite the fatal battle of Maiwan.
But
still, rather than preserve silence, endure darkness
and
contemplate possible disaster, give me action any
time.
An early evening fog made the
undetected entrance
of
MacDonald a simple thing. With the inspector on the
scene,
our force was complete and I could not think of
four
men I would rather stand with. The final setting of
the
stage was pleasing in its detail. We extinguished the
light
beside the wax dummy, which had served as a tar
get
for the eyes without. Another lamp was lit. Shadows
moved
across closed drapes, but only those of Holmes
and
myself.
After a suitable time, the light
in my bedroom went
on
and I made myself visible at the window before ex
tinguishing
my lamp and rejoining the others down
stairs.
Holmes carried out a similar deception and 221B Baker Street was
apparently dark for the night. Gilligan
was
downstairs in the cellar just in case the intruders
slipped
by the Irregulars. Orloff was observing the back
yard
through a darkened window. Holmes and I stood
by
the front door in case of a surprise move in this di
rection.
The fog thinned and then retreated to the
Thames
but the moon did not reveal its presence and,
save
for the flickering gas jets on Baker Street, the
darkness
was Stygian. I steeled myself not to release nervous tension by
asking my comrade unnecessary questions but it was difficult. The
nearby clock chimed
the
hour and the next one and then it happened. There
was
the sound of the organ grinder on Baker Street.
I had rehearsed the next move
mentally and, to my
credit,
did not muddle it. Following Holmes's catlike
tread,
I made my way rapidly to the cellar. The black
ness
was complete, but knowing every inch of the area
proved
comforting. The two half-windows opening on the back yard were
faintly visible since there was dim light from the night sky now.
Orloff and Gilligan stood
to
one side and below each window. Holmes was posi
tioned
slightly behind them ready to move toward the
area
of action. MacDonald and I stood at the base of
the
stairway with revolvers ready. We were the artillery
of
the miniature army, ready to fire if necessary. The
sound
of the street organ and the traffic on Baker Street
could
not be heard. The silence was oppressive. Then
there
was a creak at one of the basement windows and I
could
vaguely detect a hand applying pressure to the
frame.
Again silence and then the other window was
tested.
Holmes had insisted that both be locked. There
could
be too much of a good thing and he did not wish
to
alert the intruders. However, the catch on the second
window
was looser than the first, a fact detected by
whoever
was trying to force an entry.