by J. R. Trtek
“Yes,” the woman said, setting aside her book. “I have been ready for some time.”
I suddenly felt the outsider in their conversation.
“Good,” remarked Holmes. “It would seem—”
My friend was interrupted by the telephone.
“So early in the day,” said Holmes as he strode across the room to answer. “I fancy a time will come when shopkeepers will endeavour to sell merchandise with this instrument. Halloa, this is Sherlock Holmes...Yes, I did. Of course...That will suit, yes...It will be most welcome. I completely agree...Good, we shall await you.”
“Hopkins?” I asked as Holmes turned away from the table.
“Jasper Girthwood,” he said. “Our portly friend will pay a return visit to Baker Street in two hours.”
“For what reason is he calling?” the woman asked.
“The same reason as before. He proposes, in his words, to ‘pool our resources’ in the hunt for the black bird. Once again, Miss Adler, I must—”
“Ask the full truth of me.”
“In all honesty and with no sarcasm, that has been my only request of you these past few days,” he replied.
Miss Adler clasped her hands together. “It was Mr. Girthwood who discovered the existence of a valuable statuette in Paris. Of its true nature and final value, I cannot say, save that Mr. Girthwood felt compelled to steal it and proposed that my husband, Godfrey, join him in that deed.”
“And so this Girthwood truly was, in fact, an associate of your husband?”
“He was, for the several years that we spent in America. Mr. Girthwood and his activities were one reason for my estrangement from Godfrey, who readily agreed to this most recent proposal from Mr. Girthwood. For reasons I do not know, they both asked me to accompany them. You must believe me when I say that I would never have agreed to such a thing if Godfrey had not promised, should I comply, to grant me the divorce he had denied me these many years.”
“And this was prior to your meeting Robert Hope Maldon,” said Sherlock Holmes.
“Oh, indeed. I had repeatedly asked for dissolution of our marriage, but Godfrey had refused. Though initially I had brought property to our union, given the nature of the law, I had no way to regain it and no hope of obtaining my full independence.”
“And so you agreed to participate in the theft of this valuable statue.”
“Yes. Godfrey and Mr. Girthwood booked us on a voyage across the Atlantic. It was during that transit that I met Robert. By the time we docked in England, the two of us were quite in love. I explained my situation to Robert—all of it, Mr. Holmes, from before the king of Bohemia to the present. I spared no detail—”
“Yes, but please go on,” said Holmes.
I made a great stir while shifting position in my chair, and the two of them turned toward me.
“Do you wish perhaps a glass of water?” I asked of Miss Adler.
The woman smiled and shook her head. “Robert seemed less shocked at my history than I had expected,” she continued, turning back toward Holmes. “He was kind and understanding but, as I learned, also a bit dishonest himself. Even when I told him of the scheme to steal the black bird, he expressed not dismay but rather a serious interest in joining the enterprise.”
“And did he? Join, that is.”
“In a sense. Robert announced he could contribute some small amount of money to finance the scheme in return for a share of the profit. Godfrey and Girthwood were, of course, shocked and angry that I had confided in Robert, but in the end, they had no choice but to accept him as part of the venture, though they insisted that his share of the return come from my original portion.”
“Did your young man say whence he obtained his capital?”
“No.”
“Hum. And all four of you then travelled to Paris?”
“No,” said Miss Adler. “That is where the plan unravelled.”
“How so?” asked Holmes.
“Robert quickly became as obsessed with the statue as Mr. Girthwood and grew dissatisfied with what he saw as the meagreness of our portion of the profit. He arranged for the two of us to leave early for the Continent, without Godfrey and Mr. Girthwood knowing. I did not know of these plans until the last moment, when Robert revealed to me his intention to steal the statue for us alone. I became distraught at his confession; I could not see how the pair of us might escape the wrath of both Godfrey and Girthwood. It was at that point that I believe I mentioned you as a possible protector for the pair of us. I thought I had succeeded in dissuading Robert from going ahead with his plan, but he deceived me.”
“How so?”
“He pretended to have been swayed by my arguments once we arrived in Paris and left the hotel, he said, to wire Godfrey in London that our premature departure was a mistake. Instead, he went to steal the black bird, sending to my hotel room a brief letter admitting the same and instructing me to return to London and wait until he might come for me.”
“And that is what happened?”
Though speaking to my friend, Miss Adler stared at me as she continued. “Yes. I was unable to stop him! I went to the shop where the statue was supposed to be, but by that time, terrible events had transpired there. The building was in flames, and as police swarmed round, I learned a murder had occurred there as well.”
“A murder?” said Holmes. “Tell me, do you recall the name of the victim?”
“No,” said Miss Adler. “I do recall that it was the owner of the shop, a Greek by nationality.”
“Could the name have been Charilaos Konstantinides?”
“Perhaps.”
“I have just given you the name of an art dealer recently murdered in Paris,” my friend said, casting a suggestive glance in my direction. “The printed accounts have been rather horrific indeed. Konstantinides was most brutally murdered, his shop ransacked and then set afire. Do you believe your young man capable of such acts, Miss Adler?”
“Never.”
“Yet you saw him push your husband to his death last night.”
“That was an accident! They were fighting, grappling with each other! The dear simply pushed Godfrey away. He didn’t mean for him to die.”
“Well, we are getting ahead of ourselves, are we not? The shop was robbed, the owner murdered, and your fiancé was nowhere to be found. Pray, continue, if you will.”
“From that point on, it is largely as I told you before,” Miss Adler said. “I returned to London immediately.”
“You did not wait for your husband and Mr. Girthwood?”
“I feared what they might do! I believed I had to find Robert before they did. I had nothing but the possessions I have now and, in my worried state, could think only of calling upon you for assistance, though I had no guarantee you would come to my aid.” The woman looked down, close to tears. “I used invention to try to gain sympathy, I admit. I had no idea what you might do if you knew the full truth.”
Holmes slowly strode across the room. “And may I now return to the unfortunate events of last night?”
“Yes,” the woman said. “I believe I am capable of discussing them calmly.”
Holmes nodded. “Please do so then.”
Miss Adler took a moment to compose her thoughts and then began. “Once I realized by his written message that Robert had supposed I had come to you in Baker Street, I thought to display the blue kerchief in my window—it was a signal of assurance between us, as you surmised, an indication that all was well and safe. I could only wait, hoping he would either ring up Baker Street again when I might be present or that he would attempt to contact me in person. It was the latter course that he chose.”
“By throwing the pebbles at your window,” Holmes said.
“Yes, I looked down and saw Robert standing in the back yard. I motioned for him to go up to the lumber room window, which I indicated I would open. I did so, though I feared I would be detected.”
“You underestimate your ability in the art of stealth,” Sherl
ock Holmes said quietly.
“Robert climbed the tree,” she continued. “He was able to step to the open window from there.”
“Yes, it is a rather easy route. I have used it once or twice myself.”
“I do not recall that,” I said from my chair.
“It was before we shared these digs, Watson, in an era when I was capable of such athleticism.” My friend strolled back across the room and again took up station before the mantel. “I frequently went to St. Bart’s with my pockets full with samples to test, and I sometimes forgot the key to 221. As a precaution, I frequently left that lumber room window open, so as to eventually find my way to bed. But forward, please, Miss Adler. You and your fiancé were now reunited.”
“He told me he had failed to steal the statuette. Someone else had reached the Greek’s shop earlier. Whoever that person was had evidently claimed the piece and murdered Konstantinides. Frightened, Robert had immediately left. At that point in his story, he was interrupted.”
“By Godfrey Norton.”
“Yes. He had followed Robert’s path up and into the house. ‘That’s a good story,’ he said. ‘Now make me believe it.’ Robert, however, acted impulsively. He did not say anything; he merely lunged out at Godfrey. They struggled near the open window. Robert lost one glove and then obtained an advantage in position. He pushed very hard, and Godfrey flew over the sill and out. I screamed, and Robert left through the window and then sprang to the tree, down which he scrambled to the yard. I then lost sight of him. The rest you witnessed personally.”
“No one heard or saw Hope Maldon run away from the scene,” Holmes said after a moment. “Given the lateness of the hour, that is, perhaps, unsurprising. Well, you have given me something to digest. I fear, however, that I can no longer play the innocent before Mr. Girthwood where you are concerned. The only question for us now is to determine if you should be present during the next interview with the man.”
“I will not face him!” she replied sharply, turning again to stare directly at Holmes.
“Then the matter is settled. I suggest you retire to your room, as you have so often before.”
At the scheduled time, Jasper Girthwood appeared for the second time in our Baker Street sitting room. Once more, he occupied the sofa as we faced him, with Irene Adler again in hiding above.
“I understand a man died here last night,” Girthwood said immediately after greetings were exchanged. “I am told that man was Godfrey Norton.”
“That is true,” replied Holmes.
“Dreadful thing. I play the game seriously, sir, but I need no reminders of its seriousness. Now then, shall we put our minds to conciliation, sir?” the man said. “Shall we lay out all the cards, this time with every one face up?”
Holmes nodded. “Let us begin,” the detective said, “with Godfrey Norton himself. Were the two of you in league with one another?”
Girthwood let out a great sigh. “No,” he said. “Mr. Norton and I were once allied. Indeed, we were part of an even grander cabal dedicated to a worthy aim. That conspiracy came undone, sir, because of treachery on the part of half its members.”
“And you and Norton constituted the other half?”
“Only momentarily,” the American said. “The first treachery prompted Norton to leave me as well. Normally, I wish no man dead, sir, but I will not mourn that recently departed individual.”
“I understand,” said Holmes. “Well then, let us continue with the bird.”
“A fine place to continue, indeed,” answered Girthwood. “The bird shall be the prime topic, I daresay. Tell me, Mr. Holmes, have you any familiarity whatsoever with the Order of the Hospital of St. John of Jerusalem?”
“Later styled the Knights of Malta?”
“Good, sir. More than that, indeed—very good!”
“Some years ago I had the need to research certain mediaeval tracts, which referred to them on occasion. They were forced from Rhodes in the early sixteenth century—”
“In 1523, to be precise,” interrupted Girthwood. “They were driven out by—”
“The Ottomans,” said Sherlock Holmes. “And they then settled, I believe, in Crete.”
“Magnificent!” said Girthwood heartily. “By gad, sir, when I think of the years we’ve already lost not knowing one another. Oh, I must say, you’re the top, sir!”
Holmes and I exchanged raised brows.
“Yes, the top,” Girthwood repeated with a laugh. Then his demeanour changed abruptly, and he asked, “Do you know what occurred then? To the Hospitaliers, I mean, after their arrival in Crete.”
“I believe Emperor Charles V of the Hapsburgs granted them stay in Malta.”
“Yes! By then it was 1530, and Charles gave to the order not only Malta but Gozo and Tripoli as well. Still,” the man said in a hushed voice, raising one plump forefinger, “this was a gift of occupation only, you understand. The islands still belonged to the Hapsburgs, and were the knights to leave, all three would revert at once to Charles. In recognition of this, Mr. Holmes, the Order of St. John was required each year to give to the emperor the gift of a falcon.”
“A living falcon?” I asked.
Girthwood looked at me with an odd expression, as if truly contemplating my presence for the first time. “Why, yes, that was, in fact, the intent. A ceremonial tribute, you see,” he continued, waving his stocky arms. “But at that time, as you must realize, Mr. Holmes, the knights were chest high in wealth, and so they determined that the tribute that first year would be no mere living bird, with dirty feathers and a beak demanding to be fed, but rather a jewel-encrusted golden statue of a falcon. From each eye to every talon, sir, not one square inch of the outside was without a gem, and on the inside was nothing but the purest of gold!”
Holmes reached for his briar pipe.
“Perhaps you think the story apocryphal,” declared Girthwood. “Perhaps you consider it myth, what I, as an American, should call bunk. If it’s not in your histories or encyclopaedias, you dismiss it, eh? Well, I tell you that it will be found in no fewer than four references.”
“Hum,” remarked Holmes languidly, filling his pipe with shag. “I do seem to recall some oblique reference to such an object in a work of Paoli.”
“Yes, the unpublished supplement to Dell’origine ed Instituto del Sacro Militar Ordine!”
“That was it,” said the detective, smiling as he lit his pipe. “I believe that it was... perhaps...seven or eight years ago, and I remember I had the deuce of a time reading the manuscript, for it was in a code, which—”
“In code? But that would make it the original in Paoli’s own hand, sir! And that copy is in the personal library of the—”
“I was in Rome at the time, engaged in a singular affair involving stolen cameos,” said Holmes. “Discretion forces me to ask that we return to the main thread of your tale.”
“Yes,” said Girthwood, eyeing my friend with what seemed to be newfound respect. “Yes, of course. I shall then continue, sir. Gad, the places you’ve been, eh? Well, this statue of a falcon, the figure of which I speak—one foot high—was sent to Emperor Charles in Spain on board a galley commanded by a French member of the Order of St. John. But neither he nor the bird ever reached Spain! A buccaneer out of Algiers, known as Redbeard, captured the galley and took the bird to Africa. There it stayed for over a century, until it was carried away by an English freebooter named Verney.”
Holmes took the pipe from his mouth. “Did you say Verney? Sir Francis Verney, perhaps?”
“Why, the very same, sir. You are familiar with this man?”
“I have a degree of interest in his family, which has a distant French branch—the Vernets.7 I recall, however, no mention of the falcon in Lady Verney’s Memoirs.”
“Indeed, there is none,” agreed Girthwood, his eyes narrowing. “So you’ve read that also. Tell me, sir, are you ever what you seem to be?”
“Life itself is but a walking shadow, Mr. Girthwood.”
“What’s that mean? You lose me.”
“Pray, return to your story.”
Our guest exhaled as if confused. “Certainly, sir. Well, as you say, there is no mention of the statue in the Memoirs, and Sir Francis did not possess the bird when he died penniless in Messina in 1615. But the bird unquestionably went to Sicily with him; for over one hundred years later, it was there when the abdicating king, Victor Amadeus, presented the statue to his wife as a gift. The author Carutti verifies that act in his account of the monarch.” Girthwood looked cautiously at the detective and asked, “Have you ever read Carutti, sir?”
“No,” said Sherlock Holmes. “I cannot say as I have ever come across the name.”
“Ah, yes,” replied our portly visitor with satisfaction. “Well, Carutti places the bird in Sicily at that time. Tell me, do you find these details tedious?”
“Details themselves are never tedious,” remarked my friend. “It is the conclusions drawn from them which either bore or enthral. Pray, continue.”
“Well, sir, the falcon ironically passed next to a Spaniard, the father of a future count. As far as my research shows, it stayed with that family until the end of the Carlist War, when one of them took it into exile, to Paris, where it was lost. By this time, Mr. Holmes, the bird had acquired at least one covering of black enamel, which made it appear to be nothing more than a common statuette. My own guess is that it was the Spaniard’s hand—a precaution during the Carlist troubles, you see.”
“It retains this covering to the present day?”
“That is my understanding. In disguise, Mr. Holmes, it was batted about the gutters and byways of Paris for years, until several months ago, when an art dealer obtained it by chance.”
“Charilaos Konstantinides,” said Holmes, holding up his pipe to study its silhouette against the window light. “The Greek art dealer recently murdered.”
“The same, sir. You never miss a point, do you, eh? Yes, quite the man you are. Well, it was, indeed, Charilaos. He wasn’t sure what he had, but he had an inkling that something of value lay under that coating of enamel. I had corresponded with him frequently, and when, in a letter, he described the bird he’d found, I realized what it had to be and knew I must obtain it for myself. Wasting no time, I booked passage from New York across the Atlantic for myself and two associates.”
