Unknown (24 page)

Finally, we entered what must have
originally been
the
dining hall, and in centuries gone by I could well-imagine armored
knights quaffing mead at the long table in the center. A huge
chandelier threw light on the
ancient
festive board, but such was the size of the room and height of the
walls that deep shadows curtained the
corners.

In a fireplace in which four grown
men could have
stood
with ease, a massive single log blazed without a
fire
curtain, for there was ten feet of stone apron be
tween
the flames and the beginning of the polished
floor.

At the head of the table, with his
back to the fire, sat a figure. I would not have been surprised if he
turned
out to be the
Black Prince, but it was, in fact, the least
martial
figure I could imagine. Huddled in a wheel
chair,
surrounded by a thick blanket, sat a very old
man.
His features were thin and his bloodless lips re
vealed
large teeth, which I judged to be false. But his
hair
was real and in profusion, combed back in a care
less
manner that lent a touch of madness to his appear
ance.
Heavy bushy eyebrows topped two of the keenest
blue
eyes I had ever seen. The face was a thing of age
and
decay, but those eyes rivaled the dancing flames of
the
Yule-size log behind him.

As our pale young guide led us
closer, the old man's
scrawny
neck seemed to extend in a reptilian fashion
and
his hunched shoulders made an effort to straighten
somewhat
as he forced his wasted frame backward in
the
chair to regard us more closely.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes. You have
been to Constantinople, I perceive." His lips curved and a dry
chuckle burst forth, which grew in intensity. Suppressing his
merriment, he flicked a handkerchief from his sleeve, wiping
spittle from his mouth. Then, those protruding, intense eyes shifted
to my direction. "And this can be none other than the famous
Doctor Watson."

I must have mumbled something but
it is doubtful if Selkirk heard me. His attention was now elsewhere.
His scrawny arm rose in a shaky and somewhat erratic ges
ture
and I sensed that the blond young man, who had
guided
us through a veritable museum to what seemed
like
a mausoleum, was withdrawing. There was a sound
of
a door closing in the background and then silence.
The
frail figure stared intently at Holmes who was re
turning
his gaze. There was the faint twitching of a
smile
on my friend's lips and it occurred to me that the
two
were sizing each other up like a pair of master fen
cers
ready to reach for naked steel.

I know not what Basil Selkirk
found in Holmes's
manner
or appearance but he seemed satisfied. Another shaky gesture
indicated adjacent chairs.

"Come, come," he said.
"We must talk. I entertain
few
visitors and my people are always after me with
medicines.
Foul-tasting stuff, but it keeps this ruin you see fueled for another
day."

As we seated ourselves, Basil
Selkirk's head cocked
to
one side as he regarded Holmes. It was almost a boy
ish
movement and I felt it incongruous from one so
aged.

"So you're the one that
exposed that idiot—that fool
involved
with the Beryl Coronet . . ."

"Sir George Burnwell,"
prompted Holmes.

"One of the most dangerous
men in England," I
added.
.

"Stuff and nonsense,"
was Selkirk's acid retort. "Fool
stole
three of the beryls when he might have had all
thirty-nine.
Had I been after the Coronet you can wager
I
would have gotten it all."

"Not legally, it being a
public possession of the Em
pire,"
replied Holmes with a touch of severity in his
tone.

"Be that as it may,"
said the millionaire, nodding as
though
to confirm his statement. "There's many ways of
doing
things. But enough of that. Now tell me"—he
leaned
forward in his chair eagerly—"it's the emerald I
want
to know about." The old man was rubbing his hands together and
his eyes glistened with excitement.

"The Midas?"

"Of course. There is nor
other emerald. Not really.
But
I have never seen it and you have. What was it
like?"

Holmes chose his words carefully.
"When I first saw
the
Midas Emerald it was in a jeweler's box in my
hands.
I opened the lid and. . . ."

"Yes? Yes?"

"Green light seemed to
explode into the room."

"Ah!" The old man's
sigh, almost of ecstasy, came
from
deep down in his frail and wasted body. "You de
scribe
it well. I can almost see it myself." He threw a
quick,
penetrating glance at me.

"From Cleopatra's mines in
Upper Egypt, you know. Egyptian emeralds are better than those
Central American ones."

He seemed to ruminate a moment.
His face lowered
and
then it rose again to view us with those birdlike
eyes.

"Smart woman, that Cleopatra.
I have a lot of Egyptian staters in my coin collection, you
know."

A twinkle appeared in Holmes's
eyes. "In deference
to
your business acumen, might I deduce that your sta
ters
are the old Ptolemic ones and not those issued by
the
Queen of the Nile."

Selkirk burst out in his high
cackle again and laughed
till
tears came to his eyes. Finally, he dabbed at them
with
his handkerchief. The great door in the back
ground
opened and the old man waved at it with irrita
tion.

"Out! Out!"

"But, Mr. Selkirk . . ."
protested the voice of the
blond
young man in the shadows of the huge room.

"Leave, I said. I'll ring for
you."

As the door closed slowly, the old
man had recovered, though his toothy mouth was still stretched
in a
grin somewhat
like a death mask.

"Young fool! But I suppose he
serves a purpose. In
any
case, Mr. Holmes, you've made your point. I heard
you
were sharp." Suddenly, his eyes swiveled to me as
though
detecting my puzzlement. "Cleopatra lowered
the
silver content of the stater from ninety percent to
thirty-three
percent. Not too many people know that.
But
you did," he added, spearing Holmes again with his
disconcerting
gaze. "Do you have a cigarette about
you?"
he asked, abruptly.

Holmes nodded, reaching for the
gold case in his
pocket,
but then his hand slowed in its progress.

"Are cigarettes bad for you?"

"Of course, they are. Why do
you think I'm asking
you
for one."

Holmes passed his case to the old
man and helped
him
light a Melachrino, which he inhaled with gusto.

"All the things one loves are
bad for them. But don't
be
concerned," he added, noting my medically conditioned frown
of disapproval.

"I'm such an old rascal that
it doesn't matter at all."

I noted that the cigarette held
between overly thin
fingers
was steady as he shifted in his chair and re
garded
us with a trace of cunning.

"Now, let's be at it."

I could think of nothing to say
and looked at the si
lent
Holmes helplessly.

"Come, come, I'm not
completely a doddering idiot.
What
you're here for. It's not to see a relic of the past
or
to brighten an old man's moments with a few words
about
the Midas Emerald. You want something."

"I want the Golden Bird,"
said Holmes, simply.

"So does everyone else."

"A fact that puzzles me."

The millionaire took a deep puff
of the cigarette and
his
head cocked sidewise again in his peculiarly elfin manner.

"You're sharp for a fact."

"Do you have it?"
persisted Holmes.

"I might have an idea where
to lay my hands on it."

"I represent the legal owner.
If necessary, I can se
cure
a warrant of search."

"You're whistling in the
wind, Holmes. When I cor
nered
the Canadian wheat market, three nations
couldn't
stop me. If I've a fancy for that gold statue, I'll have it and
that's a fact."

Obviously, Selkirk's interest had
been aroused. Suddenly, he looked younger and seemed to sit more
erect in his chair.

"Do you have a fancy for it?"

"I'm intrigued. Not for its
value, which is no great
thing."

Holmes's eyes were half-closed in
thought. "Because somebody else is so anxious to get it,"
he said.

Selkirk cackled in delight. "You
do know about the
matter.
You're right, of course."

"The Oriental." Holmes
made this a statement rather
than
a question.

"The bloody brigand!"
There was steel in the old
man
now and his thin lips were twisted in a grimace
that
was frightening. Then his slight figure relaxed.

"How strange that despite the
prattle of pious
churchmen
and do-gooders, it is hate that can make the blood run faster, if but
for a brief moment. And I don't
even
hate the Chinaman. It's jealousy, gentlemen, for
'tis
said that he is a bigger rascal than I am. Or was," he
added,
with a tone of regret. "In any case, you are
right."

One cannot associate with another
for so long with
out
becoming attuned to his moods and I sensed that Holmes had decided on
his approach. The fencing was
over.

"Let me advance some
thoughts," said my friend. "
The
Chinaman is after the Golden Bird and you don't
know
why?"

Selkirk nodded briefly, gazing at
Holmes slyly as though awaiting further revelations from the known
master of deduction
and rather daring him to produce
them.

The manner of the aged financier,
which I found dis
concerting,
did not phase Holmes in the least. He con
tinued:
"The Oriental located the Bird in Constantino
ple
and sent his men after it. You sent Gridley on their heels for
obvious reasons."