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Holmes was speaking with
such fluency that I suspicioned a communiqué from Sir
Randolph Rapp. The ex-Regius Cambridge professor, turned motivational
expert, was a veritable reservoir of vague incidents and half-known
truths round the world, as indicated by his monumental work,
The
Motivated Minds of Mankind.

"Now I resort to
surmise, though I'll stake my reputation on it," continued
the sleuth. "Your father had a peculiar affinity with the
Arabians. During his expedition to the Sudan he came upon a kindred
spirit, a chieftain or sheik, no doubt, who had found wisdom with the
passage of the years. This unknown hero realized that the Sacred
Sword, a relic and supposedly the weapon of the prophet Mohammed,
represented a potential catalyst, a symbol that, in the hands of a
wild-eyed zealot, could launch a flood of fierce horsemen on
neighboring territories. Faced, as they would have to be eventually,
with modern artillery and disciplined troops, they would become
the ingredients of a bloodbath, but oh! what carnage they could cause
before their onrush could be stemmed."

Deets made as though to
summon words but then leaned back with a shrug of acceptance,
indicating that Holmes had already said them.

"The sword does
exist, authentic, no doubt, and the chieftain saw a means of
forestalling the possible annihilation of his people. He
entrusted the relic in the hands of your father to be secreted in
England. Captain Spaulding fell in with the idea and may have later
regretted it, for he accepted an awesome responsibility. The thought
of some rebellious nomad faction tracing the symbol to our shores is
a bit far-fetched, but agents of an advanced nation might well do
that. Great powers have been known to foment insurrection where it
will do harm to their adversaries."

"That was my
father's fear," said Deets simply.

"But now another
piece has been placed on the board," said the sleuth, his large
eyes traveling to the hearth fire as though conjuring pictures from
its dancing flames.

"Last night, the
fire was, as is obvious, a diversionary tactic to draw the attention
of you and your household while the employees of a master criminal
stole the Sacred Sword. I could have forestalled the happening but
chose not to for the simple reason that Chu San Fu, a name unknown
to you, would just try again."

Deets was sitting
rigidly upright in his chair.

"Do you mean you
know where the sword was taken?"

"Of course. Would I
let it disappear? I, sir, am Sherlock Holmes."

Our client leaned back
as though abashed.

"Of course. Forgive
me. But what is your purpose in allowing this—this Oriental—to
gain possession of the relic?"

"To learn of the
plot that he has conceived. Chu San Fu is the former crime czar of
Limehouse and the entire Chinese community. I entertain suspicions as
to his sanity, but he is a wily opponent with vast financial means at
his disposal. I would not for a moment allow him to possess this
potentially dangerous symbol if I thought he was working on behalf of
another agency, but that is not his way. He has some personal plan
involving the sword, the outlines of which are but vaguely
discernible to me at this moment."

"Then you intend to
give this criminal rope . . . ?"

"Hoping to hang him
with it, of course."

"Mr. Holmes, what
would you have me do?"

"Nothing. Was
anything else removed from the vault?"

A negative shake of the
head was Deets's response.

"Then I have
assumed the trust placed in your father's hands in far-off Arabia. It
is I who must see that the sword does not fulfill a fateful destiny.
I suggest that the fire at Mayswood was the only incident that night.
The robbery just never happened."

Deets's lips were pursed
as though tasting the sour fruit of decision. He was regarding his
hands, nervously clenched in his lap, and then his eyes rose to meet
those of Holmes, and the haggard expression seemed to fade from his
face.

"I really have
little choice, you know. Were I to report to the authorities the
taking of an object not even known to exist, they might well send me
back to my brood mares with patient words and comforting pats on the
back. So be it, Mr. Holmes. The Spaulding trust now rests on your
capable shoulders."

When our visitor had
taken his leave, I regarded Holmes with a touch of exasperation.

"The fact that you
insist on assuming the burdens of troubled people on three continents
is not unknown to me, but Holmes, by all that is holy, what have you
got us enmeshed in now?"

"A tasty problem,
ol' fellow."

"And one that, in
future times, will prompt the remark: 'Only Sherlock Holmes could
have solved it.'"

"I trust that is
so," replied the sleuth, rubbing his hands together with
satisfaction. He could never be faulted for underestimating his
potential.

"All right. I must
concede that the historic sword exists and you have allowed Chu to
secure it, though it seems to me you are somewhat casual about that
fact. Where is the object now?"

"Safely in the hold
of the Hishouri Kamu, a tramp steamer that raises anchor at
Southampton with the flood tide."

Holmes's answer to
direct questions were sometimes vague, but this one was not and I
could only stare at him.

"Burlington Bertie
and his friend Tiny were positioned in the railway yard when the slow
freight from Litchfield arrived. My signal from the bridge allowed
them to keep the proper boxcar under observation, and they followed
the crated sword to the Hishouri Kamu. The object is not listed on
the manifest, but another singular one is under refrigerated cargo.
The coffin containing the body of one Sidney Putz."

"Who?"

"The man on the
dock. One of the attackers of Mycroft's agent that Bertie coshed."

"You mean he killed
him?"

"Doubtful. More
likely he was disposed of by Chu's order, having failed in his
mission. His coffin is marked for delivery in Alexandria."

I was shaking my head in
a confused manner and Holmes continued, a sharpness denoting
impatience in his voice.

"Come, come,
Watson! The sword is taken to the freighter, which just happens to
list in its cargo the final remains of Sidney Putz, in life employed
by Chu San Fu as an assailant. Surely, too much coincidence there.
The sword is by now concealed in the coffin, and since we know that
it is ticketed for Alexandria, that is the sword's destination. Can
you conceive of any reason why the body of a dreg of the London
underworld is being transported to Egypt save to provide a place of
concealment for the fabled weapon?"

"But why, Holmes,
is the sword going to Egypt?"

"As is your wont,
Watson, you have stumbled over the main problem facing us. Why
indeed? That is the answer we seek, and fortunately we have time. The
Hishouri Kamu, being of the tramp variety, is slow, with many ports
of call on her schedule. Until she reaches Alexandria, the sword is
completely safe and we are allowed a breathing spell."

"Which we certainly
need," I began, but before I could expound further on this
subject, Holmes interrupted as though in haste to clear the air and
move to other matters.

"Spare me, good
chap, a lament regarding questions breeding more questions. The sword
exists, that we know. Chu San Fu has it, for we saw his minions steal
it. We know where it is and where it is headed. Now we must find a
connective link, for surely Egypt brings to your mind Mycroft's dead
agent, his mention of Chu San Fu, and the unusual and ancient relic
that he had secreted on his person."

"But was not
Mycroft imbued with the idea of an ancient tomb? The prophet
Mohammed antedates ancient Egypt not by centuries but by thousands of
years."

"Three, at least,"
agreed Holmes. "You put it well, ol' fellow. We must think more
on this."

When Holmes thought, he
required facts to form a framework for his speculations. This meant
research, and there is no searcher more detailed than the one who
does not look for knowledge but augments knowledge already acquired.
The latter is armed with the indispensable, for he knows where to
look for what he seeks.

Our rooms at Baker
Street, with the numerous case histories in which I took great
pride, and Holmes's commonplace books along with the newspaper
files, produced a semi-library atmosphere. This was augmented by an
inflow of work on Egypt and the Valley of the Nile that captured all
available table space, spilling over to piles on the floor that I
tried to keep orderly. I recalled those early days when fate, in the
form of my chance meeting with young Stamford at the Criterion Bar,
had first thrown Holmes and me together. I had estimated his fund of
knowledge in a rather cavalier manner. While conceding that he had a
profound grip on chemistry and an immense familiarity with
sensational literature, I had listed his understanding of philosophy
and astronomy as nil and his grasp of politics as feeble.

Things had changed
during the years. First my friend had become well versed in
astronomy, spurred, no doubt, by the fact that the infamous Moriarty
had penned
The
Dynamics of an Asteroid,
which enjoyed a
European vogue. Then his facile mind reached out into other fields,
not all connected with the solution of crime. His ability to sustain
feverish periods of intense mental activity allowed him, once his
teeth were implanted in a subject, to stay with it until it was
wrestled into a workable form with familiar features.

I had lived through
Holmes's flirtation with medieval architecture as well as his
romance with sixteenth century music, which climaxed in his monograph
upon the polyphonic motets of Orlandus Lassus, considered by experts
as the final word upon the subject. Now it was Egyptology that the
sleuth was gripping by the throat, albeit it was not a choice
dictated by whim but motivated by our activities of late. Possibly it
was also a rebirth of a previous infatuation dating from his
Montague Street days. Whatever, most hours found my friend immersed
in some volume or another, more often three or more simultaneously.

Such was the
retentiveness of his splendid mind that several days later he
devoted our entire dinner hour to delivering a detailed recounting of
Giovanni Balzoni's Egyptian and Nubian operations, a man unknown
to Holmes a week before. Egyptian architecture, jewelry, religions of
ancient Egypt, a number of suggestions as to how the pyramids were,
constructed—the list was endless. Finally I chose to ignore the
whole matter before I began to imagine desert sand in my food! Holmes
was on an Egypt spin, and he was looking for something. Painfully
obvious was the fact that he wasn't finding it.

However, all the ensuing
days and nights were not sedentary. My friend had his pack
sniffing upwind. One day, having concluded several patient calls, I
wasted some time pleasantly with a medical friend at the Bagatelle
Club bar. Then I chose to walk back to Baker Street. In the vicinity
of the Strand, I spied Holmes standing under the awning of a book
dealer, an open volume in hand. Next to him, also in a
studious
pose, was Slippery Styles. That they were conversing in monosyllables
without moving their lips I was sure. A bookstore as a meeting place
was a favorite device of Holmes's, and I now knew firsthand that he
was keeping Chu San Fu under close observation.

Chapter
Ten

Sir
Randolph's News

Our Surrey adventure
began to seem like a dream, for the activity associated with it came
to such an abrupt end. I grew accustomed to Holmes's presence in our
quarters, a rarity when a major case dominated his working calendar.
Then one morning I rose somewhat early and found that he was gone.
But he rejoined me as breakfast was being served, even disposing of a
rasher of bacon with eggs and some of Mrs. Hudson's toothsome scones.
His manner seemed grave, but I did not note the nervous restlessness
that indicated he was at loose ends as regards an idea. Actually, he
seemed resigned. I waited him out, and finally he chose to tidy up
and package the recent days of seeming inaction.

"We have reached an
impasse, Watson, one that a crash course in Egyptology has not
bridged, nor have events as reported from our sources provided a
clue. At the end of a tether as regards my own resources, I am forced
to go elsewhere, and as a first move I visited the Diogenes Club
this morning. Recall that Mycroft came to us at our request, so I
returned the courtesy."