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It was Holmes who awakened me the
following
morning
and, my mind clouded with sleep, I was not conscious of the fact that
his expression was grave.

"Where are we?" I
mumbled.

"Zagreb," he stated. "We
have company again."

Struggling upright in my berth, I
gazed at him with a
mixture
of surprise and concern. "Not the Chinese?"

Holmes nodded. "I took a
brief walk along the sta
tion
platform when we arrived and spied them in the
dining
car."

"But how could they have
followed us from Berlin?"

"They couldn't. I can only
assume that they anticipated my next move—a visit to the
art dealer, Hassim,
in
Constantinople. No other explanation is possible."

"What are we to do?"

"Act as though nothing has
happened. Get into your
things,
ol' fellow, and we shall breakfast. If our Oriental friends are still
in the dining car, so much the better.

As I struggled into my clothes
with all possible speed,
Holmes
had a cautionary thought. "For all they know,
we
never saw them in Berlin or even suspect that they
are
on our heels. Therefore, don't stare at them as
though
they were international spies. Just ignore them
completely
and allow me to take care of the surrepti
tious
observation."

On occasion, Holmes could be
infuriatingly patroniz
ing
and I implied as much with a swift rejoinder.

"Really, Holmes, we have been
through situations
like
this before. You infer that I am a rank beginner in matters of this
sort."

His eyes softened in his disarming
manner and a
smile
with a touch of sentiment curved his thin lips.
"Perish
the thought, my good fellow. Just remember
that
subtlety has never been one of your strongest
points."

Thoroughly silenced, I followed
Holmes from our
compartment.

In the dining car, I deliberately
avoided looking at
any
fellow passengers. My friend made casual small talk
and
selected a table that afforded him a view of the Ori
entals,
whom I had spotted on our arrival. I ordered
rather
mechanically and applied myself to the passing countryside. We were
well out of Zagreb and passing
through
the mountainous terrain of northern Serbia
with
frequent breathtaking views as the great train roared
in
a southeasterly path. My answers to Holmes's casual
conversation
were monosyllabic until I realized that
some
sham on my part might serve the purpose of allow
ing
his eyes to stray to good purpose. Somehow I began
to
recount a cricket match and I'm sure my description made little
sense, but then no one was listening to our
conversation
anyway.

Midway through our meal, I was
conscious of two
men
passing our table. Their figures were briefly re
flected
in the window at my side and I realized it was
the
Chinese. No doubt my eyes widened for my friend's
voice
came to my rescue before I made some foolish reaction.

"Gently, gently, ol' chap.
They are almost gone and
we
can dispense with deception, so onerous to you. But do have a quick
glance as they leave the car. Our expe
dition
has not been fruitless."

I looked in the direction of the
departing men with
what
I hoped was a casual air. Even to my eyes, not noted for acute
observation, an incongruous situation
was
evident.

"Why, they are each carrying
what looks like small attaché cases. Whatever for?"

"Tradition, among other
things." Holmes's words
were
delivered in a casual manner, but his next revela
tion
had a jarring effect. "I have tended to consider our shadows
almost in a humorous vein. I may well have underestimated the
situation. Those cases they carry are never out of their reach, if
they can help it. To one with
training
in criminology they pinpoint our secretive es
corts
as hatchet men."

My jaw must have dropped and
Holmes continued
with
a merry smile to calm me. "A hatchet man is a
most
respected professional in the Oriental world. An
efficient
killer usually representing a Tong or faction.
In
our mechanical age, their methods may seem anti
quated
but let me assure you that their traditional
weapon,
plus their skill at throwing it, rivals the effectiveness of a
soft-nosed bullet at fairly close range."

When we returned to our
compartment, I made haste
to
open my valise and extract the Eley .320, which I
had
chosen to take on this trip because of its convenient
size.
I vowed to have it on my person till this con
founded
case was resolved.

Our quarters had been serviced by
the train attendant but Holmes assured me that our luggage had not
been
touched. He
made a habit of leaving little tell-tale signs
that
would alert him if hands other than ours had been
tampering
with our belongings.

Under different conditions I would
have enjoyed our
trip
down the eastern length of Serbia, but the specter
of
two Chinese assassins lurking on the train had a de
pressing
effect. Between glances at the door to our com
partment,
I tried to lose myself in the passing scenery,
to
little avail. Conversation with Holmes was non
productive
simply because he had no clear idea of what
he
might learn in Constantinople and I was already
privy
to as much information regarding our quest for
the
Golden Bird as he was.

We were across the Danube and in
Belgrade before
noon.
Holmes and I decided to remain in our compart
ment
so the only glimpse I got of the ancient city was
the
marriage of narrow Turkish streets and nineteenth-
century
palaces with a heavy larding of Byzantine archi
tecture
as we arrived and departed.

As the Express ran down the
hundred miles or so
between
Belgrade and Nis, Holmes was either deep in
thought
or asleep. I could not determine which. It
crossed
my mind that to the west on the Adriatic was
Montenegro,
certainly a familiar area to my friend. I
had
always entertained the thought that during his ab
sence
from London, following the Reichenbach Falls ep
isode
and the end of Moriarty, that he had spent some
time
in this district; but I had never been able to entice
the
information from him and now certainly was not an
appropriate
tune. Instead, I grimly clutched the butt of
the
Eley in my pocket and determined to guard the bas
tions
should Holmes, indeed, be in the arms of Mor
pheus.

But, alas, it was I that courted
sleep and when my
head
jerked erect found Holmes regarding me humor
ously.

"No danger, old friend. We
are approaching Nis and
are
on the final leg of our journey. We might stretch
our
legs a bit. It has been a long trip."

Feeling cramped I fell in with
Holmes's suggestion readily. However, I was never to visit the
station of this
Serbian
city. Holmes prudently awaited the halt of the
train
and surveyed the platform before making a move
to
alight. As a result, we did not move at all, for his
keen
eyes noted something and he drew back from the window of our
compartment quickly.

"Now that is odd," he
said. "The two Chinese gentle
men
have alighted from the train with their luggage.
Stay
away from the window, Watson. I have a
good an
gle
on them and I doubt if they can see me."

"What in heaven's name are
they doing?"

"Merely collecting their
luggage. Ah, they have
placed
it in the hands of a porter. The porter is carrying
their
possessions into the station, but they seem more interested in
observing their fellow passengers."

"You mean they are just
watching the train?"

"Unobtrusively, but that's
what it amounts to. It
would
seem that they expect us to alight."

When the Orient Express pulled out
of Nis, our Ori
entals
were still on the platform. Holmes had some
words
with our attendant, whom he addressed in his im
peccable
French. Shortly thereafter, he learned that the
Chinese
gentlemen were only ticketed as far as Nis.

Holmes was as puzzled as I was.
"It makes a hash of my theory, Watson."

"How so?"

"The Chinese were set upon
our trail to find out
what
we were up to. There can be no doubt about that.
However,
I felt that they anticipated our going to Con
stantinople,
hence their presence on this train. Now it
would
seem that they expected us to get off at Nis.
What
possible interest could we have in this city in
lower
Bosnia? Well, Watson, when something proves
completely
baffling, 'tis best to dismiss it till additional information
presents itself.

8

In
Constantinople

75

The remainder of our journey to
Turkey seemed
rather
stale. It was as though the opposition, as I cate
gorized
the sinister Orientals, were not interested in
what
we might discover in Constantinople, which did
not
bode well for our inquiry.

Through we arrived quite late of
the evening, Holmes
easily
secured accommodations at the Golden Horn
Hotel
and, though I had slept considerably during our
trip,
I had little difficulty in quieting my thoughts and
drifting
into the refreshment of unconsciousness.
Holmes
did not pace our suite nervously as was his frequent custom when
on a case. Possibly the departure of
the
hatchet men had been a letdown for us both.

The next morning I was impatient
to see the fabled
city,
which had been the center of so many civilizations
dating
from the seven Troys, with their ruins atop one
another.
The meeting of East and West, jewel of the
Eastern
Roman Empire as well as the Ottoman, junc
tion
of three continents and three seas—Constantinople had intrigued
me since childhood. But could I feast my
eyes
on Hagia Sophia or wander through the Topkopi Palace? Certainly not,
for Holmes was intent on a case
and
even the Blue Mosque to him was just a back
ground
building, nothing more.