“Good old Watson! No, we can do nothing there unless thepolice lay their hands on the men. But their get-away had beenwell prepared. We may be sure of that. Wait a little. I have myplans. The first thing is to exaggerate my injuries. They’ll come toyou for news. Put it on thick, Watson. Lucky if I live the week outconcussion delirium—what you like! You can’t overdo it.”
“But Sir Leslie Oakshott?”
“Oh, he’s all right. He shall see the worst side of me. I’ll lookafter that.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. Tell Shinwell Johnson to get that girl out of the way. Thosebeauties will be after her now. They know, of course, that she waswith me in the case. If they dared to do me in it is not likely theywill neglect her. That is urgent. Do it to-night.”
“I’ll go now. Anything more?”
“Put my pipe on the table—and the tobacco-slipper. Right!
Come in each morning and we will plan our campaign.”
I arranged with Johnson that evening to take Miss Winter to aquiet suburb and see that she lay low until the danger was past.
For six days the public were under the impression that Holmeswas at the door of death. The bulletins were very grave and therewere sinister paragraphs in the papers. My continual visits assuredme that it was not so bad as that. His wiry constitution and hisdetermined will were working wonders. He was recovering fast,and I had suspicions at times that he was really finding himselffaster than he pretended even to me. There was a curious secretivestreak in the man which led to many dramatic effects, but lefteven his closest friend guessing as to what his exact plans mightbe. He pushed to an extreme the axiom that the only safe plotterwas he who plotted alone. I was nearer him than anyone else, andyet I was always conscious of the gap between.
On the seventh day the stitches were taken out, in spite ofwhich there was a report of erysipelas in the evening papers. Thesame evening papers had an announcement which I was bound,sick or well, to carry to my friend. It was simply that amongthe passengers on the Cunard boat Ruritania, starting fromLiverpool on Friday, was the Baron Adelbert Gruner, who hadsome important financial business to settle in the States before hisimpending wedding to Miss Violet de Merville, only daughter of,etc., etc. Holmes listened to the news with a cold, concentratedlook upon his pale face, which told me that it hit him hard.
“Friday!” he cried. “Only three clear days. I believe the rascalwants to put himself out of danger’s way. But he won’t, Watson!
By the Lord Harry, he won’t! Now, Watson, I want you to dosomething for me.”
“I am here to be used, Holmes.”
“Well, then, spend the next twenty-four hours in an intensivestudy of Chinese pottery.”
He gave no explanations and I asked for none. By long experienceI had learned the wisdom of obedience. But when I had left hisroom I walked down Baker Street, revolving in my head how onearth I was to carry out so strange an order. Finally I drove to theLondon Library in St. James’s Square, put the matter to my friendLomax, the sublibrarian, and departed to my rooms with a goodlyvolume under my arm.
It is said that the barrister who crams up a case with such carethat he can examine an expert witness upon the Monday hasforgotten all his forced knowledge before the Saturday. CertainlyI should not like now to pose as an authority upon ceramics. Andyet all that evening, and all that night with a short interval for rest,and all next morning, I was sucking in knowledge and committingnames to memory. There I learned of the hall-marks of the greatartist-decorators, of the mystery of cyclical dates, the marks of theHung-wu and the beauties of the Yung-lo, the writings of Tangying,and the glories of the primitive period of the Sung and theYuan. I was charged with all this information when I called uponHolmes next evening. He was out of bed now, though you wouldnot have guessed it from the published reports, and he sat withhis much-bandaged head resting upon his hand in the depth of hisfavourite armchair.
“Why, Holmes,” I said, “if one believed the papers, you aredying. “
“That,” said he, “is the very impression which I intended toconvey. And now, Watson, have you learned your lessons?”
“At least I have tried to.”
“Good. You could keep up an intelligent conversation on thesubject?”
“I believe I could.”
“Then hand me that little box from the mantelpiece.”
He opened the lid and took out a small object most carefullywrapped in some fine Eastern silk. This he unfolded, and discloseda delicate little saucer of the most beautiful deep-blue colour.
“It needs careful handling, Watson. This is the real eggshellpottery of the Ming dynasty. No finer piece ever passedthrough Christie’s. A complete set of this would be worth a king’sransom—in fact, it is doubtful if there is a complete set outsidethe imperial palace of Peking. The sight of this would drive a realconnoisseur wild.”
“What am I to do with it?”
Holmes handed me a card upon which was printed: “Dr. HillBarton, 369 Half Moon Street.”
“That is your name for the evening, Watson. You will call uponBaron Gruner. I know something of his habits, and at half-pasteight he would probably be disengaged. A note will tell him inadvance that you are about to call, and you will say that you arebringing him a specimen of an absolutely unique set of Mingchina. You may as well be a medical man, since that is a partwhich you can play without duplicity. You are a collector this sethas come your way, you have heard of the Baron’s interest in thesubject, and you are not averse to selling at a price.”
“What price?”
“Well asked, Watson. You would certainly fall down badly if youdid not know the value of your own wares. This saucer was got forme by Sir James, and comes, I understand, from the collection ofhis client. You will not exaggerate if you say that it could hardly bematched in the world.”
“I could perhaps suggest that the set should be valued by anexpert.”
