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Our visitor was removing
strange-looking, rubberized objects that were attached to his hands
with a glove arrangement. I noted that there were similar devices on
both knees and on his feet as well.

"Who are you, sir?"
I stammered.

"Zo, who else could
climb up here—four flights and flat as a
fancuchen!
Pretty
goot job if I zay zo myself."

"Shadow Schadie,"
exclaimed Holmes, and his smile was half mirth and half admiration.
"The only man who can walk up walls."

"Vell, maybe not
der only vun, but der only vun in Cairo."

"But what are you
doing in Egypt?" I heard the words but didn't realize I was
saying them, I was so amazed.

"It's der payoff,"
was Schadie's reply as though he were discussing the price of a
mutton chop. "You go to der clinker und you see mine son und I
don't know vat you say to him but der vord iss oudt. He iss gonna be
all right up here in der noggin."

The famous thief was
tapping his forehead and there was the light of excitement in his
deep-set brown eyes.

"Dey iss stickin'
him in der booby hatch because he ain't got all his stuff upstairs
put now he iss makin' big recovery. Dose doctors, dey don't know vat
to dink, but dey iss lettin' him oudt from der nut farm."

"I wondered about
that," said Holmes. "Then Heinrich Hublein is your son."

"Vot kinda
detectiff iss you? You should haf known dat right along. Shadow
Schadie is der only man vot can valk up vails. Zo you dink some
clunker iss comin' along vat can do it? Nein, he iss mine son. It's
in der genes. Dot's how he done it."

Such was the conviction
and intensity of the thief's words that he did set me back on my
heels, but then he paused for a moment and continued in a more
reasonable tone.

"But I vill tell
you diss. Vork hard he must haf to master der technique. Dis kinda
t'ing, it iss not zimple."

"Well," said
Holmes, and his calm acceptance of this strange story did grate on my
nerves a bit. "I'm delighted to learn that your son has regained
his sanity, but that still doesn't explain your opportune presence in
Cairo."

Schadie regarded him
suspiciously. "You iss Sherlock Holmes, no?"

The sleuth's upraised
palm halted more words from the German. "Wait! You told me—the
payoff. Inasmuch as young Heinrich is now sane, you feel an
obligation to Doctor Watson and myself and followed us to
Cairo."

"Now dat's, der
kind off deductions vot I'm expecting from you." There was a
glint of humor in the second-story man's eyes.

"Then I'll attempt
one more. It was you who followed Doctor Watson when he visited the
native quarter before. In a dark alley, not far removed from this
place, you sandbagged a giant Manchurian who had captured him."

"About Manchurians
I don't know. But he vas a big fellow undt he vas a Chink."

"Holmes, how did
you ever figure that out?" I blurted.

"Oh, come now,
Watson. Who ever heard of flowerpots in Cairo? You know we can carry
this lucky star thing of yours just so far."

I did bridle a bit, I
must confess. "That's all very well, Holmes, and we've had a
nice discussion, but how are we going to get out of here? Mr. Schadie
may be able to walk up walls, but I don't think he can walk through
that door there."

"Dot's a fact,"
admitted the German.

"Now there is good
reason to feel the plan we discussed will work, Watson. The advent of
our welcome ally here will allow both of us to be in view and
seemingly harmless."

Suddenly the sleuth
tensed and his head cocked to one side in the familiar manner that
indicated his abnormally acute sense of hearing was at work.

"Quick," he
whispered, "over by the window, Watson."

I understood his intent
immediately. From the window I would be in full view of anyone
looking in through the grate in the door. Also, my form would conceal
the fact that the bars had been removed. As I crossed to the
aperture, Holmes handed one of the iron bars to Shadow Schadie and
indicated, in dumb show, for the German to stand where the open door
would conceal him. Evidently he did not have to signal Schadie what
to do with the bar at his disposal.

In another moment,
Holmes had joined me by the window.

"Rather glad I
fastened this neckpiece since it signaled our cell to Schadie,"
he said in a calm voice, his dexterous fingers unknotting the
material, which he placed in a coat pocket. I could hear the
footsteps that had alerted Holmes plainly, and then a face peered
through the grate. Whoever it was played a lantern through the
opening and into the room, and its rays rapidly found the both of us
by the window. There was an exchange of Arabic from without, and
then the sound of a key in the lock. The lantern remained trained on
us unwaveringly. The door was opened with confidence, and the man
with the lantern entered first. After him came another Arabian with
an ominous-looking Mauser automatic that he held with a familiar air.

I was surprised to see
one of his race with a handgun since cold steel is their most natural
weapon, but Holmes had said that Chu would have recruited the most
proficient of the ruffians available.

As the man with the gun
gestured towards us, Holmes stepped forward as though to speak, and
suddenly his right foot came up. The toe of his shoe caught the wrist
of the Arab, and the Mauser spun into the air.
There was a
clunk in the background, and the lamp fell to the floor followed by a
body. The gunman's mouth opened, but before he could utter a cry of
pain or alarm, there was another soft clunk and his eyes rolled as he
fell like a wet sack of grain, joining his comrade on the hard floor.

It had been but the work
of a moment and the resultant sounds had been inconsequential. The
door was open, our guards were unconscious, and we were free.

Holmes retrieved the
lamp from the floor with a sweep of his arm, and then he had the
Mauser as well.

"We're going down,
Schadie. This place is crawling with Chu San Fu's people. I think we
can consider your payoff as made in full, so if you want to leave the
way you came, why not?"

"I could do dot,"
replied Schadie. "But dot dere iss a Cherman gun vot you got,
undt I know how to use it."

Holmes tossed the Mauser
to the thief, who caught it effortlessly. "You are so good at
following people, best to lag behind. If Watson and I are
apprehended, they won't be looking for a third man."

"Zo—I'm der
ace up der hole. Vell, ve giff it a try."

Chapter
Nineteen

The
Clash of Two Minds

One has to become
acclimated to rapidly changing situations when associated with the
world's greatest detective. While I accompanied Holmes down the dark
corridor outside our former cell, my brain spinning like a
child's top, I was able to retain a grip on reality by virtue of the
fact that positions had been switched in a similar manner in past
cases as well. Only a few moments before, we had been the imprisoned
ones, and now it seemed we were cast in the role of the stalkers.

Holmes had kept the
lamp, and its illumination guided us to a flight of stairs leading
downward. Nowhere were there light fixtures or furnishings, and the
building was but a deserted shell that housed the apparatus of Chu
San Fu.

"What exactly are
we doing, Holmes?" I queried in a soft whisper not only inspired
by a desire for secrecy but by our stark surroundings as well.

"Searching for
confirmation. Since a metalworker requires heat, I feel that
will be available in the furnace area of this extensive rum."

Holmes did not elaborate
on this thought and as we progressed downward, our ears attuned to
any sound, it hardly seemed the time to badger him. The myriad
questions that fluttered through my mind like aimless
butterflies could remain unanswered for the moment. My
principal concern was some means of removing ourselves from the
crumbling walls of masonry that surrounded us, producing much the
same depressing sensation that I had suffered through within the
great pyramid.

Shadow Schadie must have
been following in our wake, though no sight or sound served as a clue
to his presence.

It occurred to me that
if this ruin was teeming with the followers of the Oriental
master-criminal, we were marching round in a most free and open
manner. As though to confirm this thought, when we rounded a corner
leading to the second landing, Holmes and I found ourselves face to
face with a pair of villainous-looking Arabians.

Holmes immediately began
speaking, quite loudly, in the fluent German that, along with other
languages, he had mastered during his boyhood travels on the
Continent: "These words are for your ears, Schadie. We are
facing two more Arabs, no doubt looking for the other two in the
cell. Delay them by all means, ol' chap."

With a half-gesture,
Holmes acknowledged the presence of the Arabs who were gazing at us
in surprise and then shouldered past them, leading me by the elbow.

I noted one of the
Arabians shrug at the other, and then they continued up the stairs we
had just vacated. As they disappeared, I let out a deep sigh.

"What, by all that
is holy, did you do, Holmes? Hypnotize them?"

"Merely assumed
that this is a multilingual establishment, Watson. A potpourri
of dissidents, opportunists, and mercenaries of crime, not all known
to each other. Those Arabs are looking for our two guards who have
not returned, and I instructed Schadie to dispose of them."

"Rather imagine he
will. Seems like an efficient chap though he was critical of your
methods, Holmes."

"We shall not take
umbrage at Mr. Schadie's manner, Watson. After all, he can walk up
walls and did so in our behalf."

There were now sounds,
previously inaudible, in this rambling wreck of a place. They were
not distinguishable but merely joined forces with the feel of people
present somewhere. One in particular remained constant, and it was
towards this that Holmes directed our footsteps.

"Internal
combustion engine of some sort, Watson. From the narrow stairwell and
the lack of traffic, I would say we are descending the back stairs,
which should lead to the area that we seek."

It did so somewhat
faster than I anticipated, though we did not encounter any more stray
members of the criminal conspiracy that we were in the middle of, and
unarmed at that. With the thought that Schadie might be occupied
elsewhere with the disposal of the two ruffians we had met on the
stairs, I felt the lack of a backup person in this mad adventure. I
was casting a worried glance over my shoulder when I felt Holmes
tense at my side. In front of us loomed a door, and there was a
definite indication of light on the far side. Holmes extinguished the
lamp that had guided us, and we made for the portal.

It proved unlocked.
Holmes eased the door open, and the first thing I saw was an iron
railing. Peering over the sleuth's shoulder, I could see a large room
with its floor at a lower level. Now the cyclical sound of an engine
was quite apparent. This had to be the boiler room of the building,
and the door through which we peered opened on a narrow catwalk
running its length. I assumed that further on there was a flight of
iron stairs leading to the basement level. What captured my eyes was
a number of men busily engaged in some process, the purpose of which
I could not divine.

In the center of the
sizable area was a table, much like that of a draftsman, and seated
by it on a high stool was a tall man of advanced years. He was
peering with a hand glass at a gleaming object that I estimated was
four feet in length and at least two and a half feet wide. The
basement chamber was brightly lit and the tablet, for such it was,
glistened. Its reflected light was that which, through the centuries,
has driven men to prodigious efforts and to deeds that promote a
shudder. It was the yellow gleam of gold that has fired the furnaces
of greed throughout history. But the tablet, whose worth in rare
metal must have been enormous, seemed of no concern to the man at the
table. He was studying the inscriptions that covered it and referring
to a number of photographs spread out on the table along with several
lithographs.

"Memory Max,"
whispered Holmes. "Possibly it was his name that led me down the
wrong trail. I recalled his fame as one of those rare
photographic-memory types and did not consider relevant that he was
also a master forger."