“Yes, yes,” I said impatiently. “This is all quite evident. That is why we went through the charade at St. Bart’s. There remain two questions, however, that I cannot answer. First, how does one kill a patient in the hospital—particularly one who is being closely observed—and avoid all suspicion? And secondly, how could you predict exactly when he would try to do it?”
“It took a while to untie that knot,” Joanna conceded. “But Stephen Marburg helped me come up with an answer. While Lestrade and I were recruiting him into our little play, he again mentioned that one of the side effects from injected quinine was a deep somnolence that at times resembled coma. And that was how I knew exactly when Moran would strike.”
“At the moment Derek Cardogan was completely defenseless,” I said.
“Precisely.”
I thought through the matter again. “But there would always be a nurse in the room.”
Joanna waved away the argument. “Moran was a doctor, experienced in the hospital setting. He knew a dozen ruses that would encourage a nurse to leave. That is why I coughed and yawned and feigned fatigue. This would convey the impression I obviously needed to refresh myself. He leaped at the opening I gave him.”
“And of course anyone receiving this drastic treatment was subject to severe side effects,” I concluded. “So Cardogan’s death would have been blamed on the injected quinine.”
“And there you have it.”
“Extraordinary, most extraordinary,” my father said. “The trap you set for Moran was ingenious and perfect in every detail. I particularly admired your disguise, which allowed you to be constantly at Derek Cardogan’s bedside. And, with Lestrade’s help, you were able to convince Stephen Marburg and Helen Hughes to play their roles in your well-planned charade.”
“Stephen Marburg was superb in every regard,” Joanna said. “It was his idea to have Derek Cardogan placed in the side equipment room where he could be carefully monitored after receiving the quinine injection. That, in itself, was a brilliant move.”
“Indeed,” my father agreed. “And according to Marburg, Derek Cardogan survived the quinine therapy nicely and, with a little luck, should make a full recovery.”
“I wonder how well his luck will hold when he’s questioned at the inquiry,” Joanna said. “You see, he will have to explain his role in this horrid affair.”
“But he was uninvolved with the killing,” I argued.
“But not with the stealing.”
And with that comment, Joanna leaned back in her seat, her eyelids now drooping noticeably. She remained silent as we rode on, staring out the window and occasionally mumbling to herself. For a brief period she moved her head side to side, as if distracted by some thought. Then her expression became quite somber and I wondered if she was sinking into one of her moods Sir Henry had described.
Ten minutes passed before Joanna spoke again. “I see by the concerned look on your face, John, that you fear I have fallen into the doldrums, which usually coincides with my losing interest. That is, when my brain gears down, so does my mood.”
I shifted around in my seat. “I do wish you would stop reading my thoughts.”
Joanna smiled warmly at me. “Not to worry. I was simply tidying things up into a neat package. There were a few loose ends that seemed out of place, but all is well now. Nevertheless, there remain some points in the case that I believe make it a rather unique one.”
“I hope you will share those points with us,” my father urged.
“In due time,” Joanna promised.
“I take it this uniqueness revolves around the hidden treasure.”
“Of course, Watson. Everything in this case revolves around the hidden treasure.”
23
The Treasure
Inspector Lestrade was waiting for us in the parlor of Christopher Moran’s lodgings. Standing next to him was a short, thin, unshaven man with very few teeth. His clothes were wrinkled and dirty and worn down to the threads.
“This is Nifty Ned,” Lestrade introduced the man. “He can open just about any kind of safe.”
“Including the very best Chubb,” Nifty Ned added.
“What tool will you use?” Joanna asked.
“A putter-cutter.”
Joanna nodded and explained to us that a putter-cutter was a drill clamped to the keyhole of a safe. It permitted a hole to be bored into the lock, and through the hole this lock could be manipulated and opened. “Do not bore all the way into the safe,” she continued.
“There is no need to, madam,” Nifty Ned said.
“This is all well and good,” Lestrade remarked. “But I see no safe to open.”
“That is because you have not been looking in the appropriate place,” Joanna informed him. She led us through the closet and into the secret room. “There is your safe, Inspector. In it are the answers to all your questions.”
Lestrade moved over to the side wall where the steps were located. “And here are the stairs you mentioned, Mrs. Blalock. The very ones he used to carry the corpse to the roof.”
“Correct.”
“Nasty business, this.”
Joanna motioned Nifty Ned over to the safe. “How long will it take you to open it?”
“Not long,” Nifty Ned said, and reached for a bulky drill. “But it will be noisy. The sound of the drill cannot be muted.”
“Do what is necessary,” Joanna told him. “But remember not to open the safe after you have manipulated the lock. Leave it closed. Do you understand?”
“Whatever you say, madam,” Nifty Ned said, then attached the putter-cutter and went to work.
Lestrade came back to the group and spoke above the noise of the drill. “Why drag Charles Harrelston to the roof, Mrs. Blalock? Why not toss him out of the window?”
“Because the street outside is narrow and the houses across the way very close,” Joanna replied. “The neighbors might have seen the crime being committed.”
“So Dr. Moran first lures Harrelston into this room and bashes his head in, then takes him to the roof,” Lestrade concluded.
“Lure is the correct word,” Joanna said. “Early on, I did not understand why Harrelston had followed Moran into a secret room. After all, there was nothing in here but a small safe. I carelessly overlooked its importance. And of course the safe was the answer, its contents the lure. I only became certain of that when I deciphered Harrelston’s coded message to Moran.”
“What message?” Lestrade asked.
Joanna glanced over to me. “Do you recall the exact wording of the message, John?”
“‘I need a share at once,’” I replied.
“And that, Inspector, is a phrase used when one is demanding his portion of the profits or bounty or treasure.”
Lestrade asked, “Would you care to guess what is in the safe?”
“A treasure from India,” Joanna said without hesitation.
Lestrade stared at her, totally mystified. “Please tell us how you reached that conclusion.”
“We know they met and fought together in the Second Afghan War,” Joanna recounted. “Moran told us how he saved Harrelston’s life when they were captured by the rebels. He also informed us that Benjamin Levy and Derek Cardogan were captives as well. And that is how they all became close friends who together came across this treasure.”
“But how did they manage to gain ownership?” Lestrade asked.
“They stole it,” Joanna said.
“And what makes you believe that?”
“Because the war has been over for more than twenty years and they still had not divided the treasure,” Joanna explained. “There was a stain on this treasure that they hoped time would wash away.”
My father grinned at Lestrade. “You should give thought to hiring her.”
Lestrade cleared his throat uneasily.
“So everything points to the treasure being ill-gotten,” Joanna continued on. “I suspect they came by it when their rebel captors attacked the well-gu
arded caravan. It was no doubt a fierce battle, and I believe Moran and his friends happened onto the treasure while they were escaping.”
“So the treasure belonged to the caravan,” my father interjected.
“Or was being transported out of India by it,” Joanna said. “But now the quartet faced a predicament. They had the treasure, but the countryside was mountainous and desolate, and no doubt filled with thieves. So they decided to hide it. And they came back for it later, during their recovery from enteric fever.”
My father nodded. “They spent a great deal of time at the hospital near Peshawar, and Moran said they did stroll about the countryside during their recuperation. That is when they went back for the treasure.”
“Precisely.”
“What a tale! What a tale!” Lestrade exclaimed. “And it might have all ended well had not Charles Harrelston demanded his share. What was his rush anyway, Mrs. Blalock?”
“The family had suffered severe financial reversals,” Joanna answered. “Charles Harrelston wanted to come to the family’s rescue.”
“And it cost him his life.”
“Indeed.”
Lestrade asked, “Who will the treasure go to now?”
Joanna shrugged. “That is for the courts to decide. But I can assure you the true owners will never be found. They are either long dead or have disappeared into the mountains of that far-off land.”
“No doubt the government will lay claim to it,” Lestrade said. “You know, the spoils of war and that kind of business.”
“You are probably correct,” Joanna said. “But I think it safe to say that a portion of the treasure will go to Charles Harrelston’s family, where it will be most welcome.”
“But why did they wait so long to divvy up the treasure?” Lestrade asked. “After all, the war has been over a good twenty years or more.”
“I wondered about that as well,” Joanna said. “So I posed the question, in an indirect fashion, to my father-in-law who was once Chancellor of the Exchequer. He told of a case some ten years ago in which a bejeweled statuette was stolen from a museum during the war. When the statuette came on the market, the museum sued and the British court found in their favor. I suspect the quartet decided to prolong their wait for this reason. You must remember these four men were all well-to-do, and were in no rush to claim their share.”
“Until Charles Harrelston demanded his fourth,” I added.
Joanna nodded. “That was the flame that lit the fuse.”
There was a loud click.
Nifty Ned got to his feet and announced, “She is ready to be plucked.”
“Shall we?” Lestrade asked, moving toward the safe.
Joanna held him back with a hand. “Not yet.”
“What are we waiting for?”
“Mr. Phillip Chapman.”
“I am here,” said a big, heavyset man in his forties, as he entered the room. He was carrying a large satchel on his shoulder.
“And right on time,” Joanna greeted him. “We are in need of both your knowledge and your skill.”
Chapman flexed his fingers repeatedly, as if he was about to perform a delicate task. “Tell me how I can be of service to you.”
“First,” Joanna began, “am I correct in assuming that the cobra is India’s most venomous snake?”
“You are correct, madam.”
“And am I correct in saying that a snake located in a dark place will be startled by light?”
“Quite so.”
“And if he has been without food, will he strike?”
“The moment it senses your presence.”
“Then be very careful when you open the safe, because you will find it contains two cobras.”
Nifty Ned darted behind Lestrade and used him as a protective shield.
“Can snakes survive in such an enclosed space without air?” Lestrade asked.
“They do not require much oxygen when being fed infrequently,” Joanna replied. “So opening the safe door periodically suffices.”
Chapman reached into his satchel and removed a collapsible rod. He quickly straightened it and tested the wire loop on its end. “Please stand clear.”
Everyone backed up against the far wall.
Chapman opened the safe and waited.
A large cobra slowly crawled out, then stopped and raised its hooded head. Its tongue flicked out to sense the nearby prey. In an instant Chapman had the wire loop around the snake’s head and dispatched the reptile into a thick cloth sack. A second cobra was handled in a similar fashion.
“Expertly done,” Joanna praised the herpetologist.
“No problem at all, madam,” Chapman said. “What would you like me to do with them?”
“Add them to your collection at the London Zoo,” she answered. “Compliments of Scotland Yard.”
“Two fine specimens they are,” Chapman said, and closed his large satchel. “I shall be on my way, madam.”
“Many thanks to you, Chapman,” Joanna said, watching the reptile expert leave. She turned back to the safe and extracted a wooden chest, then opened it for everyone to gaze at its contents.
“I say!” my father cried out.
“Blimey!” Nifty Ned said, eyeing the treasure greedily.
“There must be a fortune in there,” Lestrade remarked.
The chest was overflowing with diamonds and rubies and emeralds. Most of the precious stones were loose, but some were mounted on gold bands as thick as a thumb. Off to the side, long strands of white pearls were wrapped around diamond-encrusted tiaras. Joanna brushed away the top layer of gems and this revealed even more hidden treasure. Now we could see breathtaking pieces of jewelry that were clearly of Indian design. There were striking head ornaments that showed flowerlike displays of jade and rubies, and beside them were dozens of brilliant blue sapphires, all resting on a sea of gleaming gold coins. The value of these magnificent gems was beyond calculation, I thought, stunned by their beauty and glitter.
Joanna closed the chest, saying, “And so our case is closed.”
“Brilliant, Joanna,” my father praised. “Absolutely brilliant. No other detective in the world could have put all those pieces together.”
“Perhaps one other,” Joanna said without modesty. “I have read about a chap in Paris who uses my methods, and they say he is quite good.”
Lestrade scratched the back of his neck. “I have one last question, Mrs. Blalock. How in the world did you know the safe contained two cobras?”
“The dog told me,” Joanna replied.
Lestrade looked at her oddly. “The what?”
“The dog,” Joanna repeated. “Do you not recall that Moran had a dog?”
“But he had died,” Lestrade countered.
“From what?”
Lestrade thought back. “He had hurt his leg badly.”
“He had been bitten,” Joanna corrected. “Remember the words of Moran’s secretary. Here was a Jack Russell terrier, playful and happy before he entered Moran’s parlor where he lets out a yelp. Then moments later he limps out with a painful paw.”
Lestrade snapped his fingers as the answer came to him. “He had encountered the snake in the secret room!”
“Exactly,” Joanna said. “And there he was bitten.”
“But Moran indicated that a rat had nipped the dog’s paw,” Lestrade recalled.
“Pshaw!” Joanna said dismissively. “There has never been a rat that could outdo a ratter-terrier, one on one. And besides, a rat bite would not have caused such intense pain and swelling within minutes, and death within hours.”
Lestrade nodded slowly. “And it was strange that Dr. Moran requested his secretary to buy only two rats for the terrier to train on. Two rats would hardly be a starter.”
Joanna nodded back. “Exactly right, Inspector. Those two rats were meant to be dinner for two cobras.”
Lestrade asked, “Are you telling me you knew from the beginning about those snakes?”
“I suspe
cted, but was not sure,” Joanna admitted, and then added, “but when I saw the syringe in Moran’s hand I was certain. For I had seen that milky-white venom before when visiting Phillip Chapman at the zoo, while on a charity expedition with friends.”
Lestrade shook his head in admiration. “Should I include your observations in my report?”
“Better not,” Joanna advised. “Simply indicate that the injury suggested a snake bite.”
“I take it you would prefer me not to mention your name.”
“I would indeed,” Joanna said. “Only state that you employed three anonymous consultants who proved to be helpful.”
“Most helpful,” Lestrade emphasized.
“If you insist.”
“But I must say it would be tempting to report we were assisted by a person who trained under the famous Sherlock Holmes.”
“I beg your pardon,” Joanna said at once.
Lestrade quickly brought a hand to his mouth. “Oh, no! I have let the secret out when I promised Dr. Watson to keep my lips sealed.”
“We had your word!” my father scolded the inspector, then turned to Joanna and attempted to cover up his earlier fabrication. “I was forced to tell Lestrade of your past experience with Sherlock Holmes in order to explain your remarkable deductive skills and to urge that you be allowed to remain as part of the investigation.” He nodded to Joanna to accept the story and waited for her to nod back, but she did not. He hurriedly continued on. “I did not mention names, but only told of your involvement in one of our cases some years ago. Because you seemed so keen and interested in unraveling the crime, Holmes decided to take you under his wing and taught you his skills, which you have displayed for us today. I can only hope you will forgive me for revealing the secret you wished so much to conceal.”
Joanna finally nodded back. “You are forgiven, Watson.”
“And you have my word never to speak of it again,” my father vowed.
“And mine as well,” Lestrade promised. “Allow me to once more thank you for your most helpful assistance, Mrs. Blalock.”
“You are welcome.”
“Now I must bid you good day,” Lestrade said. “For I have before me the task of taking inventory on this treasure, and then searching the premises for other plunder Dr. Moran may have hidden away.”
The Daughter of Sherlock Holmes Page 25