by Anna Lord
The girl had led them a merry dance and had no doubt given the old couple more than few heart-stopping moments. But the secret was out now. They would all soon know it. And slowly, bit by bit, the lies would be exposed and the truth would be revealed.
19
Something in the Woodshed
Xenia was sworn to secrecy and somehow managed to pilfer the red and gold dress and silk slippers from the chest while no one was looking. Neither she nor Fedir could quite believe that the lunatic everyone feared turned out to be a harmless little girl. Xenia knew she would never have children of her own so she was eager to lavish maternal attention on the girl.
In the meantime, the Countess dressed herself and went to breakfast. Understandably, Dr Watson had not yet surfaced but the other four men were seated around the table, discussing the latest mysterious incident which Moriarty was attempting to describe, swearing that both he and Fedir had heard something flitting up the spiral stairs at first light.
“Are you sure you weren’t sharing the same dream?” jibed the Prince, breaking the corner off a warm flaky croissant and popping it into his mouth.
Moriarty looked like thunder. Lack of sleep was taking its toll and the first thing to suffer in such a case was always a sense of humour. He was about to give the Montenegrin an uncensored serve when Fedir interrupted them.
“What is it?” said the Countess.
“It is the boy, Milo, he is missing.”
“Missing?” queried the Baron.
“He has not been seen since last night when he went to bed.”
“Who was the last to see him?” quizzed the Prince.
“Inez and Desi both said goodnight to him and saw him go into his room.”
“Has his bed been slept in?” asked the Irishman.
“Yes.”
“What about his clothes?” asked the Countess, reading the worried look on the face of her manservant. Here was a new mystery to worry about just when she thought all would soon be resolved. “Are his clothes hanging on his chair or is he wearing them?”
“His clothes are not on his chair.”
“Then he either did not bother getting undressed and slipped out during the night or he got dressed early this morning and has gone off somewhere.” She wondered if the boy had got wind of the legend of the Cathar loot and decided to do some treasure hunting of his own. “Has the dungeon been checked?”
“Yes, I did that myself.”
“What about the gate?” pitched the Baron.
“It is barred and the portcullis is down. I also checked that myself.”
Von Gunn replaced his coffee cup and gave a grunt. “What about the stable and the yard? The boy probably went out early to let the horses and the donkeys into the outer bailey and is malingering to avoid his chores.”
“The animals are still in the stable. The old man checked.”
“What about the cellar?” continued von Gunn. “The boy could have decided to follow in the footsteps of that nervy toreador. He might have been helping himself to some wine in the middle of the night and has passed out.”
“Inez checked the cellar.”
“And the well?” said the Prince.
“Desi checked the well.”
“Look!” intervened Moriarty impatiently, slapping his hand on the table. “We could go on like this all morning. It’s a damn nuisance but there is nothing for it but to go over every inch of this place ourselves, gentlemen. If this was the first such disappearance I would say: damn the boy! He wouldn’t be the first boy to run off and join some brigands, thinking of it in terms of a romantic adventure, a chance to escape a life of servitude, an opportunity to make an easy fortune and have some damned fool fun along the way, but it is not the first disappearance. Have we all forgotten the Singing Wolf? Have we all just pushed her disappearance to the back of our minds? I tell you, Fedir and I heard something rushing up the stairs. We were both wide awake because we heard a loud bang. We both thought the loud bang came from the kitchen. It is time for more than a cursory search and a shrug of the shoulders.”
He sounded like someone rallying troops for war. The men responded in a positive vein. They gulped down the remainder of their breakfast while they discussed which section of the castle each would be responsible for then marched off to their rooms to gather their weapons. The Countess was secretly annoyed that she would have to delay introducing Lalique to the four men and consoled herself with the belief Milo had had an accident while searching for treasure and would soon be found injured but certainly alive. She made her way to the east wing to look in on Dr Watson since Fedir had been too busy searching for Milo all morning to act as valet. She didn’t bother knocking. The door was unbolted and she went in. Remnants of his dinner suit were strewn across the floor. His stripy pyjamas were still under his pillow. The bed was cold. The sherry bottle was on the bedside table along with a water glass. One was half empty, the other half full and the liquid in the glass was not water. Dr Watson was nowhere to be seen.
She hurried to her own room and gave five knocks. Xenia was in the process of brushing Lalique’s long golden hair which had just been washed. The girl was still sitting in the scented bath water.
“Is it time for the surprise?” asked the girl eagerly.
“Not yet,” said the Countess, smiling indulgently. You need to curl your hair and get dressed first.” She turned to Xenia. “How long before you are ready?”
“Not for an hour at least.”
“That’s fine. We are currently busy searching for Milo. He’s gone missing.”
Lalique piped up: “Is that the boy with the knife down his sock?”
“How do you know he has a knife down his sock?”
“I saw him when I was hiding in the hen house. He got a knife out from his sock and threw it at the side of the hen house. It gave me such a fright. I almost cried and let him win but I closed my eyes and was very brave. This morning he was throwing his knife in the woodshed.”
“You saw him in the woodshed this morning?”
“Oc.”
“But you were hiding behind the mirror,” she reminded gently.
“I saw him before I hid behind the mirror,” pouted the girl. “Almaric came to the stable to bring me some breakfast. When he left me on my own I felt cross. I was tired of sleeping in the stable. I wanted to sleep in my cot. I jumped down from the loft and was running to the kitchen when I saw the boy with the knife go into the woodshed. I could hear him throw his knife at the wood stack. I heard the kitchen door open and I jumped behind the wheelbarrow. Someone went into the woodshed. I heard a loud noise. I think the big stack of wood fell down. I ran as fast as I could into the kitchen and up the stairs. Hortense told me to hide behind the mirror whenever I felt frightened.”
“When you were hiding behind the wheelbarrow did you see who went into the woodshed?”
She shook her head. “I had my eyes closed.”
“Did you hear them speak?”
She shook her head.
The Countess turned to her maid. “If Fedir comes by tell him Dr Watson is not in his room. He drank too much last night and he may have passed out in the garderobe. I don’t have time to check. Fedir can prepare him a bath. I’m going down to the woodshed.”
Von Gunn had taken it upon himself to interrogate Inez and Desi in the main kitchen. He was barking out questions concerning the whereabouts of Milo. Both servants were sobbing wretchedly into their hands. Reichenbach was interrogating the old man in the bakery and Moriarty was doing the same to the old woman in the scullery. Neither was getting very far. Prince Orczy was scouting the ramparts and Fedir was checking the outbuildings. The Countess signalled to Fedir to join her in the woodshed.
One glance revealed that the wood stack had buried the boy. Poking out from under the small mountain of logs was a boot, no longer spit-polished, but dusty and grimy. Fedir began to clear the logs while the Countess went to inform the others. Milo’s body was soon exposed and it was clear
he had not died accidentally. He had been stabbed through the heart with a dagger. The killer had most likely removed the uprights that held back the wood stack. The logs had rolled forward and buried the body. If not for the girl they might have searched fruitlessly for hours.
Moriarty extracted the dagger and studied it intently. “This is a stiletto, the sort favoured by criminal gangs from the south of Italy, common in Naples and Sicily. You can see the markings on the handle. It’s like a calling card. It tells everyone what gang you belong to. How the hell did it end up here?”
“Sarazan must have entered during the night and killed him,” suggested von Gunn.
“Let’s not start that again,” said Reichenbach gruffly.
“The boy was a Sicilian orphan,” reminded the Countess. “My manservant saw Milo throwing his dagger against the hitching post the other day. The boy told him he got the dagger from his father and learned to use it from an early age. I think he kept it in his sock.”
“How do you know he kept it in his sock?” Moriarty passed the stiletto to the Prussian to study. His abrupt tone indicated suspicions were running high.
“I believe that is the usual hiding place.”
“Yes, but how do you know?”
“I travelled extensively with my step-aunt. We spent some time in the south of Italy with the Duc d’Otranto. I remember someone mentioning that was the case.”
“I can verify the boy wore extremely thick socks even in summer,” said von Gunn. “I spoke to him about it once and he just smiled stupidly at me.”
Reichenbach looked at Fedir. “Was the body buried under these logs?”
Fedir nodded.
Reichenbach turned to Moriarty. “I think we now know what that loud noise was this morning. This wood stack rolled forward and banged against the stone wall here that connects to the kitchen. It would have sounded like a minor earthquake. Whoever removed the uprights was able to move swiftly to avoid causing themself a serious injury. That rules out the old man and his wife.”
“Sarazan,” said von Gunn with emphasis. “I keep repeating it because it is so obvious.”
Reichenbach ignored the German. “Let’s get the body into the cellar. We’ll need a blanket. The body is like a sack of broken bones. There’s been a lot of blood spilled and the fact it has not turned to gore indicates the stabbing was not done last night but probably this morning. I’ll hang onto this stiletto if no one has any objections. I can pass it onto the authorities if it ever comes to that.”
The Countess sent Fedir to locate a blanket. In the meantime they were joined by Prince Orczy and went over the details all over again.
“But why kill the boy?” said the Prince, shaking his head in disbelief.
“He must have known more than he let on the first time we interrogated him,” reasoned Moriarty. “He might have seen someone other than Velazquez creeping about the night the Singing Wolf went missing.”
“Then why didn’t he say so?” huffed von Gunn. “By the way, where’s Dr Watson? Does anyone else find it suspicious that he is conveniently absent?”
“Shut-up,” snapped Moriarty, lighting up a cigarette before striding off toward the stables to release the animals into the outer bailey.
Dr Watson regained consciousness on the floor of the garderobe. He was clad in soiled long-johns. There was yellow vomit down the front of his new singlet and horrid bits of dry sick were stuck in his beard. His mouth felt like the inside of a piss-pot, his breath smelled like dog turd, his head throbbed and his body was stiff with cold. He hauled himself back to his bedroom, stripped off and practically fell into the hot bath Fedir had prepared in his absence.
The Countess arrived fifteen minutes later with a cup of hot black coffee. He was getting used to having her walk in on him while he was taking a bath and didn’t bat an eyelid, or perhaps more to the point, he didn’t have the strength to bat an eyelid. And since he would have killed for that coffee he wasn’t about to order her out when she perched herself on the end of his bed.
“Spare me the lecture,” he groaned, clutching the cup with both hands as he brought it to his lips. “What time is it?”
“Almost eleven.”
He took a sip of piping hot coffee and felt it kick-start his heart. The blood hadn’t reached his brain as yet and he felt only half human and it was for this reason he was only half listening. She was blathering on about the lobby boy when his grey cells sparked to life.
“Are you telling me Milo is dead?”
“Yes, haven’t you been listening?”
“I’m a bit slow today. You may need to repeat what you just said.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
She rolled her eyes and decided to keep the details to a minimum. “Milo was found dead this morning in the woodshed. He had been stabbed through the heart with his own stiletto.”
“Stiletto?”
“Yes, it’s a thin-bladed dagger popular in the south of Italy with -”
“I know what a stiletto is. But who told you it was a stiletto?”
“Moriarty.”
“I see.”
Feeling prickly, she picked up on the dubious intonation. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“You suspect him of the killing Milo because he can recognize a stiletto when he sees one?” she challenged.
“Don’t shout. I have a splitting head. I am not accusing anyone at this stage, though I find it interesting that he can recognize a stiletto at a glance.”
“Who said he could recognize it at a glance?”
“Are you defending him?”
“No! Yes! Maybe.”
“You still don’t even know what he does for a living.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I know exactly what he does for a living.”
“He told you a pack of lies and you swallowed it hook, line and sinker,” he accused somewhat unfairly. “Let me guess,” he continued facetiously. “He is a philanthropist who builds almshouses for the poor when he’s not busy training thoroughbreds at his family castle or fighting for Queen and country with his regiment of loyal Irish Guards.”
“He told me nothing of the sort.”
“What did he tell you then?”
“He told me he is a speculator.”
“Ha! And you believed it!”
“I didn’t believe it for a minute.”
“That means there was a whole minute when you did believe it!”
“Actually it was much longer than a minute,” she admitted, “but I now know what he really does.”
“How do you know?”
“I deduced it for myself.”
He burst out laughing then groaned loudly and clutched his aching head. “Get me an aspirin, will you. There’s a fresh box in my medical bag.”
He gulped two aspirin down with his coffee and felt instantly better though the tablets had not even had a chance to work their efficacious magic, but such was the placebo effect of modern medicine that placated human over-indulgence it worked faster than a visit to the confessional for the absolution of sin, a catholic cure-all without the hail Marys. “All right then, what does he do for a living?”
“I’m not saying.”
“I rest my case - you know it will incriminate him?”
She caught herself pouting and decided to return to the topic at hand. “After Milo was stabbed the killer removed the uprights holding back the wood stack and the mountain of logs rolled on top of him and buried him.”
His brain was slowly kicking in. “Who found the body?”
“I did,” she said, stretching the truth because she didn’t want to explain about Lalique until the four men had met her. It was their reactions that she was most interested in. “I spotted his boot sticking out. Fedir moved the logs.” She explained about Milo being of Sicilian extraction and keeping a stiletto down his sock.
“Well, who would have guessed it?” murmured the doctor, musing as to why h
e should still be surprised by the queer habits of humans.
“Sherlock,” she said with emphatic self-disgust. “He would have spotted it at ten paces.”
Oh, yes, Sherlock – mention of the name reminded him that his night of over-indulgence was due to disgust of another sort. “No need to castigate yourself for your sleuthing failures when moral failures are far more important in the scheme of things.”
“Er, yes,” she agreed, putting his philosophical rambling and inability to concentrate down to his fondness for sherry. “I was wondering how one could tell if a knife entered the body by being thrown from a short distance as opposed to being thrust at close range?”
“Several ways – angle of penetration, depth of penetration. Who extracted the stiletto?”
“Moriarty?”
“I see.”
This time she had the good sense to ignore the dubious intonation. “Milo was throwing his knife at the logs of wood. I think he liked to practice his knife-throwing as often as possible. Fedir caught him doing the same the day before. That’s how we know the stiletto belonged to the boy. By the way, I think it was Milo who threw the dagger that killed the bandit when we were ambushed, not Velazquez. If you recall the toreador had shaky hands and I believe it was Milo who ran to extract the knife from the dead bandit.”
“No, I thought it was Desi who ran to get the knife. Reichenbach ordered Milo to collect the weapons and ammunition from the dead bodies.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right.”
“Were there any footprints in the woodshed?”
“It was impossible to tell. In fact, that could be why the killer decided to create the log fall. They buried the body and hid the footprints at the same time. Fedir and Moriarty kept watch in the great hall last night and they heard a loud bang at first light. Reichenbach suggested it was the logs rolling down and hitting the stone wall that abuts the kitchen that made the noise. That puts the murder at first light.”