by J. R. Trtek
“Did you speak with anyone there?” Holmes asked.
“Yes, though only briefly, as there was no interest in sewing machines,” said Magillivray. “There appear to be but three servants: a cook, a parlour maid, and a housemaid. The cook shut the door on my face rather soon—I suspect she is not the gossiping kind and quickly got tired of my questions. And, of course, it was still somewhat early in the morning for a businessman to be plying his trade. Still, if I had to judge, I’d say that the three of them are just the type of servant you’d find in a respectable middle-class home, and I doubt they know a thing about any spy business.”
“Hum,” said Holmes. “And you then went back to the house agent for more information?”
“Yes, I did,” replied the inspector. “He wasn’t too happy to see me again, though he did praise me for coming this time at an almost decent hour. I informed him which villa I was interested in, and he told me it’s known as Trafalgar Lodge. It belongs to an old gentleman named Appleton—supposedly a retired stockbroker. He’s said to be a fine fellow who pays his bills on time and is always good for a fiver when the local charities call at the door.”
“Have you any idea if this Mr. Appleton is in the house now?” Holmes enquired.
“The house agent indicated he usually spends late summers there, and that he had been in residence at the place for nearly the past week. Oh, and when I was at the back of the villa, conversing with the servants, I had an opportunity to notice two plates with silverware on a work table, both of them used and not yet washed. The plate was of such quality that I doubt the servants eat any meals of theirs from it. I suppose we may assume that this Mr. Appleton has a guest within the house.”
Holmes nodded. “An excellent observation, Inspector.”
“I have a yen to go see the house from a distance,” Richard Hannay suddenly declared. “Do you think that would be unwise, Mr. Holmes?”
“Not necessarily,” said the detective. “Indeed, I was going to suggest it myself. One way or the other, we must familiarise ourselves with the grounds. “Have you noticed any new vessels arriving offshore?” he asked Magillivray.
“None, sir. It’s still only the lightship and the destroyer.”
“That is a good sign,” declared Holmes, checking the time. “Every minute that passes without a ship coming into view means a lesser probability that our friends will attempt to flee during the morning tide. Let us wait a while longer here upon the porch. Once the hour of eleven passes, I believe we may rest assured there will be no effort to escape until tonight.”
We all left the room and took up stations outside, which gave an excellent panorama of the coast.
“I wish I had had the opportunity to meet Scudder,” mused Sherlock Holmes. “He must have been rather accomplished to have ferreted out this lair, as well as all the other elements contained in his notebook. It is a pity he is not here with us to savour the prospect of victory.”
We kept watch for close to a half hour, but no vessel appeared on the horizon.
“Well,” Holmes said at length, “Shall we all go have a look at Trafalgar Lodge?”
“Or another look, in my case,” replied the inspector.
We went for a walk along the Ruff, keeping well behind the rows of villas. Along the cliff top was planted a line of turf, with iron seats placed at intervals upon little square plots railed in and festooned with bushes. It was from that area that some staircases descended to the beach, and from our vantage point, Trafalgar Lodge could be plainly seen.
It was as Magillivray had described it: a red-brick villa with veranda, sporting an ordinary seaside garden in front and tennis lawn in the back. Looming overhead was a huge Union Jack, now fluttering fitfully in the late morning breeze. We passed Magillivray’s telescope among ourselves for a better view, and as Hannay took his turn, he gave a start.
“Someone is leaving the house!” he announced, passing the glass to Holmes.
“It is an older man,” said the detective, once he had focussed the telescope. “He wears white flannel trousers, a blue serge jacket, and a straw hat. He carries a newspaper and field glasses—we should be prepared to duck behind our tree at once if he raises them to his eye. He is sitting on one of the seats and unfolding his paper.”
“Is it Moncreif?” I asked.
Holmes shrugged. “At this distance, and with his hat in the way, I cannot be certain.”
Cautiously, we took turns once more with the glass, this time watching as the old man read the newspaper. Then, as I beheld him, he folded up the paper once more. “He has finished with it,” I said quickly as I passed the telescope back to Holmes, who immediately pointed it toward the object of our observation.
“He is staring off at the sea,” noted my friend. “To his left.”
“That is the direction in which the anchored destroyer lies,” observed Hannay.
“Yes,” said Holmes. “That ship, no doubt, is where his fancy—or anxiety—lies. He is reaching beside him for his field glasses then moving his hand away from them, and…tapping his knee with his finger! Ha! Our sights are aimed true, gentlemen.”
“How do you mean, Mr. Holmes?” asked Magillivray.
“He taps his knee repeatedly in a distinctive manner,” repeated the detective.
“Yes,” I interjected, but how does—”
“Mr. Hannay,” said Holmes, “does that gesture not remind you of someone?”
“Tapping of the knee? It does seem that I’ve noticed that in someone recently, but I cannot—wait! Good God, do you mean that man there on the cliff is Moncrief, after all?”
“Here, he is no doubt known as Appleton,” said Holmes, continuing to watch through the telescope. “Recall that I too spent a while with him up in Scotland—more time in his presence than you did,” he told Hannay. “I quietly compiled a small catalogue of his habits and gestures, and that hesitant tapping of the knees which you mentioned in your account was put on the list quite early during my own observation of him.”
“Yes,” said Hannay. “I recall he displayed it when lighting a cigar in my presence.”
“Ah,” said Holmes, “he is at last grasping his field glasses and looking out to sea.”
“At the destroyer? That ship must be a concern for him, as you said,” commented Magillivray.
“Yes,” agreed Holmes. “However, surveying the naval craft with his field glasses would tell him little more than he could already surmise. He watches and waits for something else, I suspect.” The detective put down the telescope and compressed it. “And so must we. Come, let us return to the Griffin. I do not wish to forgo lunch in the interim.”
Once more we occupied the porch of our hotel, the four of us this time lined up in chairs as if we were carefree vacationers. Holmes attempted to cast a leg up upon the railing, but found his ligaments not as pliant as in earlier decades and returned to a more dignified posture.
Then Hannay stood up and pointed at the horizon.
“I believe I see a ship. Can that be it?” he said anxiously.
I, who had the telescope, pointed its lens in the direction indicated. After a brief search, I espied what had caught the South African’s attention. “It is a yacht,” I said.
“What colour is the ensign, Watson?” asked Holmes.
I had to wait a moment more before getting a sure glimpse of the banner.
“White,” I said at length.
“A member of the Squadron,” muttered Magillivray. “That could not be the one, could it?” he asked in disbelief.85
“Nothing precludes our friends from being well connected,” said Holmes with raised brows. “But let us first wait and see where the stranger drops anchor, if it does at all.”
The yacht continued to sail in from the south and then circled before anchoring immediately opposite the Ruff.
“That must be it, don’t you think?” said Hannay.
“I should think so,” agreed Holmes. “But halloa, I believe your man also approaches
, Magillivray, though from the north instead.”
Turning, I observed Sergeant Scaife walking briskly along the path leading to our hotel. Seeing us upon the porch, he waved and then a moment later joined us there.
“You all have a nice shady promenade,” he said pleasantly, “and a good view as well. And company, I see,” observing the yacht anchored offshore.
Holmes nodded.
“Well,” Scaife said, his eyes flitting between my friend and Magillivray as he spoke, “the commander of our destroyer out there, HMS Anchises, confirms that he has received the message sent from London and will meet you here at the hotel at six o’clock to put finishing touches on the plan, if that will suit.”
“I believe it will. Do you agree, Inspector?” asked Holmes.
“I’ve nothing else on my agenda for that time, certainly. Well done, Scaife,” Magillivray said to his man. “Tell the captain we’ll receive him here as he proposes. I shall make the rounds of the other hotels to be certain everyone is prepared for this evening.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Sergeant?” said the detective.
“Yes, Mr. Holmes?”
“Do you become ill at sea?”
“Me, sir? Hardly. I was raised in these very parts—Margate, specifically—and I’m most comfortable out on the water.”
“In that case,” said Holmes, “there is a task in which you may assist Mr. Hannay upon your return.”
“Glad to be of further service, sir.”
Later that afternoon, after Scaife had confirmed our appointment with the captain of the naval destroyer anchored down the coast, he accompanied Richard Hannay in hiring a boatman for some fishing in the waters off Broadgate. The pair returned carrying an admirable catch of pollack and cod, but also with information gleaned from immediate observation of the newly arrived yacht, which was named the Ariadne.
“She’s built for speed,” Scaife testified. “Her construction lends her swiftness, and there’s no doubt she possesses heavy engines.”
“And you got close enough to speak with members of the crew?” asked Holmes.
“Oh yes,” Hannay said. “I made the boatman row us round the yacht and then closer to her. There was a man polishing the brasswork out on deck, and I spoke to him.”
“Any idea where he hailed from?”
“There was a touch of Essex in his speech, Mr. Holmes,” Scaife replied.
“Another hand came along almost immediately,” added Hannay. “He was unmistakably English as well. Our boatman had an argument with him about the weather, and for a few minutes we lay on our anchor close to the starboard bow.”
“Then the two started paying us no attention and bent their heads to their work,” said Scaife.
“Yes,” confirmed Hannay. “They turned from us as an officer came along the deck. This fellow was pleasant enough and clean looking. He noticed us at once and asked about the fishing in very good English, but there couldn’t be any doubt about him, Mr. Holmes. His head was too closely cropped, and the cut of his collar and tie never came out of England.”
“German, do you think?” asked Magillivray, and Hannay nodded.
“I take it he had no Renommierschmiss, but no matter,” said Holmes.86 “I believe we may assume that, though the deck hands are English, the Ariadne is commanded by Germans.”
“And so we become confidenter and confidenter,” I murmured. “With apologies, Holmes, to your late Reverend Dodgson.”87
Holmes smiled. “Our cast continues to assemble,” he said. “And the stage is nearly set. I hope tonight’s little play is well received by all but a few.”
“With the only bad reviews written in German?” asked Hannay.
“Ja,” Holmes intoned wistfully as he stared out to sea.
Our meeting at six o’clock with the commander of the destroyer Anchises proceeded well. Hannay and Scaife conveyed to the captain their impressions of the yacht’s deck plan, and the officer made a quick inspection of the craft from afar through Magillivray’s telescope. Then, after a spare dinner, the captain returned to his ship while Scaife set off to assemble the many policemen who had followed us to Broadgate and had remained encamped in various hotels about the seaside town.
Holmes and I donned coats and caps, meanwhile, and at half past seven we left for a leisurely stroll, our course set for the top of the Ruff, and the red-brick villa that housed our adversaries.
“There’s an east wind coming, Watson,” my friend declared as we made our slow ascent.
“You seem to have lost your edge, Holmes,” I replied as I took the lead up the path. “Such a breeze has been with us since before we began climbing the Ruff.”
“Watson, you are a literal anchor in our new nightmare of an age. I spoke in metaphor,” my friend explained as he extended his hand.
I gripped his forearm and assisted him briefly up a tall step.
“That yacht below and our friends in the villa above are but harbingers,” Holmes said as he once again trod the way on his own. “So is my own adversary of these past two years, Herr Von Bork. They are all precursors of an ominous wind signalling the Armageddon that is to come.”
“A wind of war, then?”
“Sadly, yes. Such a wind as never blew on England yet. Still, with the comradeship of men such as Hannay in the struggle, perhaps there is a prospect of victory. But onward and upward, old fellow. Let us reach for the top.”88
We attained the crest of the Ruff and proceeded toward Trafalgar Lodge, pausing behind a large rhododendron. Then, at the back of the villa, we saw two men having a game of tennis on the lawn.
“Ah,” said Holmes. “I recognise the older fellow there as the man who was known as Moncrief the archaeologist in Galloway—and is presumably Appleton the stockbroker here in Broadgate.”
The other tennis player was somewhat plump, wearing club colours in a scarf wrapped round his middle. The pair contended with intense spirit, as if they were two gentlemen who sought hard exercise to open their pores. They shouted and laughed in a most innocent manner, and when a maid brought out two tankards on a salver, they paused for drinks.
“Despite all the circumstantial evidence—the thirty-nine steps, the German officer on board the Ariadne, your confidence that one of those men is Moncrief—I must confess that I am beginning to question our conclusions,” I whispered to my friend. “How can those two be German spies? They seem, rather, to be pure Englishmen, through and through.”
“Blame it on atmosphere and its effect upon perception,” said my friend quietly. “That is just what they count upon. Recall what was said when Hannay recounted his impersonation of the roadman? To convince others, you must convince yourself, and to convince yourself, you must actually be what you pretend to be.”
The detective gazed at the two men as they finished their drinks and resumed volleying. “Here is evidence of that truth,” he said. “A fool tries to look different; a clever man looks the same and is different.”
I stared at the two figures, willing them to become foreign agents in my eyes, without success.
“Yes, they are masters of the art,” said Holmes with a wistful smile as he stroked his goatee. “But halloa, I believe we have another poseur joining them.”
From the opposite side of the house, a young man approached on a bicycle with a bag of golf clubs slung on his back. He deftly debarked from the vehicle and strolled round to the tennis lawn, where he was enthusiastically welcomed by the other two.
The plump man, mopping his brow, said loudly, “I’ve got into a proper lather. That will bring down my handicap as well as my weight,” he said to the newcomer, who set his golf clubs against a bench. “Bob, I’d take you on tomorrow and give you a stroke a hole were we not leaving tonight.”
Both tennis players chaffed the third man in grand fashion, and he in turn gave them both a dismissive gesture, the sight of which brought a distant memory to mind.
I pulled back behind the rhododendron and looked at Holmes.
“That hand gesture,” I said softly. “I remember it being made by the loafer in front of Richard Hannay’s building. The young fellow there was one of the Germans who was watching at Portland Place.”
We heard the old man shout, “You had best bathe quickly then, Percy, if we are to depart on time,” and Holmes motioned that we should leave.
We both headed back toward the head of the Ruff, to the plot of turf and its long row of iron seats. A man and wife strolled with their two young daughters at the far end of the line, and we claimed a bench removed from them but still within distant view of Trafalgar Lodge. Holmes turned and nodded to me, and I withdrew from my pocket a kerchief, which I opened up in front of me and waved before folding it neatly and returning the cloth to my jacket.
“I hope they saw it,” I said.
“They have—through Magillivray’s telescope,” Holmes told me. “The hotel room window must be opening and closing, for I see the bright glint of sunshine off the pane—it is flickering, yes. Magillivray will have Scaife alert his fellows at the various other hotels. Shall we walk on for a bit, old fellow?”
“Of course. We are nearing the end of this affair, are we not, Holmes?”
My friend gave me a weary smile.
“Oh Watson, were that it were so,” he sighed as we slowly ambled away from the villa and back along the path by which we had come. “There will be war, as Scudder’s notes predict, and Britain will be drawn into it. Indeed,” he said, looking out over the sea, “I have been engulfed in that east wind for some time—two years, at least—and it will be years more until we find ourselves in the lee.”
He paused some distance down from Trafalgar Lodge, hands in the pockets of his coat. “We have not all three heads of Cerberus in sight, but only two, with the last still to be found. And the beast has at least one person planted somewhere in government.”
I felt a chill on my spine at this last comment. “What do you mean by that, Holmes?”
“The meeting with Reyer was abruptly changed at the last moment, both with respect to date and venue,” the detective noted, “and those alterations were known to but a precious few. And yet, the Black Stone infiltrated it with their man, perhaps one of the three we have just observed—I expect it was the plump one, according to Hannay’s description. But whichever man it was, the fact that the Germans knew of the change in plan means that they have at least one of their own somewhere in Whitehall, with timely access to sensitive information such as that.”