The Golf, Cheese and Chess Society

by Jason Blacker

  I followed Stanley to London just before I wrote this letter and he met the German at a tearoom in Kensington. The German gave Stanley an envelope of money for an envelope of what must have been our records. I couldn’t tell how much money but it was quite thick with notes. The German is of average height with black hair. One thing I noticed which was quite curious, when he walked past me, was that he’s missing his right baby finger. He wasn’t wearing gloves and I noticed this as he opened the door to a taxi. I followed Stanley afterwards to see where he lived and he went into The Muse’s Mark. I waited for a couple of hours at the same tearoom he was at earlier which is across the street. It’s called ‘Granny Smith’s Tearoom’. Well, I had to leave and he was still in there. I can’t imagine he lives there, I know it’s expensive, but perhaps he does. Perhaps the Germans are paying him well.

  Regardless, I might have put him in danger if the Germans find out he’s been giving them fake documents. So Minnie and I will visit Walter on the fifteenth and we’ll take what comes. We have to know for certain. It just seems that what Stanley’s been asking for the past several weeks is a little fishy and I can no longer trust him. Perhaps I’m being paranoid. I hope you never have to read this Sebastian. But that’s moot now, isn’t it?

  All my love,

  Your Mother”

  It just fit on both sides of that single page. Frances folded it up again and put it back in the envelope. She looked up at Sebastian. He had stopped sobbing at this point. Frances put it in her handbag.

  “I’m afraid I have to take this with me, Sebastian,” said Frances. “It’s evidence now. But I’ll make sure that you get it back after the case is completed.”

  Sebastian looked up at her through red rimmed eyes. He nodded.

  “She always loved her country. She was so happy to serve at Bletchley Park,” he said.

  “Your mother was an incredibly courageous woman,” said Frances. “I was very concerned that if we didn’t capture this German spy before he got across to Europe that all the good work at Bletchley Park would be undermined, and as your mother said, we might lose the war. But because she and her friend Minnie Shelford fabricated documents, even if this spy makes it across to Europe we will still win this war. Your mother, Sebastian, just might have single handedly saved all of England.”

  It was a slight exaggeration of course. A war is won by the group and not the individual. But there was one thing that was for certain, Pelagia Paterson was a hero, and her courage had certainly saved Bletchley Park and its work.

  Sebastian closed the drawer to his desk and looked at the photograph one last time. He stood up.

  “I don’t think I’d like to be alone,” he said. “I think I’d like to rejoin my mates on the rugby field.”

  Frances nodded.

  “We’ll walk out with you,” she said.

  She and Alfred and Declan exited the room and waited while Sebastian locked the door. They followed him downstairs where they met Housemaster Foggledy. Sebastian told him where he was going and Foggledy asked that he find him once Sebastian had finished with his extra-curricula activities.

  They followed Sebastian back to the rugby field. Alfred and Declan talking to him about their days playing rugby as young men. Declan had been both his school’s and university’s rugby captain. He had played for Oxford, and during his years there, Oxford had never lost a game. That wasn’t quite as Frances had remembered it. But perhaps Declan was right.

  “I’ll see you on Friday,” said Frances, as Sebastian shook their hands before running off to join his teammates.

  “Goodbye,” was all he said.

  A couple of his friends came up and asked after him. He pushed aside any concern. He just wanted to play rugby. They watched him for a while. He was athletic and lithe and good with the ball.

  “That’s the thing about sports,” said Alfred, “they help to occupy the mind. I think it’ll help him slowly come to terms with this tremendous loss.”

  Declan nodded.

  “Quite right, Alfred. Poor lad, I can’t imagine losing both parents at such a young age. Thankfully he seems to have the fortitude to handle it.”

  “He had a brave mother,” said Frances. “I should think that apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  A Tale of Three Murders

  PEARCE had just come back from speaking with the Smalleys. They were decent hard-working people who seemed happy enough to speak with him about Pelagia and Minnie even though they had just that very morning spoken with Groundskeeper Brimley about it. Brimley had not attended with Pearce and so it had been left up to Pearce to inform them that Brimley, was in fact, actually working for MI5.

  Herbert Smalley said he wasn’t surprised at the revelation. Penny, his wife, said she didn’t believe him. This time, Pearce was able to access Minnie’s room which Brimley hadn’t managed. There wasn’t much to be found in Minnie’s room. She left no evidence of the work she was doing at Bletchley. Pearce wasn’t surprised. It seemed that both women took their work very seriously. He was eager however, to hear back from Lady Marmalade to see if her trip to Rugby had been worthwhile.

  Pearce tasked Lavatish with counting and collecting the money that both women seemed to have for June’s rent. Lavatish was also asked to call up Scotland Yard and have a couple of constables sent up to collect all the belongings from both rooms. These items were now evidence. The Smalleys were asked, and they promised, not to disturb the rooms at all.

  Penny took the news poorly when Pearce informed her that both of her boarders had been murdered. It was a genuine sorrow. Herbert certainly wasn’t happy but he didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve. Pearce left them with his card and instructions to call if they had any questions, or more importantly, if they remembered anything that might help with the case.

  “What are we going to do now, Inspector?” asked Lavatish as they walked back to the Hut to meet up with Brimley, Albutt and anyone else who might have arrived.

  “We’re going to wait until DCI Chester Milling from Cumbria and Lester Allen from MI5 join us and hopefully we’ll find out who, exactly, this German spy is. Then we’ll put word out to everyone at Scotland Yard to be on the lookout for this man. We’ll share the photographs and we’ll reach out to the docks. It’s going to be a lot of legwork, George,” said Pearce.

  When they arrived at Hut 10 it seemed that Pearce’s prayers had been answered. His timing was impeccable. Everyone was just arriving. A small man with a temper and a better mustache than his own was just about to come to blows with Brimley and Albutt it seemed.

  “You almost got my man killed,” he said. “You think it’s easy being on the frontline, sending everyone else to fight. Come here you lily-livered weasel and I’ll show you a fight alright.”

  Desmont and another man were holding this small man from tearing a strip off of Brimley and Albutt.

  “Can I ask what’s going on here?” shouted Pearce to get everyone’s attention.

  The short, older man with the excellent mustache turned around to face him.

  “I’m DCI Chester Milling,” he said. “Who are you?”

  “Good,” said Pearce. “I’m Detective Inspector Devlin Pearce from Scotland Yard. I’m the man in charge now.”

  “Better than the bumbling fools from the MIs,” said Chester.

  “And you are?” asked Pearce, offering his hand to the other unknown man in the room. The man took it. He wore spectacles and had oiled back black hair. His face was angular and he looked more like an American gangster than a British government man.

  “Lester Allen,” he said, “MI5.”

  He had a firm handshake which Pearce was grateful for.

  “Good,” said Pearce, “then perhaps we’ll actually get something done now instead of trying to kill each other. Let’s use your office, Walter, if you don’t mind.”

  Brimley nodded. Pearce led them all to the back of the Hut where they crowded into Brimley’s office.


  “Let’s start with Cumbria,” said Pearce. “What have you got, Chief Inspector?”

  “I brought the original documents we collected from the deceased, Ms. Minnie Shelford as well as the dagger that was used in her murder and a statement from my constable who was almost murdered by the very same man.”

  “And how is he doing?” asked Pearce.

  “Looks like he’ll make it through,” said Milling. “He’s in serious but stable condition.”

  “Thank God for small mercies,” said Pearce. “Instead of having all of us review all of the evidence, would you mind giving us the gist of it, Chief Inspector?”

  “Well, Constable Ernest Swales, my constable who was stabbed by this man, has given a description of him. The spy is said to be of average height with a scar above his right eye, in the eyebrow area, with black wavy hair and gray eyes. He is also missing his right baby finger…”

  “Ah, I know who that is,” blurted out Allen.

  “In good time,” said Pearce.

  “This is the dagger he used on Minnie Shelford,” said Milling picking up an evidence envelope that held said dagger. He emptied the contents onto the table, and the dagger with dried blood still on it clattered onto the wood. “The knife he used on my constable we never recovered. We believe he took that with him.”

  Everybody leaned in to take a good look at the dagger. The blade was about fifteen centimeters long. The handle almost half that length. At the top of the handle were the two lightning bolts of the Schutzstaffel. At the bottom was the Reichsadler, or the German heraldic eagle, carrying in its claws the swastika, or Hakenkreuz, of the Third Reich. On the blade, even through the dried blood could be seen the words “meine ehre heißt treue” written in Fraktur typeface.

  “Anyone know what that means?” asked Pearce whose only German was a few words more than “bratwurst bitte.”

  “Meine ehre heißt treue means ‘loyalty is my honor’,” said Desmont. “It’s the motto for the Schutzstaffel.”

  Pearce nodded.

  “So we are dealing with someone from the German secret police as Lady Marmalade informed me earlier,” said Pearce.

  “It’s worse than that,” said Desmont. “Allen and I have been comparing notes…”

  “Would you mind getting me up to speed?” asked DCI Milling.

  Pearce looked over at him and nodded.

  “Yes, certainly. Finish up first with what you’ve got and then I’ll clue you in as to how it all fits together.”

  “That’s pretty much it. We have the dagger as you’ve seen, which we also determined belongs to a member of the Schutzstaffel. I have my constable’s statement which I’ve given you the shortened version of, and the two notes that we retrieved from the deceased. The one, which is encrypted she actually gave to Mr. Elmer Nisbet with her dying breath. The other we found in her purse which was in her suitcase in her room at the Nisbet’s. I’m afraid the encrypted note we’ve been unable to decrypt.”

  “That’s quite alright,” said Pearce. “Lady Marmalade was up here not long ago and the girls in Hut 8 actually decrypted the note quite easily. It’s a four-square cipher.”

  “What did it say?” asked Milling.

  “Lavatish,” said Pearce, looking at his Detective Sergeant.

  Lavatish pulled out his notebook and flipped to the page.

  “And I quote ‘Germany infiltrated BP. He knows I know Stan might be with Germans.’”

  “And what do we think that means?” asked Milling.

  “It seems that Minnie thought that Group Captain Dowd was with the Germans and no longer working for our side. We don’t have confirmation of that yet, but this note clearly indicates that Minnie Shelford felt that her life might be in danger. The ‘He knows I know’ might refer to the German spy. Regardless, what it suggests is that Group Captain Dowd might have been doing a double cross on Brimley.”

  Milling looked at Brimley.

  “Have you confronted him about it?” asked Milling.

  Brimley shook his head and was about to speak.

  “I found Group Captain Dowd shot to death in London this morning,” said Pearce.

  “I see. That explains why you’re the man in charge,” said Milling.

  “Yes, and Group Captain Dowd, it seems, was living in a very expensive flat in London, giving greater credence to Minnie’s suggestion that he might have switched sides.”

  Milling nodded.

  “This is what I’ve learned so far,” continued Pearce. “Walter Brimley was running an operation approved by Box 500 but without much support. He believed, and it turns out he’s right, that not all German spies have been turned to work for us. He’s found, at least, this one spy with whom he was giving false information to, through Group Captain Stanley Dowd. This German spy went by the name of Edsel Schmidt…”

  Pearce looked at Allen who was practically chomping at the bit.

  “I’m just bringing Chester up to speed and then you can have the floor.”

  Allen grinned and nodded.

  “Group Captain Dowd was working with two ladies from Bletchley Park, Minnie Shelford whom you know and Pelagia Paterson. Pelagia was found strangled not far from here early this morning. We believe this to have occurred early this morning. Group Captain Dowd I found shot to death in London later this morning. We believe that all three murders have been committed by this Edsel Schmidt. It appears that he started up at the Lake District with Minnie Shelford on Sunday, then worked his way down here early this morning to murder Pelagia Paterson before getting to London in time to murder Group Captain Stanley Dowd.”

  Pearce looked around at everyone.

  “Have I missed anything?”

  “We believe he’s trying to make it back to the fatherland, to Germany, and if Minnie Shelford is right about Dowd working for the Germans, then he’s got some very damaging information about Bletchley Park. Therefore, it is our first priority to capture him before he leaves our shores,” said Albutt.

  Pearce nodded.

  “Right. That is our primary goal.”

  “How would he have known that the girls were involved?” asked Milling.

  “Dowd, I’m afraid,” said Brimley, “had a loose tongue.”

  “Do we know for certain that he was giving real documents to the Germans?” asked Milling.

  “We don’t. I’m hoping that is something Lady Marmalade might uncover. She’s gone up to visit with Sebastian Paterson at Rugby School. He was Pelagia’s son and she went up to see him twice in almost as many weeks which was unusual. We’re hoping there’s something to that.”

  “And we’re no longer concerned for anyone else’s safety?” asked Milling.

  “I should think not. Everyone here at BP is being informed about what happened, but we think that Edsel Schmidt is moving quickly to get back to Germany. The three primary players in this operation have been murdered.”

  “What about Lady Marmalade? You might not be aware but he did go after her early on Monday morning,” said Milling.

  “Yes, I’m aware of that. Thankfully your man and Lady Marmalade’s butler were able to intervene or we’d all be looking for work. However, the fact remains, he’s moved from up north, the Lake District, to London. I am fairly confident he’s cutting his losses now and moving to the coast in order to escape. The most important people involved with the operation are dead. I think he’ll be quite satisfied with that.”

  Pearce looked around again at the faces present in the room. He didn’t know any of them except for Lavatish. Without knowing them, all he could rely on was the hope that they’d put personal feelings aside and work together to apprehend Schmidt. For if Minnie was right about Dowd leaking real documents to the German, then Britain was in for a long night if he got to Germany.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  He was met with blank stares. Allen was almost apoplectic bottling up his enthusiasm. He obviously felt he knew who the German spy was.

  “Lester, you have the floor.
It seems like you might know who our German spy is?”

  “Yes, yes indeed. Thank you, Inspector,” he said.

  Allen walked around to the front of the desk where Brimley would sit. He was carrying in his arm a brown folder filled with documents. He opened it up in his arms and rifled and shuffled the papers. Then he closed the folder again.

  “As many of you might know, I’m Lester Allen from MI5. I work with Walter but I’m based in London. I was conferring with Carlisle from MI6 about what we have, and we agree that the man we are looking for is Hanz Himmler.”

  Allen put the folder down on the table and turned it around so that it would be right side up for those on the opposite side of the desk. He opened up the folder. Inside were a few photographs on the left side and a sheet of paper on the other that included personal details about Hanz Himmler.

  “As you can see by the first photograph, Hanz Himmler, does have a scar above his right eye. This is the best photograph we have of him and it was taken in Germany a few years ago. The others have been taken by me or my colleagues here in London.”

  Allen spread the photos around so that they were more easily seen.

  “This one,” he said, pointing to it, “shows his right hand, and if you look closely you can see that he is missing his baby finger.”

  Some of the heads bowed lower to get a better look. It was a decent photograph but it had been blown up. In the process it had lost some of its clarity yet you could still clearly see that the right baby finger was missing.

  “If we capture this man, gentlemen,” said Allen, “it will be quite the feather in our cap. Hanz Himmler is indeed related to Heinrich Himmler. In fact, he is Heinrich’s younger brother. As such he has much to prove and his capture would be a great win for Britain.”

  There were murmurs of agreement from the other men gathered around the table.