“To obtain information.”
“What sort?”
“That is undetermined.”
“But what has been determined is a proper hanging for those responsible.” My father bristled, his anger showing briefly.
Johnny noted my father’s change in temper and remarked, “Thomas mentioned that you and Dr. Verner were colleagues.”
“And good friends,” my father said, then added firmly, “I will not rest until those responsible are apprehended and punished.”
Johnny pondered the matter before asking, “Are there any clues as to who carried out such a heinous act?”
My father looked at Joanna who answered, “We believe foreign agents.”
Johnny’s half-lidded eyes abruptly widened. “Was Dr. Verner somehow involved with foreign agents?”
“So it would seem.”
The information Joanna gave was now public knowledge, with all newspapers reporting the details of the crime, but without mention of Alistair Ainsworth or his abduction. My attention returned to Johnny who was gazing intently at his mother. It was as if he were trying to read her mind without success.
“Mother,” he said finally, “I do believe you are withholding important clues.”
“For now, I am afraid I must,” Joanna said, then flicked her wrist to dismiss the subject. “So tell me, dear son, how go your studies at Eton?”
“Well enough, but I am bored.”
“Your grades say otherwise.”
Johnny shrugged indifferently. “But the subjects have little appeal. I am expected to memorize facts that have no bearing on the profession I have chosen to pursue. You see, Mother, I plan to follow in your footsteps and become a private detective. I truly believe that is my calling.”
“That calling must await your completing your studies,” said Joanna. “You will soon learn that the seemingly irrelevant facts you commit to memory now will become most useful in the future.”
“Oh, I wish to continue my studies, but not at Eton.”
“Where then?”
“At home, here in London at 221b Baker Street,” Johnny continued on eagerly. “We shall choose the subjects that provide the information that is paramount in criminal investigation. We can hire a tutor to guide me, much as we did when living with Grandfather Blalock.”
“A formal education is much preferred, for it will greatly increase the scope of your knowledge, far more than will tutorial learning,” Joanna explained patiently. “And life experiences away from home will sharpen your instincts and insights in ways that books cannot.”
“You really should finish up your studies at Eton, for you may decide on yet another profession later on,” my father chimed in.
“And an honors degree from Eton will pave the road to success, no matter the field you choose to pursue,” I added.
“My mind will not change,” Johnny said stubbornly. “I carry the genes of Sherlock Holmes and they will dictate what I do in life.”
Joanna sighed resignedly. “I take it you have given this decision considerable thought.”
“I have, Mother.”
“Then I will ask that you give the matter even more careful consideration, for such changes often do not work out well.”
“This will be for the better,” Johnny persisted. “Of that, I am certain.”
“It may be so,” Joanna agreed halfheartedly. “Only time will tell.”
Johnny brightened. “Does that mean I have your permission to withdraw from Eton?”
“It means the matter is not entirely settled,” Joanna said in a measured voice. She seemed to think further before asking, “When are you expected to return to Eton?”
“Within the week.”
“That is time enough for you to reconsider, for I wish you to do so,” Joanna urged. “You will give the matter careful thought, paying particular attention to the advantages and disadvantages of leaving a distinguished school like Eton, in favor of a private, tutored education at home. At the end of the week, you will let me know of your decision and the reasons behind it.”
“You make it sound like a formal presentation.”
“It is, for you must convince both yourself and your mother that such a move is to your advantage.”
“I can do that.”
“I suspect you can.”
As our carriage continued on, Johnny sat back with a confident smile on his face. He was beyond a doubt certain he would prevail. I gazed over to Joanna, expecting her to be disheartened or, at a minimum, concerned over her son’s plans, which were so clearly to his disadvantage. Instead, she gave me the subtlest of smiles that told me that young Johnny Blalock was destined to return to Eton and complete his studies there.
8
The Admiralty Club
Having left Johnny in our rooms to enjoy a well-deserved nap, we hurried to Trafalgar Square where a most important meeting awaited us. With Lieutenant Dunn’s permission and under his supervision, we visited the Admiralty Club just as Big Ben struck the noon hour. The third floor was designed most peculiarly and was not what we expected. Illuminated by a skylight, it contained a large, circular center that opened to four separate offices, three of which were currently occupied by the three remaining members of the secret organization. Off to the side near the entrance was an armed guard wearing the uniform of His Majesty’s Navy.
Joanna carefully studied him before turning to Dunn. “Is it not odd to have such an important unit housed above a pub? Surely a more secure location would be in order.”
“It is odd indeed, but please keep in mind the type of individuals we are dealing with. They are free thinkers to the greatest extent and will not accept military discipline or regimentation of any sort. They do as they wish when they wish and will ignore any restrictions you place on them. So it was not surprising that they refused to be housed at the Admiralty in Whitehall where they would be forced to sign in and out and be subjected to repeated interruptions. They demanded a comfortable situation that was distant and separate from the Royal Navy. In their minds, these rooms provided the ideal location to perform their vital work.”
“It sounds as if the Royal Navy bent to the group’s every command.”
“We had little choice. Under ordinary circumstances, they would have been conscripted and ordered to commence with their duties, but you can easily imagine where this would have taken us with this independent group. So we reached a compromise. The rooms above the Admiralty pub were selected, but only after the group’s approval, of course. With reluctance, they accepted the presence of an armed guard at the door to deny entrance to unwanted visitors or intruders.”
“Does the guard remain on duty into the night?”
Dunn shook his head. “He departs promptly at six, with me, after the messages and communiqués have been collected.”
“I take it the armed guard is at your side when you arrive in the morning.”
“He is. As a matter of fact, the attaché case holding the coded messages is never out of his sight.”
“Be so good as to describe how the messages are gathered at Whitehall and then distributed to the individual members of the group.”
“The coded messages are placed in an attaché case under the eyes of the assistant director of Naval Intelligence, then brought to these rooms at eight A.M. promptly. Here, the case is opened and the documents disseminated to the group by Alistair Ainsworth. Each document is numbered so they can be easily tracked if necessary. I return at six P.M. sharp and the decoded messages are placed in the attaché case, after which the case is locked. The lock is such that it cannot be opened except by special key that is only available at Whitehall.”
“Are all documents retrieved?”
“Without fail. We carefully check the numbers on all of the coded messages and their translated counterparts, and only then are they placed in the attaché case and locked away.”
“What of the scattered notes and reminders that the members may have jotted down?”
“So none are allowed to leave these rooms?”
“That is an absolute restriction.”
“Are the members searched as they depart for the evening?”
“They would not stand for that.”
“Then you have an obvious breach in your security.”
“It is possible,” Dunn conceded. “But I doubt anyone could make much from their scribbled notes.”
“That depends entirely on who is reading the scribble.” Joanna gazed around the room once more until her eyes came to rest on the entry door. “I assume the door is securely locked after hours.”
“When the last person leaves, the door is to be locked shut.”
Joanna nodded, but the furrowing of her brow told us she was not satisfied with Dunn’s answers. Something about the door caught her interest, for she continued to stare at it and the guard beside it.
“Are there other questions?” Dunn asked impatiently.
“None at the moment.”
“Then let us proceed.”
We began our questioning with Mrs. Mary Ellington who we were told had recently lost her son on a battlefield in Belgium. She was a small woman, slight of frame, with a kind face and gray-brown hair pulled back tightly into a bun. If she was intimidated by our presence, she showed no signs of it.
“I do hope Tubby is all right,” Mary said, leaning back in a swivel chair, with her hands clasped together behind her head.
“As do we,” Joanna said.
“But I fear the worst.”
“Why?”
“Because Tubby is a man of strict habits,” Mary replied. “Only the direst of circumstances would cause him to deviate.”
“Did you know him well?”
“You make it sound as if he is already dead.”
“Do you know him well?” Joanna corrected.
“Well enough, but only at work in these rooms,” Mary replied. “Yet his routine is so precise and predictable, one could set a clock by his actions.”
“Was this the case the Monday of his disappearance?”
“In every way. He arrived at eight sharp, stayed in his office until teatime at ten thirty, left for lunch at one, returned at two, used the loo at three, and worked until six on the dot, at which time he departed for the pub downstairs.”
“Did you speak with him that day?”
“We chatted only briefly, for we tend to work alone in our offices, where we can produce the best results. On occasion, however, we do collaborate, particularly when we require another’s skill set.”
“Could you give us an example?”
Dunn quickly intervened. “I do not think we should go there.”
“Oh, come now, Lieutenant,” Mary said briskly. “Do you consider the daughter of Sherlock Holmes and the Watsons untrustworthy?”
Lieutenant Dunn stared at her, tight-lipped, but gave no response.
“My particular skill deals with codes that consist of numbers and symbols,” Mary continued on. “If I come across anything that has overtones of German history or geography, I would consult with Roger Marlowe who is very familiar with that dreadful country. Tubby, on the other hand, is a wizard with word games, such as puzzles and anagrams.”
“Both are also very good at mathematics as well, I was told.”
“So am I,” Mary interjected. “Which is attested to by my honors degree from Oxford. I consider mathematics my strong point.”
Here was a woman not to be trifled with, I thought. She would easily be a match for either Ainsworth or Marlowe, and her forthright manner indicated she would not tolerate a pecking order in the group. At that moment, I noticed her black armband and recalled she had recently lost her son in the war.
“I know you are quite occupied with your work, so I shan’t take up more of your time,” Joanna said. “However, I do need to know if Alistair Ainsworth ever mentioned he was being followed.”
“Never,” Mary answered promptly. “And were that the case, it would have been brought to the attention of our intelligence liaison officer.”
“Lieutenant Dunn?”
“Lieutenant Dunn.”
“Did you see or chat with Ainsworth on the day of his disappearance?”
“I only saw him briefly and that was at a small, nearby café where I passed his table at lunch. He was seated with Roger Marlowe and a rather attractive woman who was introduced as Lady Jane something or other. From their seating arrangement, I would guess she was there with Roger rather than Tubby.”
“Close, were they?”
“Quite.”
“Thank you for your time and service to England,” Joanna said, then added, “and we should like to offer our condolences on the loss of your son in defense of our country.”
Mary Ellington nodded ever so solemnly. “He was such a good boy.”
“I am certain he was.”
We returned to the central area where we waited while Lieutenant Dunn took a phone call in Alistair Ainsworth’s vacant office. The other doors were closed and we could hear no sounds coming from within.
“Mary Ellington seems to be holding up well from her loss,” I commented.
“Some women are better than others at hiding broken hearts,” Joanna said, then turned to Lieutenant Dunn as he returned. “Let us move on to the next member of the group.”
“His name is Geoffrey Montclair, a genius at design engineering,” said Dunn. “In addition, he has a photographic memory and can memorize a chapter from a book or a long conversation and repeat it verbatim a week later. You can see his value when dealing with a multitude of codes that may have similarities.”
We entered Geoffrey Montclair’s office and found him feeding and talking to a caged parakeet. The bird responded with a series of pleasant chirps.
“I do wish you would leave the parakeet at home,” Dunn admonished.
“He becomes lonely,” Montclair said, and ignored Dunn as he dusted off his hands and introduced himself. He was a tall, lean man, with rosy cheeks and curly blond hair. His graceful, exaggerated motions, together with his high-pitched voice, gave him a somewhat feminine flair. “It is so unlike Tubby to go missing.”
“How well did you know him?” Joanna asked.
“We did not socialize together, but crossed paths often enough at chess matches.”
“Were both of you masters?”
“Yes, although I considered my game superior to Tubby’s.”
“Did Ainsworth share this opinion?”
“Quite the opposite,” Montclair said, with a smile. “We didn’t take each other too seriously. It was all in good fun.”
“When was the last chess tournament?”
“A month or so ago.”
“I would assume that most of the players were Englishmen?”
“Oh, there were some from the Continent as well, primarily Poles and Russians.”
“Was that the last time you saw Ainsworth outside the office?”
“It was.”
“On the day of his disappearance, did you converse with him at all?”
The parakeet began tweeting loudly from its cage. It was not a single chirp, but seemed to go on and on. Montclair turned to the bird and hissed, “Hush! You silly bird!”
The bird obeyed and went about pruning its feathers quietly.
“Tubby and I spoke briefly.” Montclair came back to Joanna’s question. “He mentioned that he and Marlowe would be dining at Simpson’s-in-the-Strand, which is a restaurant we both favor.”
“I take it that was late in the afternoon.”
Montclair nodded. “On his way out.”
“Thank you for your time and assistance.”
Once we were in the central area and the door to Montclair’s office closed, Joanna turned to Dunn and asked, “How thoroughly was Geoffrey Montclair vetted?”
“Most thoroughly, top to bottom,” Dunn said. “His record and résumé were spotless.”
“Is he or was he ever
married?”
“No,” Dunn replied. “Nor was he known to be involved in any long-term relationships. His social life was investigated vigorously and there was nothing unusual discovered.”
“I see,” Joanna said, but the tone of her voice indicated she was not convinced. “Were there any particular women in his life?”
“Some years ago he was involved with a secretary at a prominent law firm.”
“Was she looked into?”
“In detail,” Dunn reported. “She spoke of him as being charming and witty, and liked by all.”
“It sounds as if their relationship was never serious on a romantic scale.”
“That was our impression as well, but I can see what your questions are leading to. And the answer is there was no evidence of sexual deviation.”
“Yet for a man Montclair’s age to have had only a single, lukewarm relationship over the years would surely strike one as being unusual.”
Dunn shrugged indifferently. “Some men are simply put together that way.”
“So I have been told,” Joanna said as we strode toward Roger Marlowe’s office.
But I could tell the matter of Montclair’s sexuality was of real concern to her, for homosexuality could be used as a tool for blackmail. In several well-publicized cases, personages in high places were forced to resign and leave office because of their sexual orientation and the vulnerability that accompanied it. With this in mind, I concluded that while Dunn’s investigation of Geoffrey Montclair may have ended, Joanna’s most assuredly had not.
“Allow me to provide you with the details on Roger Marlowe whom you will interview next,” Dunn said.
We listened with feigned interest to the lieutenant’s description of Marlowe’s background, which was not nearly as complete as the information we had received from Emma Ainsworth and Lady Jane Hamilton. Dunn appeared to believe that Roger Marlowe’s time and contacts during his years at the University of Heidelberg were a major asset rather than a dangerous liability.
“I doubt that he will be able to add much to your investigation,” Dunn stated, ending his summary.
“We shall see,” Joanna said.
The Disappearance of Alistair Ainsworth Page 9