The Disappearance of Alistair Ainsworth

by Leonard Goldberg

  Mary counted aloud up to ten. “There are only ten words in the message, with one number and no symbols or apostrophes to provide a hint.”

  Montclair opened his eyes. “Something is a bit off in Tubby’s message. I can’t put my finger on it, but there is something that feels out of order.”

  “With a single word or the message itself?” Joanna pressed.

  “I am not certain,” Montclair said, with a shrug. “Perhaps I am confusing it with another communiqué.”

  Joanna asked, “Did you work with Ainsworth on this particular message?”

  “Only to a limited extent,” Montclair replied. “As I recall, our original coded message to the fleet was based on a biblical passage of some sort.”

  “Which passage?” Joanna asked quickly.

  “Tubby never mentioned it because he was too consumed recoding the dispatch so the Germans could not decipher it. To that end he used a nursery rhyme.”

  “Do you remember the rhyme?”

  Montclair shrugged again. “Only that it included a lot of numbers, with each number representing a letter in the alphabet.”

  “That does not appear to be the case here,” Joanna said.

  “It can’t be that complicated,” Montclair opined. “Most likely there is only a single word or two that is the key to the message.”

  “We need to come up with answers here,” Dunn urged. “Please keep in mind that your colleague’s life is on the line, and that line grows shorter with each passing minute.”

  “We were so close yesterday,” Marlowe groused. “If the troops had arrived at the home in St. John’s Wood just a bit sooner, Tubby would be sitting with us this moment.”

  “I am surprised you were not invited to join in yesterday’s pursuit,” Joanna said to Marlowe. “Your knowledge of German and Germany might have been quite useful.”

  “I tried to convince Lieutenant Dunn of that, but he insisted I stand back,” Marlowe explained. “He uttered some sort of nonsense about me being too valuable to put in harm’s way.”

  “I can assure you my superiors would have never allowed it,” Dunn said firmly. “Now let us move on.” He walked over to a nearby desk and pointed to the opened map of London’s train stations that had been glued behind the bathroom mirror at the last house the Germans inhabited. “Have you had any luck with the map?”

  There was no response from the group.

  “Can you attach any meaning to the circle drawn around Waterloo Station?”

  “There are at least a dozen interpretations,” Marlowe replied. “None of which brings us any closer to Tubby.”

  “List the two or three you believe most promising.”

  Marlowe reached for his sterling silver cigarette case and lighted a Player’s Navy Cut. “Each of us shall give you our best choice and the reasoning behind it. But please keep in mind that at this point we are only stating our best guesses.”

  “Yes, yes,” Dunn said impatiently. “But nevertheless, let’s have them.”

  “First, we have to assume that Tubby did the circling to leave us a message,” Marlowe began. “Secondly, we must believe that he had overheard or otherwise come by information that indicated the Germans’ next move. This would be the critical message he wished to transmit to us. That being the case, I suspect Tubby was not referring to the train station, which would be far too obvious, but to Waterloo where the historic battle between the French and British troops took place. Now we all know that Tubby was multilingual, but his weakest language was French. Because of this, he kept a French-to-German dictionary in his desk and actually penned important notes in it. I believe some notation in that dictionary will tell us where the Germans are headed next.”

  I could not help but be impressed by Marlowe’s creative and lateral thinking. How could one possibly go from a train station in London to a French-to-German dictionary was far beyond me. But then again, that was his skill and that was what made him so valuable to His Majesty’s intelligence service.

  Montclair squinted an eye, then added, “As I recall, Tubby kept a copy of the Old Testament in his desk as well.”

  “Is he of the Jewish faith?” Joanna asked.

  “Tubby is of no faith,” Montclair replied. “His interest in the Old Testament involved a peculiar code we solved together. There was a passage in which God polluted the Nile River with blood, thus turning it red, to punish the Egyptians. But I doubt the Old Testament is in any way related to our current puzzle. I think we should concentrate on Tubby’s French dictionary, for it is clearly linked to the word Waterloo.”

  “Agreed,” Dunn said. “What say you, Mrs. Ellington?”

  “I too am under the impression Tubby was pointing to the Battle of Waterloo,” Mary said. “But from there, I traveled in a different direction. The French were of course commanded by Napoleon who was married to the enchanting Josephine. On a whim I investigated to see if there is a Josephine Street in London, and there is one located in Reigate. We are currently determining if any houses in the district were leased over the past year, with all rents paid in advance.”

  “If such leases are uncovered, it would be important to learn if the lessees had Teutonic features,” my father advised.

  “That would be the second question asked,” Mary assured.

  “And you, Montclair, have other ideas crossed your mind?” Dunn asked.

  “We should not overlook the British side at the Battle of Waterloo, where our troops were under the command of the Duke of Wellington. Tubby may be directing us to the monuments that were built in honor of this celebrated hero. As you know, there are two of these. The first being the statue at the southeast corner of Hyde Park where all is very busy and wide open, and, for the most part, commercial. That would not be a locale the Germans would select. The second monument is much more likely. The duke is entombed in a crypt at St. Paul’s Cathedral, and the residential neighborhood could readily meet the Germans’ requirements. We are at this moment scanning the entire area for recently leased houses.” Montclair rocked back and forth in his chair, then added, “I am also considering the possibility there is a connection between the message Tubby decoded and the one he left for us behind the mirror. Now, wouldn’t that be clever of old Tubby?”

  “I do not see how the two could be connected,” Dunn said. “One is attempting to tell us his location, the other simply buying Ainsworth more time.”

  “So it would seem, but that does not exclude their linkage,” Montclair argued. “You might be interested to know that in chess there is a strategy called the combination, in which a planned series of moves gives you the advantage and leaves your opponent in a weakened position. Tubby knows this gambit all too well, Lieutenant. Do not underestimate his ability to outwit the Germans.”

  “Then you had best work your hardest on both coded messages,” Dunn implored. “If even the barest of clues suggests where the Germans are located, please bring it to my attention immediately. We have the manpower to cover all possibilities, no matter how remote.”

  The phone on Roger Marlowe’s desk rang. Dunn picked up the receiver and quickly brought it to his ear.

  “Dunn,” he said curtly, followed by, “When?”

  Dunn listened carefully, then replaced the receiver and reached for his attaché case. “It would appear you have all been off the mark on the last message Ainsworth left us. A suspected German agent was just taken into custody at Waterloo Station.”

  16

  Waterloo Station

  Led by Lieutenant Dunn, we hurried up the metal steps and entered the train where the German spy awaited us. The car itself was vacant except for two constables and a solitary figure seated by the window and shrouded in a wool blanket.

  “The spy?” Dunn asked, pointing to the figure.

  “Yes, sir,” replied a constable.

  “Why is he covered?”

  “Because he is dead, sir.”

  Dunn was taken aback for a moment, then quickly recovered. “How did this
happen?”

  The constable shrugged. “I do not know, sir. We had placed him in handcuffs when he smiled at us, then took a last gasp and was gone.”

  “Did you harm him in any way?”

  “We arrested him without a struggle and applied the handcuffs. Nothing more was done, sir.”

  “Remove the blanket,” Dunn ordered.

  The figure was uncovered and revealed a heavyset man, in his middle years, with a strong jawline and bright red hair. His suit was well made and unsoiled, as were his shoes and the hat on his lap.

  “The bomb planner himself,” Dunn murmured to himself and moved in for a closer inspection of the corpse’s hands and face. “There are no signs of violence to explain his sudden death.”

  “Perhaps he had a fatal heart attack,” Lestrade suggested.

  “Individuals do not smile while experiencing a myocardial infarction,” my father rebutted.

  “Nor do men such as this one die unexpectedly, even when placed in the most challenging of situations,” Dunn said, and came back to the lead constable. “I need to know every detail, from the moment he was spotted until his capture. Leave out nothing, for the smallest happening may be of consequence.”

  The second police officer stepped forward and introduced himself. “I am Constable Harrison, sir. It was I who first noticed the suspicious man and gave chase. Officer Bates actually followed him into the train and made the arrest.”

  “What made you suspicious of him?” Dunn asked.

  “His red hair, but only after he tripped over a pram,” Harrison replied. “I was mingling amongst a group of departing passengers when I saw a man hurry by and trip over a moving pram. He lost his balance and, in the process, his hat became dislodged and revealed his very red hair. As he readjusted the position of his hat, I heard him utter a German-sounding word.”

  “Do you recall the word?” Joanna interrupted.

  “It was achtgeben or something quite close to that.”

  Joanna nodded. “It is German and it means to be careful or watch your step.”

  “That would fit, madam,” Harrison agreed.

  “Get on with the chase,” Dunn implored.

  “I shouted for him to stop immediately, but he fled and I sounded my whistle to alert the other constables. The exits were quickly secured and, having no other recourse, the suspect ran across the tracks and into a train from which passengers were alighting. At this juncture, it was Constable Bates who was close on the suspect’s heels and followed him into the train. I raced to the exit at the other end of the car and thus blocked any chance of his escaping. He gave up without a struggle. He had no identification papers and this of course made him even more suspicious—that together with his shocking red hair, sir. It was only moments after his arrest and having been placed in handcuffs that he smiled at us and promptly died.”

  Joanna addressed both constables. “Did either of you see the suspect reach into his pockets after he was obviously cornered, with no hope of escape?”

  They shook their heads simultaneously, but it was Harrison who spoke. “Because of fear that he was armed, we kept our attention focused on his hands while he was in the process of being captured. His hands were visible at all times and he made no attempt to go for his pockets.”

  “One last question,” said Joanna. “You mentioned that it was the suspect’s red hair that alerted you initially. Why was that so?”

  Constable Harrison looked to Inspector Lestrade, who nodded his permission to answer. “We were given a bulletin instructing us to keep a sharp eye out for a redheaded German agent who was most dangerous.”

  “When was this bulletin issued?”

  “Weeks ago, ma’am.”

  “Thank you for the helpful information,” Joanna said, and gave my father and me a knowing look, for the agent was most certainly Rot, whose name Verner had heard shouted out at the Germans’ residence.

  Lestrade stepped forward to praise the constables. “Both of you are to be commended for your fine work, which will be duly noted in your records. Now, I should like you to arrange for a gurney and transport to carry the corpse to the morgue at St. Bartholomew’s. You are both to stand by the remains at all times and make certain it is not touched or in any way disturbed until I give further instructions.”

  “Very good, sir,” Harrison said.

  “And finally, there are no doubt many onlookers outside the train at the moment. Please disperse them and have a constable posted to keep the curious clear of this car.”

  The constables gave Lestrade a brief salute and hurried to their tasks. Once they had departed, Lestrade quickly searched the suspect’s clothes. As expected, the spy had no wallet or identification papers, nor were there any labels to indicate where his suit was made. There were two five-pound notes in a pants pocket, but no foreign currency. The heels of his shoes were worn and showed no markings that might have revealed their country of origin.

  “Please see if the heels contain a secret compartment,” Joanna requested.

  “To what end?” Lestrade asked while determining no such secret space existed.

  “For the poison he used to kill himself.”

  “May I inquire what brings you to that conclusion?”

  “There is no other explanation,” Joanna answered. “When a man dies with a smile on his face, he is expecting death or may even be relieved that it is coming. Thus, I believe it is fair to say he somehow brought about his own demise.”

  “There are ways to inflict sudden death other than poison,” Dunn countered.

  “Such as what, pray tell?”

  “Swallowing an object that would completely occlude one’s airway.”

  “But that would have induced an involuntary choking seizure, which did not occur here,” Joanna refuted. “Nor would it have brought a smile to his face.”

  “And where would he obtain such an object?” I interjected. “Keep in mind the constables watched his every move and saw no such act committed.”

  “Well put, John,” Joanna said with a nod. “We can also exclude blows to the head and neck because there is no evidence any were administered and, unless repeatedly applied, would not induce death.”

  “Nor would a concealed, self-inflicted knife wound,” my father chimed in. “Which, in any event, would have been quite impossible with his hands handcuffed behind him.”

  “All of which leaves us with poison,” Joanna concluded.

  “But how was it given?” Dunn asked.

  “That is what we must determine,” replied Joanna and turned to me. “We should have my husband examine the corpse to see if there are any telling signs. John, please be good enough to look for injection sites on the arms and parts of tablets in the corpse’s oral cavity.”

  “But the constables kept their eyes focused on every move of his hands,” Lestrade argued. “Surely they would have seen him inject himself or reach for a tablet to swallow.”

  “I am afraid you give them too much credit, Inspector,” Joanna responded. “You must remember that the spy fled into this car ahead of the constables and for a brief moment was alone and unobserved. That is when he could have swallowed a tablet or injected himself.”

  “If he injected himself, where then would the needle be?”

  “He could have discarded it so that it is currently out of sight, or hidden it in his clothes, which were only examined in a cursory fashion.”

  “All reasonable possibilities,” Lestrade said before gesturing to me. “If you would be so good as to lend us your expertise, Dr. Watson.”

  I began my examination with a careful inspection of the corpse’s fingertips. A hidden needle, dipped in a curarelike poison, could easily pierce the skin of his fingers or palms, but no such injection site was to be seen. Nor were any pinprick marks present on the forearms or in the antecubital fossa where a rich supply of veins would rapidly carry the poison into the bloodstream. The oral cavity revealed good dental hygiene and again no injection sites. I lifted the tongu
e to search for particles of a tablet that had been administered sublingually, but found none. Moving in closer to examine the back of the pharynx, I detected a familiar scent.

  “Cyanide!” I announced to the group. “His mouth has the aroma of bitter almonds.”

  Lestrade stepped in for a deep sniff. “Blimey! It is cyanide. But how did he manage to do it?”

  I reexamined the oral cavity and saw no mucosed pockets where the poison might have been hidden. The gingival tissues were clear as well, and the tongue revealed no tears. But one of the molars at the very rear appeared to be cracked open. The other teeth were in fine condition and showed no such abnormality. Then I saw the telltale sign. Wedged into the cracked tooth was a particle of a capsule that solved the problem. “We are looking at remarkable German ingenuity.”

  “How so?” asked Lestrade.

  “They hollowed out one of his molars,” I described. “Then they placed a capsule of poison within it before capping the tooth. All the spy had to do was grind his teeth together, which would disrupt the cap and release the poison. Which in this case was cyanide that produced instant death.”

  “No hands required,” my father added.

  Joanna moved in near to the corpse and studied its face at length before asking, “What was so unique about this spy that he had to avoid capture at all costs?”

  “He was a master spy who sat at the very top of our most wanted list,” Dunn replied. “In a recently decoded message, we learned that Rot’s primary mission was to plot and select the major sites in London to be bombed by the Germans’ zeppelin fleet. These dirigible airships were responsible for hundreds upon hundreds of British deaths. Should he have been taken prisoner, I can assure you he would have been treated quite harshly and beyond a doubt executed.”

  “But why was Rot at Waterloo Station, which he would have known was under close surveillance?’

  “Perhaps it was a site he was selecting,” Lestrade suggested.

  “That would be most unlikely,” Joanna said. “Please recall that the zeppelin raids always occur at night when the station would be virtually empty. To bomb a vacant station would go against the airship’s main purpose, which is to terrorize the civilian population.”