18
The Mysterious Gentleman
We were seated in the rear compartment of a hired motorcar half a block up from 25 Ovington Street. Outside, our driver had the bonnet of the vehicle opened and appeared to be inspecting its engine. It was all theatrics designed by Joanna to give us a clear view of the entrance to the brick house Lady Jane Hamilton had visited the day before.
“What makes you confident our unnamed gentleman will visit the tobacconist today?” I asked.
“Two reasons,” Joanna said. “First, he is a heavy smoker, quite addicted to cigarettes. During his short stroll to and from the tobacconist, he consumed two cigarettes. At that rate, he will easily go through two packages a day, which is the number of packages he bought at the shop yesterday. Thus, he will be driven to replenish his supply this afternoon.”
“But he might have taken the walk much earlier or do so much later in the day. Yet you are somehow convinced he will make his move at three o’clock. How could you possibly predict that?”
“Because like most of us, he is a creature of habit,” Joanna replied, her eyes fixed on the house down the street. “In addition, according to Wiggins, our man has a ramrod posture that suggests a military background. Those individuals are the most regimented of all. You may recall that Wiggins recounted the time of the gentleman’s stroll. He did so yesterday at three; he will do the same today.”
My father glanced at his timepiece. “It is ten after three, Joanna.”
“His nicotine urge will prompt his departure momentarily.”
Despite Joanna’s confidence, I feared we were in for a prolonged wait that would take up precious time of which we had so little. The investigation into the disappearance of Alistair Ainsworth had come to a stalemate in every sense of the word. Lestrade had informed us that to date no progress had been made by Scotland Yard in tracking down addresses that could have been related to the Waterloo Station circled on the train map. All possible locations that might be linked to the Battle of Waterloo were being carefully looked into, without success. Inspectors and constables were scouring Josephine Street in Reigate and the neighborhood surrounding St. Paul’s, but to no avail. There was nothing to suggest a German presence or influence. Moreover, the mystery of the second U-boats message remained unsolved. The only bit of good news came from an intercepted note from the German high command that stated their zeppelin fleet was awaiting further orders before taking to the air again. We all wondered if the agent Rot had handed the list of selected bombing sites to Ainsworth’s captors and whether the German command was waiting for it, along with Ainsworth, to be delivered. And then the bombing would be resumed.
“There he is!” Joanna cried out, and rapped on the side window of the motorcar.
Our eyes went to the doorstep of 25 Ovington Street from which a tall, well-dressed man was departing. He was attired in a tweed suit and derby, but had no umbrella as the weather was cloudless. In his left hand was a walking stick, in his right a cigarette in a holder. He kept a hand on the holder as he smoked, thus obscuring most of his face.
Our driver hurriedly closed the bonnet of our hired motorcar and drove us toward a tobacco shop two blocks down. We stared straight ahead, not daring to even steal a glance at the walking man as we passed by. Our driver was instructed not to wait outside the storefront, but rather to circle the neighborhood and return every few minutes.
From the outside, the tobacco shop of Thomas Duvane and Sons appeared well appointed, and the interior did not disappoint. The air held the sweet aroma of cut tobacco, with all the shelves and paneling done in polished wood. There were elegant displays of fine pipes, cigars, and cigarettes that were obviously meant for the well-to-do.
Joanna immediately went to the nearest section where a most excellent variety of pipes were on exhibit. Her focus was directed to a long-stemmed cherrywood that was beautifully shaped.
“Look, Watson! Here is a type of pipe my father so enjoyed,” Joanna noted.
“Indeed it is,” my father said. “That, along with a blackened clay, were his favorites.”
“I read he gravitated to the clay pipe when in a disputatious mood.”
“Which occurred with uncommon frequency. Because of this, I often referred to that particular pipe as Holmes’s disputable clay.”
“Which of course was the one he favored when involved with a three-pipe problem.”
A short man, slight in figure, with neatly combed gray hair and a gentle face, came over to greet us. “What type tobacco did your father favor, may I ask?”
“Common black shag, coarsely cut,” Joanna replied.
“He enjoyed a most vigorous smoke.”
“And one that left a dense, blue cloud behind.”
“Quite,” the tobacconist said. “I am Thomas Duvane and would be happy to be of service to you. Is it the long-stemmed cherrywood that is of interest?”
“Not at present,” Joanna said. “But come next Christmas I shall return, for there are people close to me who would be delighted to receive such a gift.”
“I would think so. The best of the cherrywood are now a seven-shilling pipe.”
“And well worth it,” Joanna went on. “The person I have in mind is happiest when smoking his cherrywood while reading the newspaper. We know that the cherrywood pipe has a flat bottom that allows it to stand on its own when placed down. This of course allows the reader to rest his pipe and keep both hands on his newspaper.”
“I have more than a few customers who purchase the cherrywood for that very reason.”
Joanna reached for a briar pipe and examined it carefully. “But I am told that those of briar absorb the moisture from the tobacco better than the cherrywood, which gives the former a more flavorful smoke.”
“I have heard that as well, but in my opinion the cherrywood holds its own in that regard.”
“I value that opinion and will keep it in mind.”
Duvane gave Joanna a half bow. “It is a pleasure speaking with someone so informed about pipes. May I ask where you acquired this knowledge?”
“From my father,” Joanna replied.
“Does he enjoy cigars as well?”
“Havanas on occasion.”
“A man of excellent taste.”
“Who unfortunately is no longer with us.”
“My condolences,” Duvane said sympathetically.
“Thank you,” Joanna said. “I should also like to thank you for the new information, which I will find most useful. And now I would very much like to purchase three packages of Player’s Navy Cut.”
“Of course, madam,” he said, and walked to the shelves that held the cigarettes.
“Why have you asked for Player’s when you have always smoked nothing but Turkish cigarettes?” I asked quietly, following Joanna to the cigarette section.
“How many packages of Player’s do you see on the nearby shelf?” Joanna replied in a whisper, motioning with her head.
“Three.”
“There is your answer.”
“Why are you buying the last?”
“To empty the shelf when the approaching gentleman comes in for his two packages. If there are no more in stock, I will generously offer to share and thus strike up a conversation with the unnamed man.”
“Clever,” I remarked.
“I try to stay ahead of the game,” Joanna said with a smile.
But the smile quickly left her face when the door to the shop opened and the tall, well-dressed gentleman entered. Joanna hurriedly turned away and moved back to the pipe section. In a low whisper she said, “John, stand between me and the new arrival. Position yourself so that his view of me is blocked. Watson, step to my right and hide my profile, which I do not wish him to notice on his way out.”
My father and I rapidly followed Joanna’s instructions and appeared to be focusing on the display of fine pipes, but our ears were concentrated on the conversation taking place on the counter behind us.
“Your two packa
ges of Player’s, sir?” Duvane proffered.
“If you would be so good,” the man replied in clipped English.
“The Dutch Masters you ordered should arrive tomorrow morning.”
“Quite popular, are they?”
“The blunts are in constant demand, sir.” Duvane reached for two packages of Player’s Navy Cut. “As are the Player’s that are by far our most preferred brand.”
The transaction was completed without further conversation and the well-dressed gentleman departed. The tobacconist hurried behind a curtain at the rear of the shop and returned with a fresh supply of Player’s Navy Cut. As he placed them on a mid-level shelf, Joanna strolled over and asked, “Would it be too much of a bother to change my order to Turkish cigarettes?”
“No problem at all, madam.”
“Thank you.”
“Three packages, then?”
“I think two for now, for they are a stronger smoke.”
“With more intense flavor, I might add.”
“Quite so,” Joanna said. “Would you also be good enough to replenish my father-in-law’s supply of Arcadia mixture? I think three ounces would suffice.”
“Very good, madam,” the tobacconist said and once again disappeared behind the curtain at the rear.
My father said quickly, “But, Joanna, I have an adequate supply of Arcadia mixture at home.”
“We need time to make certain the gentleman is well away, for I recognized him and he may recognize me.”
“How do you know him?”
“Through his wife.”
“Who is?”
“Lady Jane Hamilton.”
19
The Unexpected Death
We did not retire until the late hour that evening, all the while trying to unravel the mystery of the strange meeting between Lady Jane Hamilton and her husband. My father and I finally went to our bedrooms at midnight, and left Joanna pacing the floor and smoking one cigarette after another as she grappled with the unsolvable problem. When I entered the drawing room the next morning, Joanna was still pacing through a dense haze of cigarette smoke.
Opening a window for fresh air, I said, “I take it the mystery remains.”
“I have the knot partially untied,” Joanna said. “It is the end equation that continues to elude me. But it too will come into view when I acquire the singular, most important piece of the puzzle.”
“Which is?”
“The papers that Little Alfie saw Lady Jane and her husband studying. Show me their contents and everything immediately falls into place. Nothing else begins to approach their relevance.”
“But I would think that Lady Jane and her motive are the key.”
Joanna flicked her wrist at the suggestion. “She is but a carrier or go-between. She either brought the papers to her husband or he had them waiting for her arrival.”
“Where would she have gotten the papers you speak of?” I queried.
“A dozen places or more,” Joanna replied. “They could have been handed to her by Roger Marlowe at their luncheon meeting, or delivered during her walk through Harrods where we had no eyes on her, or even placed in the wrapped goose from the poulterer. But then again, it is equally possible that her husband provided the papers. After all, Sir Oliver Hamilton is a high-ranking officer in His Majesty’s Navy and has access to the most sensitive documents.”
“Surely you don’t suspect him of treason.”
“I suspect everyone until they are proven innocent.”
My father entered the drawing room, neatly dressed and already smoking his first pipeful of Arcadia mixture. “Through my opened door I heard your conversation and wondered if all three of those you mentioned were somehow involved. In particular, could Lady Jane be a go-between for both her husband and dear friend Roger Marlowe?”
“Capital, Watson!” Joanna exclaimed. “That very thought crossed my mind as well and cannot be easily discarded. It is a most convenient triangle in which Roger Marlowe decodes the message, hands it to Lady Jane who then rushes it to her husband, and who in turn decides if it is important enough to transmit to the Germans.”
“But why would a titled, distinguished naval officer resort to treason?” I asked.
“Uncover the perpetrator and I will give you the motive,” Joanna responded. “Nevertheless, there are difficulties with this line of reasoning. In particular, it does not explain why husband and wife must meet in a secret location and avoid being seen together. Such a transaction could have taken place in their home and no one would have been the least bit suspicious. Also, recall that Lady Jane’s disappearance for an hour only occurred when her husband was supposedly at sea. Why the need to make him absent when it serves no apparent purpose here?”
“Yet, as you just mentioned, we cannot totally disregard their involvement,” I opined.
“Nor do I plan to,” Joanna said. “But we must keep our focus on the Admiralty Club where most of the naval codes are broken and devised. That is where the traitor is. All the others, if implicated, are simply coconspirators. Bear in mind, our traitor knew Alistair Ainsworth well, was aware of his work and unique skill as a decoder, and was cognizant of his habits. Only those belonging to the Admiralty Club meet all these requirements. Thus, the traitor must reside within this group.”
“That being the case, I would favor Roger Marlowe,” my father said. “As Joanna has pointed out, his earnings can’t begin to cover his lavish tastes. There must be an outside source of income.”
“The years he spent in Germany at the University of Heidelberg would also cast a shadow,” I added.
“Indeed,” my father agreed. “And his closeness to Lady Jane makes her the perfect go-between for Roger Marlowe.”
“Should we then not concern ourselves with Geoffrey Montclair and Mary Ellington?” Joanna asked.
“Not at all,” I said. “I am still concerned with Montclair’s somewhat feminine features. If he does have sexual peculiarities, it would make him a most tempting target for blackmail.”
“I am certain his past was carefully scrutinized before he was allowed into the Admiralty Club,” my father argued mildly. “Surely they would have discovered any such doings.”
“Even if they did, perhaps they were willing to overlook them,” I countered. “Remember that talents like Montclair’s are not easy to come by.”
“Particularly his photographic memory,” Joanna recalled. “That unique characteristic makes him invaluable when deciphering multiple codes.”
“Thus, both Roger Marlowe and Geoffrey Montclair are suspects, but certainly we can exclude Mary Ellington,” I concluded. “After all, she has lost a son in the war and must hate the Germans for that reason alone.”
“Or perhaps she holds a similar grudge against England for sending her son off to a war she disapproves of,” Joanna said.
“How do you know she disapproves of the war?” I asked.
Joanna shrugged. “I don’t. I was simply raising the possibility.”
“You must admit that is highly unlikely,” I said.
“Do not overlook the unlikely, John,” Joanna cautioned. “For at times, it is the unlikely that shines a light on the likely.”
“The other side of the same coin,” my father noted.
“Precisely,” Joanna said. “Recall the case of A Study in Treason in which a most expensive Havana cigar was reportedly purchased by a stable boy who had a salary of far less than a pound a month.”
“So then, all things considered,” my father concluded, “we now have three suspects and at least two coconspirators. But alas, that does not bring us any closer to Alistair Ainsworth.”
The telephone on our desk rang and my father picked up the receiver, saying, “Watson here.”
He listened intently, then slowly replaced the receiver. A grim expression came to his face. “It seems our list of suspects at the Admiralty Club has been narrowed to two. Geoffrey Montclair has been found stabbed to death.”
* * *
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We arrived at the Admiralty Club just as a homicide team from Scotland Yard was departing. Fortunately, the body of Geoffrey Montclair had not been moved and was in the exact position when first discovered. According to Inspector Lestrade, the body was discovered by Lieutenant Dunn on his arrival at 7:45 A.M.
Montclair’s corpse was slumped over his desk, his bloodied right hand extended and resting on the keyboard of a typewriter. There was a large, pearl-handled dagger plunged so deep into his back its blade was not visible. The blood spread over his back and shoulders was well clotted and blackish maroon in color, indicating the stabbing had taken place hours earlier.
“He never saw it coming,” Lestrade proclaimed. “All evidence strongly suggests he was sitting at his desk, working away on his typewriter, when he was attacked from behind. You will note he made no effort to turn or resist, which I believe tells us the murderer crept up silently on his victim. Death must have come quite quickly.”
“There is obviously no sign of a struggle,” Joanna said.
“None whatsoever,” Lestrade agreed. “But there is clear evidence the motive was robbery. You will note that the drawers in the victim’s desk are opened and have been rummaged through. More importantly, Montclair’s wallet and gold timepiece are missing.”
“Were the desks in the other offices rummaged through as well?” Joanna asked.
“Not that we could see,” Lestrade replied. “We believe the thief was in too big a hurry to depart. After all, he had just committed murder and had no idea if other coworkers might be returning shortly.”
“Was the main door locked?”
“There was no sign of forced entry, if that is your question.”
Dunn stepped forward and said, “I am afraid that the members of the Admiralty Club all too often leave the door unlocked in the late evening, although repeatedly warned not to do so.”
Joanna moved over to the desk and motioned to the items atop it. There was a leather card case, a silver fountain pen, and some loose coinage. “And these?”
The Disappearance of Alistair Ainsworth Page 19