Chapter 7 #3
‘If you’re imagining that someone came down the chimney, I can assure you they did not,’ Inspector Wells said, her tone dry.
‘It’s blocked by a substantial bird’s nest, has been for more than a week.
A sweep had been engaged to clear it on Monday and he confirmed no one could have got past it to gain entry.
Not without making a considerable mess.’
There wasn’t a trace of soot on the cream tassels of the rug, no tell-tale footprint that gave the game away.
Harry rapped her knuckles against the solid brickwork at the back of the hearth and accumulated another dusting of black.
With a sigh, she placed a hand against the grey stone plinth surrounding the hearth, intending to push herself up, and paused.
Given the temperature of the room, and the understanding that the fire had not been lit for over a week, she would have expected the stone to be chilly to the touch.
It was not, or at least it was not as cold as it should have been.
‘What is it?’ Oliver said, noticing her puzzled expression.
Harry pressed her palms flat against the plinth, then ran them across its surface. ‘This isn’t stone,’ she said, and looked up at Inspector Wells. ‘It’s not cold enough. It feels like wood.’
Reaching into the hearth, she tugged the iron grate out of the way.
It slid grudgingly towards her and, as it moved, she saw its feet had dimpled the softer surface upon which it sat.
Stretching towards the back of the now empty space, Harry dug her nails into the seam between the wall and the floor, and felt the sliver of a gap.
‘Give me a hand,’ she said to Oliver, and grabbed the poker from the rack that stood to one side.
‘I think there’s something underneath here. ’
It took several minutes of jimmying with the poker, and a number of muffled curses from Oliver, but at last the wooden board split in two and they were able to pull it out of the way.
Beneath it was a wide hole that stretched down into darkness.
Harry sat back, sweat trickling through her moustache in a way that was extremely unpleasant, trying not to pant.
‘I think we may have found how the thief got in.’
Inspector Wells was gaping at the fireplace in grim astonishment. ‘A tunnel. But where does it lead?’
Harry’s thoughts flashed to her conversation with Welcome Dobbs the day before. She had thought the information he’d given her might be important and she had been right. ‘I imagine they used the old coiners’ tunnel that runs beneath the house next door.’
Now it was Oliver’s turn to stare. ‘How could you possibly know that?’
Harry shrugged the question away. She was not about to give him another excuse to tell her off.
‘I read about it,’ she said, and looked at Inspector Wells.
‘I believe number 50 has recently been renovated and a new family have moved in. It seems to me that such works might provide the perfect cover to dig a tunnel.’
The inspector was eyeing the hole thoughtfully. ‘We’ll find out when we follow it, although I’m not sure I have an officer small enough to fit inside.’
For an instant, Harry was tempted to volunteer herself, but common sense quickly intervened.
Apart from anything else, a man like Mr Thompson would never dream of suggesting such a thing.
With some reluctance, she got to her feet and tried to brush the grime from her hands. ‘I wish you luck on that score.’
Beside her, Oliver had also risen. ‘You’ll keep me informed of developments?’ he said to Inspector Wells, who nodded.
‘It seems your reputation is entirely justified,’ she said, regarding Harry with fresh respect. ‘Scotland Yard thanks you, although you’ll understand if I prefer not to shake your hand at present.’
Something flashed in her eyes then, the same twinkle Harry had observed when they had first been introduced, and she once again wondered just how much Inspector Wells knew about who was beneath the dark whiskers and padding.
How had Oliver described her? Someone who should appreciate the nuances of the situation.
And Harry supposed he had a point. No one could understand how hard it was to be a woman in a man’s world better than a female inspector at Scotland Yard.
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘I’m delighted to have helped. ’
It was a blessed relief to be greeted by a brisk January breeze as they left 48 Berkeley Square, and the light drizzle that began to fall was even more welcome.
Harry stared up at the house next door, wondering what the police would find when they followed the tunnel to its end, and what the new occupants would make of their unwitting involvement in the crime that had baffled Scotland Yard.
‘You’re assuming they’re not involved,’ Oliver pointed out as they strolled away and she voiced her thoughts.
‘I suppose it’s possible,’ Harry conceded. ‘But this crime has been weeks, possibly months, in the planning and I can’t imagine Moriarty would be careless enough to leave his accomplices right next door.’
Oliver considered this. ‘Probably not.’ He walked in silence for a moment or two. ‘The discovery of the tunnel will be all over the newspapers when the police reveal its existence. Do you think Moriarty will consider the crime solved?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Solving the crime means finding the diamond. The tunnel is only the beginning.’
He sighed. ‘I thought you’d say that. So, what’s next?’
‘Next, we take a regrettably long walk through Hyde Park to make sure we aren’t being followed,’ she said, and fought the urge to scratch beneath the thick hair that was tickling her upper lip.
‘And then we get out of these diabolical disguises. How do you men cope with moustaches and beards? I can’t wait to be plain old Harry White again. ’
Oliver looked as though he wanted to say something but appeared to change his mind. ‘And after that?’
Harry narrowed her eyes as she mulled the question over.
‘We need to work out where one might go to recruit a skilled safe-cracker, as well as the name of the builder who undertook the renovations on number 48.’ An idea formed in her mind, causing her to smile.
‘And then we need to pay him a visit. The good news is that we can remove these dreadful whiskers before we go.’