Chapter 9
It was almost eight o’clock in the evening when Harry’s telephone finally rang.
She had been trying to finish the Dorothy L.
Sayers novel she was reading but the words would not stay still on the page and she found it impossible to keep track of the plot.
In the silence, the phone was shrill enough to make her jump.
She scrambled to answer it. ‘Hello?’ she said breathlessly into the receiver. ‘Oliver, is that you?’
‘Yes, it’s me.’ His voice thrummed with tension. ‘Are you alone?’
It was not a question she’d been expecting. ‘Um – yes. Beth and I have agreed that she’ll start her official duties on Monday, although we’ve arranged to meet near Middlesex Street tomorrow morning. Why?’
‘I’ve spoken to Inspector Wells,’ he said, the words flat. ‘I – well, it’s not good, Harry. Not good at all. There’s no doubt that the death is linked to the diamond.’
She let out a gasp. ‘But how?’
‘I don’t have all the details yet but it appears Inspector Wells found a chimney sweep’s boy willing to follow the tunnel beneath the fireplace,’ Oliver said. ‘It led under the foundations of the house and into a small sealed chamber with no other way in or out.’
Harry blinked. She had expected the tunnel to link up with that of the coiners, perhaps leading out into a neighbouring street. ‘But that makes no sense. How did the thief escape?’
‘First impressions suggested they did not,’ Oliver replied. ‘The room contained the body of a young woman. It appears she has been there for several days.’
The revelation caused Harry’s stomach to swoop in horror. Various terrible scenarios played out in her mind and all were the stuff of nightmares. ‘The poor sweep’s boy.’
‘I gather he was quite fascinated,’ Oliver said, his tone droll. ‘He claimed it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him.’
Having grown up with three brothers, Harry could easily believe that but it did nothing to lessen the awfulness of the discovery. ‘Have they been able to identify the body?’
‘Not yet. There are a number of other troubling aspects,’ he went on. ‘As I mentioned, the room was sealed when the body was discovered and it is not clear how the young woman came to be there.’
Harry frowned. ‘Obviously, she hid there to steal the diamond and then for some reason was unable to make her escape.’
‘There are two problems with that,’ Oliver said.
‘Firstly, the diamond was not in the room with her and there is some doubt she could have navigated the tunnel in order to steal it. And secondly—’ He broke off, giving Harry the distinct impression he was gathering himself to say something he feared would upset her.
‘Preliminary examinations indicate she did not die there.’
Harry felt a shudder run through her as she forced herself to consider the possibilities. ‘Whatever do you mean? Surely the poor girl suffocated? Or – or starved to death.’
‘Her neck was broken,’ he said, with flat practicality.
‘Then she must have fallen,’ Harry reasoned, her imagination flooded with yet another unbearable scenario. ‘Probably in an effort to get out. Was there anything in the room she might have climbed upon?’
‘Yes, there was a chair,’ Oliver said, and sighed. ‘She was tied to it.’
Harry closed her eyes. She had very little experience of corpses but she suspected few tied themselves up to await discovery.
‘There’s something else,’ Oliver said, and he sounded even more troubled. ‘She didn’t have the diamond but there was something in her hands. A letter addressed to Sherlock Holmes.’
It felt to Harry as though the floor fell away then. She clutched at the telephone table for support. ‘To Holmes?’ she repeated, as the implications came thick and fast. ‘But that means – it suggests…’
Abruptly, she stopped speaking but the name Moriarty tightened around her like the coils of a serpent.
‘There are a lot of unanswered questions,’ Oliver said gently.
‘I don’t think we should rush to any conclusions without a better understanding of the letter’s contents.
Inspector Wells has agreed to show it to us, in exchange for any insight we – that is to say, you – are able to offer into these new developments. ’
A dull roar began to build in Harry’s ears.
The letters she read and replied to in the course of her work at the bank had often involved accusations of murder, but they had always seemed remote and fantastical, and she had not judged any of them as likely to be true.
This letter could not be so easily dismissed.
Someone had gone to terrible lengths to get Holmes’ attention and she could not shake the horrifying suspicion that the death of this unfortunate girl was somehow her fault.
Perhaps, had she acted on her instincts sooner, the girl might still be alive.
‘When?’ she asked, as guilt threatened to overwhelm her. ‘When can I read it?’
‘The inspector wants us at the house as soon as possible,’ he said. ‘Within the next hour, if we can manage it.’
‘It will take us that long to get dressed,’ Harry observed, running a shaky hand across her forehead. ‘And we don’t have Beth to help with our whiskers.’
‘I daresay no one will notice if they are not quite symmetrical,’ Oliver reassured her. ‘Will you be all right until I get there? I should be with you in about quarter of an hour.’
She didn’t answer right away; her head spun with the shock of the revelations. Murder – for it seemed that could be the only explanation – changed everything. ‘Of course,’ she managed at length, in a voice that did not sound like her own. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
She sat without moving for several minutes.
Slipping into the role of Sherlock’s secretary had never felt like a game to her – she had always been too aware of the real-life consequences that hung on her actions, for both those who sought help and for Harry in supplying it – but the knowledge that murder had finally made a chilling appearance made her blood run cold.
Yet even as she replayed the shocking conversation with Oliver in her mind, common sense reasserted itself.
She had not dealt the blow that killed the girl, nor had she done anything to trigger it.
The terrible impulses that drove some to kill was as old as time, as was the determination of others to bring their victims justice.
Whoever the dead girl turned out to be, and whatever the reason for her demise, the best Harry could do for her now would be to help find those responsible for her death.
Giving herself a brisk shake, she went into her bedroom and pulled the carpet bag from under the bed.
By the time Oliver arrived, she had laid their disguises out and set the kettle on the stove.
A cup of Earl Grey could not wash away the distress she still felt, but perhaps it might ease things a little.
The look Oliver gave her when she opened the door was penetrating. ‘How are you feeling? Bearing up?’
She managed a nod. ‘Yes, I think so.’
Oliver did not look convinced. ‘Because you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I know you’re strong, Harry, but murder is a grim business. I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest if you decided to leave matters to the police.’
Grim was exactly the right word, Harry thought, even as she shook her head. ‘If it wasn’t for the letter then I might be tempted to do just that.’
‘We don’t know for sure that it’s from Moriarty,’ he countered.
She did not grace that with an answer. ‘Have we got time for tea, do you think?’
He eyed her for a long moment, then gave up. ‘I think so, yes. It’s probably going to be a long evening.’
The pair of stern-faced uniformed officers at the door of 50 Berkeley Square did not surprise Harry in the least, nor did the two burly figures that loomed outside number 48.
This time, she and Oliver were not kept waiting on the doorstep; the door was open before they could even give their names and they were waved inside without ceremony.
Inspector Wells met them in the hall, her expression sombre as she shook their hands.
‘We’ll start in here,’ she said, indicating the door to the study.
‘I have a few questions before we address the worst of this business.’
The room had been significantly reordered since Harry and Oliver had last visited.
The curtains were now drawn, blocking the view to and from the street, which she assumed was to prevent ghoulish onlookers and members of the press from gawking at the scene.
The desk had been moved to one side and the tasselled rug was rolled up, revealing dark wooden floorboards beneath, some of which had been lifted here and there in an effort to ensure there were no further tunnels.
A large white sheet covered the area in front of the fireplace, criss-crossed with muddy bootprints.
The hole in the hearth was guarded by a uniformed officer, who saluted as Inspector Wells approached.
‘Would you mind giving us a moment, PC Vincent? Close the door on your way out.’
When they were alone, she turned her brisk gaze upon Harry. ‘Has Mr Gill explained the situation to you?’
‘I believe he has covered the essentials,’ she replied cautiously. ‘A secret chamber was found at the end of the tunnel, and this chamber contained the body of a young woman.’
‘Exactly so,’ Inspector Wells said. ‘I’m sure he has also informed you of the letter we found, somewhat bafflingly addressed to someone who does not exist.’
‘Yes,’ Harry said, resisting the temptation to fire a covert glance at Oliver. How much did Inspector Wells know?
‘Needless to say, we have not released that particular detail to the public.’ Her eyes sharpened. ‘Sherlock Holmes. If I didn’t know better, I’d suggest it was an extremely tasteless joke.’
Ah, Harry thought, with a sinking heart. She knew. ‘I wish it was.’