The Blue Diamond--A Daughter of Sherlock Holmes Mystery Read online

  “It seems odd that such a precious gem was kept in a hotel suite, even with extreme security in place,” Joanna wondered aloud. “I would think that a bank vault would have been more in order.”

  “But not under the current circumstances,” the commissioner explained. “The Governor-General arrived only yesterday for a meeting of the Imperial War Conference, which brings together King George with the leaders of the various colonies, such as South Africa, Australia, New Zealand, and Canada. These meetings are of particular importance, for they deal with the vital contributions of the colonies to His Majesty’s war effort, which includes troops, weapons, supplies, and vital raw materials. The conference will take place this weekend, but the Governor-General was granted an audience with the King this morning, at which time the blue diamond was to be presented to His Royal Highness as a symbolic gesture of the resolve and never-ending alliance of the colonies to the Crown. With this schedule in mind, a somewhat brief stay at the Windsor under heavy security was deemed appropriate.”

  “I can thus assume that the presence of the blue diamond in London and its purported use as a gift was known at the higher levels of government,” said Joanna.

  “And by the various newspapers to whom the information was given, but with the caveat that it not be disclosed until after the presentation was made. It was believed that public knowledge of the gift would be a clear demonstration of the closeness of those involved in the war effort, as well as being a morale booster at a time when one was much needed.”

  “So it would appear the information was known by many.”

  “I am afraid so.”

  “And the information no doubt reached the ears of our most accomplished hotel thief.”

  “That, too, appears to be the case.”

  “I take it the penthouse at the Windsor remains tightly sealed off.”

  “Until further notice.”

  “And that the Governor-General and his entourage have vacated.”

  “With such an obvious breach in security, they had no choice but to do so immediately. And of course the audience before the King has been postponed.” Sir Charles sighed resignedly to himself. “And at this point it seems we have so little to go on yet again.”

  “So it would appear.”

  “I know it is premature, but do you have any helpful suggestions?”

  “Only that I be allowed to inspect the penthouse before it is scrubbed clean.”

  “Lestrade will see to it.”

  “And I would like to interview the taxi driver who discovered the victim and the Scotland Yard detectives who were first on the scene.”

  “Lestrade will see to that as well,” the commissioner said, and turned for the door. “Please inform us of any noteworthy findings.”

  Joanna waited until the pair had departed, then gleefully rubbed her hands together. “Now there is a rather tangled piece of work, is it not?”

  “But yet again with virtually no clues,” I remarked. “Or data as you call them.”

  “Oh, dear John, it is one of your few flaws that you tend to look for answers rather than asking the important questions.”

  “Which are?”

  Joanna held up three fingers. “First, why would an accomplished thief, who can magically enter and exit a heavily guarded suite, decide to leave via the front entrance at two in the morning when he is certain to be noticed by the hotel staff? Surely, he would know that a reservation clerk, porter, front doorman, and perhaps even the night manager would be present in the main lobby at that time.” She paused before smiling at our silence. “Good, for it appears you have no reasonable answer, which raises the distinct possibility that the thief did not exit via the front entrance.”

  “Then how did he leave?” asked my father.

  “That remains a mystery.”

  “Perhaps he departed via a side or rear door,” I suggested.

  “If that were the case, he would not have encountered or fought with the front doorman,” Joanna rebutted.

  My father slowly packed the bowl of his cherrywood pipe with Arcadia Mixture as he gave the matter further thought. “It may be that the thief exited by a side door which he closed noisily and that prompted the doorman to investigate.”

  “And the thief just happened to be carrying around an object that resembled a railroad spike?” Joanna challenged. “Which is the second question which cries out to be answered.”

  “Then let us assume that it is some form of weapon which he kept hidden in the event of need,” my father proposed.

  “Assuming that assumption is correct, how could a spikelike weapon inflict such a terrible wound behind the eye socket near the hairline?” Joanna asked, and turned to me. “John, please hold an imaginary weapon tightly in your hand and attempt to bring about a wound to my skull in that particular area.”

  I attempted to maneuver and discovered it was virtually impossible to inflict such a powerful blow to the area between the frontal and temporal bones of the skull. “It cannot be done in a face-to-face fight.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Your point being?”

  “We have a thief exiting where he should not have, carrying a peculiar weapon which is most unlikely, and inflicting a wound with it that is impossible to execute. All of which brings into question the commissioner’s contention that the thief departed via the front entrance where he encountered a suspicious doorman that resulted in a brawl during which time the thief used an odd weapon to deliver a grievous head wound in a location that we now know the weapon could not have possibly reached with force.”

  “So pray tell, what exactly did transpire outside the entrance to the Windsor at that early-morning hour?”

  “That is what has to be determined,” said Joanna, walking to our bedroom. “And now I shall change into attire more appropriate for catching a most clever thief.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Windsor

  The front entrance to the Windsor Hotel revealed no evidence that a crime had been committed, for all the bloodstains had been washed away and a new uniformed doorman was in place to greet arriving and departing guests. Nevertheless, Joanna carefully inspected every step of the footpath, finding only a trace of faded blood at the very edge. Next, she followed the façade of the building until it reached a side alleyway, at which point she signaled for my father and me to follow but remain behind her. We came to a row of windows which were tested and shown to be locked, then proceeded to a wide door near the rear of the structure which opened easily and led to an expansive kitchen where a chef and his assistants were busily at work around a long cutting board. The air was filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread mixed in with the appetizing scent of exotic spices. A variety of fowl were hanging from hooks on the far wall.

  Joanna strolled over to the chef, who was seasoning nicely marbled filets of beef with cracked black pepper. A short, stout man, he was wearing a hat characteristic of his profession and seemed unbothered by our sudden appearance.

  “I am the daughter of Sherlock Holmes,” my wife introduced herself.

  “I know who you are, madam,” the chef said genially. “And the gentlemen accompanying you must be the esteemed Watsons who prove to be so helpful in your adventures.”

  “They are, and they do.”

  “How may I be of service?”

  “I am here investigating the crime which occurred here earlier this morning.”

  “Dreadful business,” he said sorrowfully. “Is there any news on the condition of our poor Henry?”

  “I am afraid his condition remains grave,” Joanna answered honestly.

  “So sad.”

  “Indeed, quite sad. All are praying for his recovery,” she consoled as the chef made the sign of the cross. “Now, as to the purpose of my visit. I noticed that your door which leads to the alleyway was unlocked and would allow for early entrance into the hotel. Is that usually the case?”

  “Only during working hours, so we can have easy access to t
he rubbish bins outside. After ten in the evening, the door is locked and remains so until six the following morning.”

  “Surely, some staff stay throughout the night in the event there is a late order for room service.”

  “One of my assistants is available from eleven to six for precisely such an occurrence.”

  “And was such an order placed last night?”

  “Allow me to check.” The chef hurried over to a shelf and reached for a large ledger which he opened and briefly studied. Returning to his place by the cutting board, he reported, “No orders were received after midnight.”

  “I take it that during that period the door to the alleyway remained locked.”

  “That is a strict regulation, madam, and if breached the person responsible would be dismissed.” He glanced over to the assistants who had gathered in to listen to the interview. They all seemed to nod knowingly at the restriction and the penalty for breaking it.

  “Thank you for the helpful information,” said Joanna, and led the way out, but not before checking the simple lock on the door, first by gross inspection, then with her magnifying glass. The outer side showed a bit of rust, the inner polished brass. “No scratch marks,” she reported.

  Closing the door behind us, I waited until we were well away from the kitchen before asking, “Were you examining the lock to determine if it had been picked?”

  “I was.”

  “But why? If the thief exited via that door, he could have easily unlocked it from the inside and thus had no reason to pick the lock.”

  “Assuming he did leave via the kitchen door, he might have used a pick to relock the door from the outside and in this manner cover the route of his exit.”

  My father joined in, “But my dear Joanna, with an assistant chef stationed in the kitchen throughout the night, how could the thief have exited unnoticed?”

  “The assistant chef, after working a long day, would be required to sit alone in a quiet kitchen and wait for the telephone to ring. Perhaps he dozed off for much-needed sleep, knowing no one would be the wiser, for the sound of the phone would instantly awaken him and allow him to perform his duties without delay.”

  “But there were no chairs or cots in the kitchen.”

  “But there was a cutting board, seven feet or more in length and three across, which he could have laid upon, using his rolled-up chef’s hat as a pillow.”

  I nodded at a personal memory. “Much like a weary intern napping on a gurney during a lull in the emergency room.”

  “Exactly,” said Joanna, returning my nod.

  “So you believe he may have in fact exited via the kitchen.”

  “I believe the opposite, for the evidence says otherwise. In particular, a clever thief would never take a route that brought him to the front of a lighted hotel entrance when he could have raced in the opposite direction down a dark, fog-shrouded alleyway which would have allowed him a perfect, unnoticed escape.”

  We departed the kitchen area and took a sharp right turn which led to the rear of the hotel. Standing there was a large lorry from which four workers were in the process of unloading a mammoth bathtub. Our eyes went to the double doors of the hotel, which were opened widely.

  “It will be a tight fit!” Joanna called out to the workers.

  “Yes, ma’am,” replied the burly leader of the group. “But we shall be careful and squeeze it through.”

  “Into a storeroom, I assume.”

  “Where it will not stay for long, for it is to be installed immediately.” The worker signaled his men to place the bathtub down, then wiped perspiration from his brow using his sleeve. “We heard that a rather stout maharaja from India is about to arrive.”

  “I would imagine it will be moved quickly, for the storeroom is no doubt crowded as is.”

  “Oh, it is, ma’am, with stacks of furniture and bathroom fixtures, along with large containers of linens and uniforms and what have you.”

  “I shall like to take a look.”

  The worker hesitated as his brow furrowed in suspicion. “Well, ma’am, you will require permission from the hotel management to enter.”

  My father stepped forward and spoke in an authoritative voice. “We are with Scotland Yard, and you can confirm our association with the constable at the entrance if you wish.”

  “There is no need, sir,” the worker acquiesced, and quickly stepped aside.

  On entering, Joanna examined the double door’s inner locking mechanism, which consisted of thick metal hinges on each side which could be secured together by a hanging Chubb lock. The storeroom itself was quite large, with seemingly every inch taken up by rows of furniture that were covered with sheets to protect them from dust and stain. Behind them were porcelain bathroom fixtures and large, closed boxes that were labeled with black markings.

  It was a second set of double doors which led into the hotel itself that briefly drew Joanna’s attention. Like its duplicate facing the alleyway, the doors were opened and had a locking mechanism which consisted of thick metal hinges and a Chubb lock. After finding little of interest, Joanna guided us into the staircase where canvas had been laid down, no doubt to guard the floor against dirty footprints that might be left behind by the workers carrying the giant bathtub to its final destination.

  As we stepped away, I glanced back at the doors and their locking mechanism, then commented, “I do not believe our thief could have come this way unless he was a master lockpick.”

  “Based on what, may I ask?” Joanna inquired.

  “The Chubb lock,” I replied.

  “A most astute observation, John,” said she, with a warm smile.

  “But it was so obvious.”

  “Nonetheless, astute, for it imparts important information to us,” Joanna explained. “With the Chubb lock being so difficult to pick, it would require an hour or more for even a master lockpick to open it, and our clever thief certainly could not afford that amount of time, for he no doubt was working on a very tight schedule.”

  “He would have to be in and out in a matter of minutes,” my father interjected.

  “And equally as important, Watson, if the thief did come this way, how did he manage to enter the heavily guarded penthouse without being noticed?”

  On our return to the front of the hotel, we were greeted by Inspector Lestrade, with a tip of his brown derby. At his side was a lean and trim man who was introduced as Detective Sergeant Harry Stone. With his strawberry-blond hair and rosy cheeks, he seemed far too young to be a detective sergeant, but the set of his square jaw and his penetrating dark eyes indicated he was a man not to be underestimated.

  “Sergeant Stone here was the first to arrive at the crime scene, which unfortunately was in a state of mayhem,” Lestrade went on. “I think it best he give you the particulars.”

  The young detective stepped forward and began a detailed description without referring to notes. “The footpath was quite crowded, with individuals continually moving in and out of the entrance. Most of the bystanders appeared to be hotel staff attempting to lend a hand, whilst others were curious onlookers. Just beside the door was the badly injured doorman, who was being attended to by a doctor who happened to be a guest at the hotel. The bandage that had been applied to the doorman’s head was soaked through with blood, which no doubt indicated the severity of the wound. I quickly secured the area and questioned those who had gathered around the victim. There were no witnesses to the attack.”

  “Did you discover a weapon?” Joanna asked at once.

  “None was seen, madam, but it is possible that its presence was obscured by the dim lighting and puddles of running blood. I waited for the ambulance personnel to come and fetch the victim before undertaking a more thorough investigation. There was no weapon to be found beneath the doorman’s body or under his beefeater hat, which must have been dislodged during the struggle.”

  “I take it the entire area was carefully searched.”

  Stone hesitated before answerin
g, as if pausing to accurately compose his answer. “It was, madam, but please keep in mind it was quite dark and foggy, which limited our vision. Even with torches, the lighting was dim, particularly in the nearby alleyway. At daybreak we again searched the two-block area, including the rubbish bins and sewers, but could not find the weapon.”

  “So the weapon supposedly seen by the taxi driver seemed to somehow vanish,” Joanna concluded.

  “So it would appear, madam.”

  A black taxicab drew up to the entrance and came to a stop with squealing brakes. Out alighted a small, thin driver with graying black hair and a noticeably humped back. Hat in hand, he hurried over to Lestrade and asked in a deep cockney accent, “You wanted to see me, guv’nor?”

  Lestrade nodded briefly. “Our investigation has been joined by the daughter of Sherlock Holmes, who wishes to question you.”

  The driver took a nervous step back and bowed awkwardly, obviously awed by my wife’s presence. He kept his head down in the position of submission.

  “I have only a few questions for you,” Joanna said in a soft voice. “Please try your best to remember, for your information could be of help to us.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the driver answered in a tone so low it was difficult to hear.

  “First off, let us have your name.”

  “Jack Hawkins, ma’am.”

  “And how long has Jack Hawkins been driving a cab?”

  “Over three years, ma’am.”

  “I would imagine during that time you had more than a few interesting experiences, some of which are best left untold.”

  “Indeed I have,” he replied, with a quick smile that revealed a number of missing teeth. “Even on the west side, where not all rides are uneventful.”

  I marveled inwardly at my wife’s ability to put witnesses at ease, particularly those from the working class, who as a rule are reluctant to speak with the authorities, for fear it will somehow involve them. Inquire of their occupation, Joanna had recommended, for it elevates their status and provides a topic about which they believe they know more than you. Now the driver was informing her on the various routes through West London and the time required for each. “So the ride from Belgravia where I picked up the fare to the Windsor would take no more than fifteen minutes,” he said, nodding as if to confirm the information.