The Disappearance of Alistair Ainsworth Read online

  “You are facing yet another dilemma that is equally serious,” Joanna warned. “There is a spy in your midst. Someone had to know of Ainsworth’s position and that someone pointed him out to the Germans.”

  “We are quite aware of that,” Dunn said. “I can assure you that individual is not the Prime Minister, the First Sea Lord, the director of Intelligence, or the assistant director. That leaves Ainsworth, whom we can exclude, and his three colleagues whom we cannot.”

  “But if one of the three is involved, why bother to have Ainsworth kidnapped?” Joanna asked. “The Germans have their man planted in the group and capable of feeding them information on a continuing basis. Why would they even hint that they have a reliable, well-concealed operative in the unit?”

  “Exactly, madam,” said Dunn. “So you can see our quandary. We are faced with the crime of espionage and have no credible suspects.”

  “Every one of those mentioned is a suspect until proven otherwise,” Joanna insisted.

  “But certainly not the Prime Minister or First Sea Lord or—”

  “They all have secretaries and undersecretaries close at hand,” Joanna interrupted. “All that is required to set the wheels of espionage in motion is a simple eavesdrop or careless utterance or discarded document that should have been destroyed but wasn’t. One misstep by those privy to this cryptanalysis unit and your wall of absolute security disappears.”

  “I remain convinced that those at the highest echelon are not involved,” Dunn persisted. “It must be one of the three in the unit.”

  “Well then, you should pursue your avenue of investigation while we pursue ours.”

  “Which is?”

  “Oh, there is no need to go into that now. It is best you take your route and we ours. Along the way we can compare findings, which may very well complement each other.”

  On that note we returned to our carriage where Toby Two, although happy to see us, showed no interest in tracking further. As Joanna had predicted, the heavy rain that was now coming to an end had blotted out any further traces of a chloroform trail.

  “Where to now?” I asked.

  “The single source most likely to lead us to Alistair Ainsworth.”

  Joanna held up an identification card taken from Alistair Ainsworth’s wallet. Although the card was soaked, Ainsworth’s home address remained clearly visible.

  5

  The Sister

  As our carriage traveled south to Knightsbridge, Joanna peered out at the fashionable stores on Brompton Road and appeared to be preoccupied with her own thoughts. Her silence was unusual in that she believed nothing cleared up a puzzling case like stating it to another person. On occasion she would even wake me and my father in the middle of the night to serve as sounding boards for her conclusions. Thus, her lack of words during our journey made me wonder if Joanna already had a solution at hand. We rode on for several more blocks before she nodded to herself and turned her attention to us.

  “At times,” Joanna noted, “there is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.”

  “I recall Sherlock Holmes making a similar statement,” my father said.

  “And for good reason,” Joanna continued on. “When a fact is taken for granted, it often loses its importance. Such as the instance of the wallet in the water tank.”

  I shrugged. “It is obvious that Alistair Ainsworth left it behind to alert us to his presence in the house.”

  “So it would appear on the surface.”

  “Do you believe Ainsworth had another purpose in mind?”

  “Beyond any doubt. You see, he was convinced we would find the house where he was held captive.”

  “How could he possibly know that?”

  “His major clue was the odor of chloroform Verner carried with him,” Joanna elucidated. “When Verner was brought into the house, he was in all likelihood tortured in front of Ainsworth in an effort to frighten the intelligence agent and thus break him. Ainsworth detected the scent of chloroform on Verner’s clothes and knew it had been placed there to serve as a trail to be followed.”

  “He could not have been aware of that,” I argued. “Verner was a doctor and might have accidentally spilled a bit of chloroform on himself while opening a bottle of the anesthetic.”

  “No, no, John,” Joanna said, shaking her head at me. “You are thinking like Lestrade and Dunn. Rather, you should place yourself in the position of Alistair Ainsworth who is a master when it comes to creating and solving puzzles. Let us go through the deductions, step by step, just as Ainsworth would have. First, Verner was taken captive early in the morning, prior to opening his practice. So the question must be asked—what was he doing with a bottle of chloroform at that moment, much less somehow managing to douse himself with it? Secondly, if that occurred, Verner had more than enough time to change clothes and remove the unpleasant odor from his examining room. Thus, with these points in mind, Ainsworth would have correctly deduced that Verner spilled chloroform on himself for the sole purpose of leaving a trail, just as I had instructed the doctor earlier. All of these facts, when taken together, allow for only one conclusion. Ainsworth knew the authorities would not be far behind.”

  “And closing in,” my father added. “For there was the very real possibility that Verner had alerted Scotland Yard about the house and its captive.”

  “That too,” Joanna said with a firm nod. “The German agents, who we know are very skilled, would have surely detected the odor of chloroform on Verner. Which of course was another reason for them to kill him. The last thing they wanted was to leave a strong scent for us to follow.”

  I said quickly, “But if Ainsworth was aware the authorities would arrive shortly to rescue him, why did he bother to leave his wallet in the water tank?”

  “Because if the attempt was delayed or failed, he wanted to inform us how to go about finding him,” Joanna replied.

  My father gave her a puzzled look. “I am not sure I follow here. The wallet only contained two five-pound notes, several identification cards, and a picture of his frail sister.”

  “It was the sister’s picture that was so revealing,” Joanna told us. “He obviously loves her and cares for her very much, and that is why he carries her picture. We know she is crippled with severe rheumatism and is for the most part confined to her home. Thus, it is fair to assume that Alistair Ainsworth shares the stories of his life in London with her. It would be her major contact with the outside world.”

  “But Ainsworth’s work with Naval Intelligence is so secret, he would never speak of this with her,” I said.

  “It is not his work, but his life away from the agency that is so vital here,” Joanna explained. “Remember, Alistair Ainsworth was not taken prisoner in his workplace, but somewhere outside the agency, preferably in a secluded location where no one could see the capture or hear his cry for help.”

  “A wooded area? A forest perhaps?” my father suggested.

  “Not necessarily,” Joanna said. “There are more than a few tucked-away places in London where capture could have occurred.”

  “Such as?”

  “A pub on a dark street late at night, a female companion who lives on the outskirts of the city, and so on. The list is quite long.”

  “How do we go about narrowing it down?”

  “Like most of us, Alistair Ainsworth is a creature of habit, and that will dictate his whereabouts. Thus, our best course of action is to learn of his daily habits and follow them.”

  “Which of course his invalid sister could provide.”

  “Spot on, Watson, for it is with her that he shares the details of his life away from home.”

  “And you believe this will lead us to Ainsworth’s captors?”

  Joanna nodded as we turned onto a street lined with stately, handsome homes. “Think of it as the first piece of the puzzle. Solve it and the other pieces will begin to fall into place.”

  Our carriage drew up to the curb in front of a two-story, sandston
e house on Cadogan Square. It had an imposing mahogany door, with brass fittings that shone in the late-morning light. Another carriage was waiting outside.

  “We must be delicate with our questioning,” Joanna cautioned. “Make no comments or inquiries that might disparage the man, for his sister will be very protective of him.”

  “But surely we will have to ask about possible vices,” I said.

  “If the subject arises, pry gently.”

  As we alighted from our carriage, the drapes covering a first-floor window opened briefly, then closed. I thought I saw a fleeting shadow behind them, but could not be sure. It required a full minute before our rap on the mahogany door was answered.

  “May I help you?” asked a rotund housekeeper with her gray hair held tightly in place by a bun.

  “We are here to see Miss Ainsworth,” Joanna replied.

  “She is not receiving visitors today, madam.”

  “Oh, I am certain she will see us,” Joanna said. “Tell her that the daughter of Sherlock Holmes wishes to speak with her.”

  “Y-yes, ma’am,” the housekeeper stammered, obviously in awe of Joanna and her lineage. “Please come in and wait while I announce your presence.”

  The name of Sherlock Holmes was still like magic in all of London and this aura carried over to Joanna, in large measure because of the stories I chronicled about her remarkable crime-solving skills. Indeed, her public esteem was now approaching the same level as that of her father before her. Yet Joanna for the most part appeared unimpressed by her fame. To her, it was just a by-product of her deductive abilities.

  We stepped into an eye-catching foyer that spoke of both wealth and taste. It was done in white marble, with a fresco of angelic figures painted on the ceiling that were reminiscent of those in Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. The air around us was still and very, very warm and held the aroma of burned wood.

  Joanna whispered, “I take it those with chronic illnesses are quite sensitive to the cold.”

  My father nodded. “Particularly those with painful rheumatism.”

  “If the conversation turns to her rheumatic condition, I should like you to do the questioning.”

  “Are there areas I should avoid?”

  “Use your own discretion.”

  The housekeeper returned and, with a half bow, led us into a large drawing room. The temperature of the air was now even higher, due in part to a large fireplace with its logs burning brightly. The furniture was French antique, the walls adorned with Italian tapestries and paintings of aristocratic personages. Near the fireplace sat a tiny, frail woman in a cushioned wheelchair. Despite the deformities of her hands, she was well groomed, with her hair neatly cut and dyed and her makeup carefully applied. By contrast, next to her was a tall, large-boned woman, with a most attractive face and long, brown hair that cascaded down to her shoulders.

  “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” Joanna began after introducing us and stating the purpose of our visit.

  “It is I who should thank you,” Emma Ainsworth replied. “I believe you know my dear friend Lady Jane Hamilton.”

  “Indeed I do, for my late husband, John Blalock, was best man at her wedding,” Joanna said, and turned to the visitor. “It is always good to see you, Jane, but of course not under these dreadful circumstances.”

  “I too wish it was otherwise,” said Lady Jane. “We so hope you can solve this terrible mystery and help locate our Tubby.”

  “I shall do my best.”

  “If you wish, I can leave and give you complete privacy,” Lady Jane offered.

  “Please stay, for you may be able to provide information that could assist our search.”

  After we were all seated, Joanna asked, “May I inquire as to how your brother acquired the nickname Tubby?”

  A faint smile came to Emma Ainsworth’s face. “As a child my brother loved to play with his toy boats while bathing in a tub. Our parents had to literally pull him from the water, against his pleas and demands to remain. He would cry out, ‘The battle is not done!’”

  “The battle?” Joanna queried.

  Emma nodded. “Yes, the battle. You see, Tubby did not simply play with the ships, as one might expect. He would set up harbors and fortifications, then move the fleet around so he could devise various strategies for naval warfare. He could recite the tonnage and speeds of the ships, from destroyers to battleships, and how well they could maneuver and what their strengths and weaknesses were. My brother has always been remarkably bright, and this was evident even as a child.”

  “I suspect it was this obvious intellect that led to his current position in the government,” Joanna pried gently.

  Emma shrugged. “He never spoke of it, except to say it was part of the war effort.”

  Lady Jane volunteered, “He once confided that his assignment was top secret, but would say no more. He would not speak of where he worked and with whom.”

  “As would be expected,” Joanna said, and leaned in closer to the fire to warm her hands before turning to Emma Ainsworth. “On the day of your brother’s disappearance, please recall every step that you knew he took.”

  “It was his habit to awaken early, usually at six, dress and have breakfast by seven, then read the newspaper prior to departing. He did precisely this on the last day I saw him. He called at three to inform me not to wait for dinner, for he would be dining out with a friend.”

  “Did he mention which friend?” Joanna asked.

  “He did not, although I assumed it would be Roger Marlowe, who is a lifelong chum and works alongside Tubby at the government office.”

  “Could you give me a bit more information on Roger Marlowe?” Joanna requested.

  “It might be best to let Jane answer,” Emma replied. “She and Roger and Tubby grew up together, and she was once engaged to Roger.”

  “Briefly engaged,” Lady Jane said with no bitterness. “But in response to your question, Tubby and Roger are much the same. Both are exceptionally bright, both educated at Eton, then Cambridge where they received honors degrees in archaeology. Shortly thereafter they traveled to Germany to study ancient Greek at the University of Heidelberg. They were both very keen on interpreting some recently discovered papyrus sheets that dated back thousands of years.”

  “What year were they at Heidelberg?” Joanna asked at once.

  “Just before the turn of the century,” Lady Jane recalled.

  “Eighteen ninety-seven, to be exact,” Emma answered.

  “Did they stay on longer?” Joanna asked.

  “Oh yes, but in a roundabout way,” Emma replied. “They mastered ancient Greek in short order and went on numerous archaeological expeditions that were sponsored by the university. I believe those were the best years of Tubby’s life, but they were interrupted when I came down with severe rheumatism and he had to return home to look after me. I always felt very guilty about that.”

  “He was simply doing what would be expected of a good brother,” my father commented.

  “True,” Emma said. “But that did not lessen my guilt. To be near me, Tubby took a position at Imperial College where he remained until being called into government service.”

  “Did Roger Marlowe return as well?” Joanna asked.

  Emma shook her head, which brought about neck pain and caused her to wince. “Not for several years. He continued to excel at Heidelberg and became so fluent in German that he was given the opportunity to join their faculty. But he chose to return to Cambridge where he delved into mathematics. It was during this time that Roger’s family suffered painful financial reverses that forced him to return to London where a more gainful position awaited him.”

  “His mathematical equations were so astute that several were adopted by the London School of Economics,” Lady Jane noted. “He was eventually offered a professorship there, but it held little interest for him.”

  Joanna’s brow went up. “But surely such an advancement would have been far more remunera
tive and aided his family who was in need at the time.”

  “It would have kept them afloat, but little more,” Lady Jane said. “However, with the sale of country land, the family straightened out their affairs, but never to the level they once enjoyed.”

  “So you have kept up with Roger over the years,” Joanna concluded.

  “We would run into each other on occasion,” Lady Jane said evasively.

  “At Cambridge?”

  “At social gatherings here in London,” Lady Jane replied. “He left Cambridge for his current position several years ago.”

  “I take it that Alistair and Roger Marlowe have remained close friends,” Joanna said.

  “The best of friends,” Emma emphasized. “In addition to their remarkable intellects, they share a good many other qualities. Both are what one would call delightful rogues. They enjoy life to the fullest in every way.”

  “Such as?” Joanna probed.

  “They enjoy their drink and can often be found at the Admiralty where they are well-known.”

  Joanna’s brow went up again, but this time it stayed up. “The Admiralty? Are you referring to His Majesty’s Navy?”

  A brief smile crossed Emma’s face. “It is a pub located near Trafalgar Square. They frequent the Admiralty prior to gaming at various casinos.”

  “Do they gamble often?”

  “Quite.”

  “Is there a single casino they favor?”

  “Laurent’s is the one Tubby usually speaks of.”

  “Do you know if they bet heavily?”

  I could readily see the reasoning behind Joanna’s line of questioning. Betting large sums could lead to large debts that could lead to blackmail.

  Emma gave the matter thought. “I do not believe they bet heavily, but they do win with great frequency. You see, both Tubby and Roger are wonderful at mathematics and have thought up a method for counting cards in play and predicting those that remain in the deck.”