A Beautiful Blue Death (21 page)

“Then what was he doing?”

“Examining the room. I expect he’ll make a try during the ball tomorrow night. If it is him.”

“Do you think it is?”

Lenox shrugged. “It’s so hard to say. What do you know of his finances?”

“He’s washed out, I’m afraid. Oh, is that why—he’s after the gold!”

“I think so.”

“But he might have been merely taking a walk, Charles. I would think that more readily than that Soames could kill somebody. He might have been looking at those blasted orchids.”

Lenox shook his head. “I went to the greenhouse once with Lady Jane. Barnard had a lunch and showed us up there afterward. I saw the row of skylights. First of all, it would be
particularly hard and pointless to get there—there’s no door, and once you get there there’s no view, no stretch of roof to walk across. You have to walk around the entire greenhouse. You have to
want
to get there. And second of all, Soames was looking through the window. It seems too clear to be coincidental.”

“Another thing, though,” said Edmund, satisfied with his brother’s explanation of the last point.

“Yes?”

“The girl couldn’t possibly have known, even if she had seen him snooping around.”

“Perhaps he thought she knew and became nervous,” said Lenox. “I don’t think it’s in his natural way to be a thief and a murderer. He might have become paranoid.”

“Would he know anything about poisons?”

“I don’t know. Although he lives near Oxford, of course, and went there with you.”

“In my year,” said Sir Edmund.

“Yes.”

Still, his brother’s points were valid. It was good to bounce ideas off of him. Had Soames been
forced
to kill Prue Smith? No, probably he hadn’t…

“Jack Soames.…”

“You must tell me something more of his finances, Edmund.”

“I heard it from Robert Camp, but everyone knows, I rather think.”

“What did Camp say?”

“That Soames had been struggling along with less than anybody thought and then lost a few bets and had to pay some outstanding debts to tradesmen, and that he went under. More or less. He’s living on credit.”

“Is it only gossip?”

“I don’t know. Could be. At any rate, you heard it, didn’t you?”

“From Graham.”

“Not one to lie.”

“What does he have left?”

“They say very little ready money,” said Sir Edmund, plucking another scone from the tray and spreading clotted cream over it. “He could touch his friends for some, I suppose.”

“He has a great many friends.”

“One has fewer when one needs money, however.”

“You’re right. It’s awful, really,” said Lenox.

“Well, it’s awful for the girl, Miss Smith.”

“Yes, of course.”

“At any rate, people live on nothing all across London. It’s sad that Soames has fallen over, I grant you, but what do we know about any of it?”

Sometimes Lenox’s brother surprised him. “You’re right, of course.”

“And anyway, he has the Pacific, I suppose.”

“The Pacific?”

“Surely you know what that is, Charles? It’s much in the news.”

“No, I’m afraid not. I don’t often read the bits about business.”

“He sits on the board of the Pacific Trust, that trading company. They pay him something.”

“How many people are on the board?”

“Seven or eight. Actually, it must be seven—they can’t have an even number.”

“What does he have to do?”

“Vote. He made people cross only the other day, because he was the deciding ballot on something or other, I’m not sure what. I can only say I’m grateful that Father put our money in the five percents.”

“I am too,” said Lenox, thinking. “Say, Edmund, would you help me at Barnard’s ball?”

“Does that mean I have to go?”

“Yes.”

“Dash it all.”

“Will you or not?”

“Of course I will. I hate a ball, though.”

“I know you do. But just think, you shall be back in the country soon, at any rate, and you’ll have helped me.”

Sir Edmund brightened. “That’s a good way to look at it, Charles. Very good.” He chuckled and took another scone—but offered the plate to his brother first, who took one, too, even though his hunger was gone.

A
lmost as soon as Sir Edmund left, there was a soft tap on the door.

“Yes?” Lenox called out.

Graham came in quietly and stood by the door. “May I have a word, sir?”

“Of course.”

“You’ll remember that I took the afternoon off yesterday, sir?”

“To visit your aunt, wasn’t it?”

“I confess that was a falsehood. I apologize, sir. I didn’t want you to stop me from going out.”

“I would never have stopped you, Graham. I think you know me better than that, don’t you?”

“In usual circumstances, yes. But I was trying to track down the two men who had assaulted you, sir, and I thought you might not like the idea.”

“I certainly wouldn’t want you to risk your skin for me—but thank you, Graham, it was awfully good of you. What happened?”

Graham took a deep breath. “Well, sir, I had a rather adventurous day.”

“Come in and tell me about it then.”

The butler had been standing in the doorway, but now he moved to the two armchairs in front of the fire and sat down. Lenox went over to a little table in the front corner of the room and poured two glass cups of dark scotch from a bottle thick with dust. It had an old, stinging smell to it, like hickory. Mc-Connell had brought it back from Scotland after his last trip home. A local drink, aged for twenty-two years and then mulled over fire to concentrate it.

“Here you are,” Lenox said, handing Graham one of the cups and sitting down with him. “I’m curious to hear about this adventure.”

“My first thought, sir, was that Scotland Yard would be the place to begin, because of the comment the two men made just before they ran off. I spent a little while there and tried to talk to a few men, but I confess I failed.”

“Better men than you and I have failed with Scotland Yard. What did you decide to do then?”

“I thought I would go back to the alley to see if I could find a clue. I looked around, hoping for some trinket or piece of torn cloth left behind, but I didn’t find anything. Even what blood there must have been was cleaned.”

“In the East End it would have lasted weeks, I suppose,” Lenox said. “What did you do next?”

“I confess I was discouraged, sir, by my lack of success. I seemed to be running out of ideas. Being at a loss, I decided that while it was not related directly to the assault in the alley, it might be a good idea to return to Mr. Barnard’s house, which I imagined was probably the epicenter of all these events.”

“Sensible, that.”

“Thank you, sir. I had a brief conversation with a young lady I had befriended there; thankfully the housekeeper, Mrs. Harrison, was away. After perhaps a quarter of an hour, there was a
commotion, and the coachman leaped into action and began to ready his carriage. From that I deciphered that Mr. Barnard was leaving and decided that, being at a loss, I would follow him.”

“And where did he go?”

“To the mint, sir. I suppose to work.”

“Alone?”

“No, sir. Mr. Soames was with him.”

“Soames! Really! Now why would he have done that? Even though his committee is to deal with it, I wouldn’t have suspected he’d have any hands-on role.” Lenox took a thoughtful sip of his scotch. “What happened when you arrived at the mint?”

“The gates opened, sir, and both men went inside the courtyard that stands in front of the main building.”

“I know it.”

“At the same time I noticed a group of four or five men, rather low in appearance, hanging on to the bars around the building. Mr. Barnard and Mr. Soames paused inside the courtyard to talk, and one of these men took the opportunity to yell, ‘’Allo, Guv’nor!’ Soames turned around but Barnard didn’t. Soon after that they both went inside, through different doors.”

“Different doors? You’re sure of that?”

“Yes, sir.”

Lenox stared into the fire, thinking. At last he said, “Suspicious of Soames, that.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.”

“No matter.”

“Shall I continue?”

Lenox snapped out of his thoughts. “Yes, of course,” he said.

“I was contemplating a return to Mr. Barnard’s house when I heard one of the men—the same who had shouted at the two men—say very clearly the name
Barnard.
Then all at once I saw that another man had a tattoo on his neck. He had been facing me, you see, sir, but when he turned there was a blue hammer on the back of his neck.”

“You’re joking!”

“I admit that I was surprised too, sir. I decided I ought to follow these men. Well, it was a long walk, through shabbier and shabbier neighborhoods, until at last I recognized that we were in the Rookery.”

“You didn’t go in, I hope?”

“I did, sir. It was getting dark—you know, sir, how early it gets dark at this time of year in London—but I followed them. Two or three peeled off at one point, but I stuck with the one who had the tattoo on his neck. He was with the man who had shouted at Mr. Barnard and Mr. Soames.”

Lenox had been to the Rookery on cases. It was no place to be caught even in broad daylight: narrow streets with tenements on either side; a foul smell mixed with sulfurous coal of people who couldn’t wash and lived close together; prostitutes in threadbare dresses laughing ostentatiously and offering their business, while they sipped penny pints of gin; gangs of children roaming here and there, picking pockets and getting cuffed by the men on the streets. The men too, made violent by years of unkind life, were quick to lash out. Suddenly Lenox felt a memory of that night when Graham’s father had died. He was awfully lucky, sad though it was, that Graham had called on him.

“What happened next?” Lenox asked.

“After a few minutes they ducked into a bar. I took off my tie and my jacket, scuffed my face with a little soot from the street, and went in after them.”

“You did!”

“Yes, sir. Then, I’m afraid, I made an error. I went in and had a pint of bitter, and after I had drained it asked for another. Then, when the barman brought it, I asked him in a low voice, ‘Do you know what this tattoo of a hammer means?’ The place went instantly silent. The barman simply walked away. After a moment, three men came up and asked who I was and why I was asking questions I shouldn’t be. Another man came up and then
another. There was only a thin crack in the circle but I decided to dash through it. I was pushed and grasped at on my way out, but I managed to run into the street and around a corner.”

“Graham!”

“Unfortunately I had lost my way. So I looked at the last light of the sun and walked west toward it. Pretty soon after that I found a cab.”

“I have to say, it was terribly brave of you, the whole thing,” Lenox said. He stood up and poured two more drinks. “What conclusion do you draw from it all?”

“First, sir, that the men are dangerous. The Rookery is no happy place.”

“Truer word was never spoken.”

“And second, I think you ought to consider the possibility of Barnard as the murderer.”

“I think perhaps Soames is the interesting case here. Why was he at the mint?” Lenox said. “What did it mean? Barnard’s a public figure—in the papers, you know.”

“I don’t think these sort read the papers,” Graham responded, and both men took sips of their drinks and looked into the fire.

S
hreve, the McConnells’ funereal butler, admitted Lenox that evening without explicit reluctance, but with a kind of mute reproach nevertheless. It was remarkable that he and the irrepressible Toto lived in the same universe, much less the same house.

“Mr. Lenox, sir,” Shreve announced.

The doctor was sitting in a tiny ornamental wooden chair, in a small alcove along the front hallway but almost hidden from view. He was reading the newspaper, with a glass of gin in his hand and his hair falling untidily over his forehead. The cuffs of his pants were splashed with mud, though he seemed not to notice. He stood up and grasped the detective’s hand.

“Why are you sitting out here?” Lenox asked.

“The place is crawling with my wife’s friends.”

“Really?”

“They’re like rabbits, you know. They keep multiplying. Every time you think they’re gone, another six of them jump out and ask what you think about some horrible scarf or hat or something. It’s absolutely harrowing.”

Lenox laughed.

“You won’t laugh so much when they start to close in on you.”

“Why are they here?”

“For supper. And to try on their dresses.”

“For the ball.”

“You’re going?” McConnell asked.

“Of course. Are you?”

“I shall have to, I think.” A look of grim determination came over his face. “But they won’t catch me looking at their dresses. Not for all the tea in China.”

“I may need your help at the ball, Thomas.”

McConnell nodded.

“I need your help now, as well,” said Lenox. He pulled the small glass jar out of his pocket. “I found what’s on this cotton in Potts’s room.”

“Is it Potts, then?”

“No, actually. I think it may be Soames.”

“Soames!”

“Keep it strictly quiet, Thomas. Only my brother and Jane know.”

“I shall. But Soames!”

“I know. At any rate, I may be incorrect, and I need this analyzed.” He pointed to the cotton. “Can you do it?”

“Of course,” said McConnell.

He took a sip of gin; Lenox almost wished he could say something to stop him.

“How soon?”

“Well—since it’s a limited sample, I’ll have to be careful. Two days, to be thorough.”

“Perfect. That’s what I told Exeter.”

“Exeter?”

“He let me into Barnard’s house. That’s how I took the sample.” Saying this, he handed it over to McConnell, who held it up to his eyes.

The doctor laughed. “You and Exeter. Miracles will never cease.”

“I would have bet ten pounds that they had ceased, right before the moment when Exeter offered me help—but evidently not.”