Page 39 of A Conspiracy in Belgravia
“No one ought to work without being properly fed.”
Charlotte couldn’t agree more if she tried. “This is certainly being properly fed.”
Lord Bancroft looked pleased. “I take it you are ready to work then, Miss Holmes?”
“Lord Ingram gave me the impression that you would like me to see the body,” said Charlotte cautiously.
She braced herself to hear Lord Bancroft clarify that there wereno such plans, but he said, “I understand you can tell a great deal about a person from a look. I assume it might also work for corpses.”
He really meant for her to see the victim—and no mention of anyone’s delicate feminine sensibilities.
“I can do that,” she said, scarcely able to keep wonder and eagerness out of her voice. “But it always helps to have greater context. What can you tell me about the victim or the circumstances?”
“You’ll first allow me to apologize, of course, for this unpleasantness. The Vigenère cipher, as well as the other riddles that had been repurposed for your leisure, came from an archive of cases deemed to have been thoroughly investigated—of no further interest whatsoever to the crown.
“Now, obviously I’m grateful to you—I much prefer knowing that something nefarious is going on under my nose, if this is what it is, and not a coincidence. But I would be lying if I didn’t acknowledge that I am also mortified and more than a little miffed that my courtship present has led to a dead body, of all things.”
“No harm done. I would much rather that my efforts shed some light on this man’s death than that they only resulted in solving a code someone had already deciphered ten years ago.”
“That’s how Ash thought you would feel, but still, it’s good to hear it directly from you. Now to answer your question. The Vigenère cipher began life as a cable about ten years ago, before my time. It originated in Cairo, though it’s also possible that Cairo had served as a relay station and the actual telegram had been sent from a smaller locale in the region.”
Charlotte would not be surprised if Bancroft had agents in telegraph relay stations all over the empire.
An operator in a relay station listened to the telegraph sounder and wrote down the Morse code as it clicked and beeped, before sending the message further along the line. When a message hadbeen relayed, the operator would have a copy in hand, which made it easy to hand off.
“The sender is named Baxter, the recipient, a C. F. de Lacy residing at a small hotel in Belgravia. According to the notes in the original dossier, it was decided by those responsible at the time that the telegram must have been communication between overly mistrustful archaeologists—or men who call themselves archaeologists but are simply modern-day grave robbers.”
“So no one was sent to the hotel to check the register?”
“We have limited funds and therefore limited manpower—in fact, much of my work involves trying to obtain more funds. I imagine the hapless men who worked on the cipher were crestfallen that it turned out to involve no foreign state secret or dastardly plot against the throne. They recommended that an eye be kept on the papers for any big archaeological discovery. But as far as I can tell, no one bothered to follow through with that.”
She had always thought Lord Bancroft recruited his little brother to have at hand someone he could trust absolutely. But now she wondered if there hadn’t been budgetary reasons: Lord Ingram, as a gentleman, would not expect to be paid—or even reimbursed—for his troubles.
“So now, ten years later, we have trouble unearthing anything. The hotel where de Lacy stayed? The hotel keeper died eight years ago. The premises were sold and made into a block of flats. The records of the old hotel were disposed of, so there is no means of tracking this Mr. de Lacy, even if that had been his real name. About Baxter we know even less. My subordinates are checking to see whether we have other records of them, but they are not hopeful.”
“When Lord Ingram and I arrived on the scene, there was already a policeman guarding the property—and the C.I.D. had become involved. How did that happen?”
The determined ordinariness of this house—or any of its neighbors—should not have inspired a bobby to peek behind the curtains.
“It’s curious how that came about. This morning, the nearest police station received an anonymous note, concerning nefarious activities that have taken place at this address, which the note alleged to have involved a number of innocent and helpless children.”
Charlotte’s ears perked up. It was not very long ago that the city had been gripped by just such a case. “The constables jumped to, I imagine.”
“Indeed,” said Lord Bancroft, “a contingent from the station flew out to investigate the premises. When no one answered the door, they forced open the entrance at the back. There were no children, nor any sign any had ever been in the house—but a dead body isn’t the worst consolation prize.”
Charlotte supposed not, if one had been seeking evidence of villainy.
“The police looked about and decided to hand the matter over to the C.I.D. Inspector Treadles arrived on the scene. You and my brother arrived on the scene. And the rest you already know.”
“Not all of it. Was Inspector Treadles asked to leave?”
“Of course not. Inspector Treadles is fully involved with the case. He believes that the body will be transported to the coroner’s. And it will be. But first you have a look, Miss Holmes.”
“Certainly. But before we proceed, can you tell me whether Simmons is still serving Lady Ingram?”
“My mother’s old maid Simmons? Yes, she’s still there. She came into some money last year. We thought it was time to buy her a retirement gift but she decided to stay on, in the end. Said she wouldn’t know what to do with herself if she retired.”
“I see.”
