The Curse Of The Diogenes Club (33 page)

Sherlock slapped his old friend
on the back and chuckled. “Right as usual, Watson! I shall be here,
mucking out the stable, should you need my services!”

They all gathered in the great
hall and discussed the night of the ball ad infinitum until it was
time to dress for dinner. Nothing was achieved but it gave the
Countess a chance to go over the facts and discard the bits that
didn’t fit.

Dinner passed pleasantly and
everyone slept soundly, except for those who hardly slept at all
because they were busy doing other things.

As soon as breakfast was out of
the way, Major Nash bid goodbye to his houseguests and returned to
the great hall where Mycroft, Sherlock, Dr Watson and the Countess
had gathered around the fire. Cigars, cigarettes and pipes were lit
and everyone threw themselves into the most comfortable chair they
could find.

Colonel Moriarty, who had
mounted his horse and galloped away half an hour ago had merely
gone a few miles down the road and then doubled back across the
fields.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he
said as he sauntered in, guessing that there would be some sort of
debriefing session.

No one had any objection, so he
helped himself to one of Mr Blague’s finest Macanudos and found a
seat.

“Did we achieve anything during
the last two days?” said Mycroft, heaving a breath as he puffed on
a fat cigar. “Who wants to get the ball rolling?”

“I think we made headway,”
replied Sherlock chirpily, smiling cagily at his daughter. “Ladies
first is the rule. Why don’t we start with the Countess? She can
outline her theory and we can debate any points of contention as we
go.”

No one took issue with that
suggestion. Most of them were worn out with conversation and were
happy for someone else to take the floor. That was the usual way
after a weekend spent socializing in the countryside. Everyone
returned to the city more exhausted than when they departed. Apart
from extroverted lunatics most people could only stomach so much of
other people’s company before they went stark raving mad.

Major Nash threw a log on the
fire then threw himself into a tapestry wing chair just outside the
circle of settees and sofas, eschewed a cigar, and put his feet up
on an ottoman. Unlike the others present, he had never witnessed
the Countess sum up a case from start to finish. He closed his eyes
and hoped he would be able to stay awake or at least look like he
was awake. He’d hardly had any sleep the last two nights and had
gone beyond the call of duty for little or no gain. The weekend had
not achieved all that he had hoped and he felt disappointed.

The Countess rose to her feet
and stood with her back to the fire where the flames brought out
the rich autumnal hues in her chestnut hair. She was wearing one of
the newer style gowns that made the female form appear slimmer; the
fabrics were softer and the silhouette more fluid. She had lit a
cigarette but realized now that she did not wish to smoke and talk
at the same time so she tossed it on the flames.

“I presume nothing is out of
bounds?’ she said, looking squarely at Mycroft.

The imperious portly body
shifted uneasily. It suddenly dawned on him why Sherlock suggested
the Countess go first. She had probably figured out more than most,
more even than he had given her credit for. He had wondered more
than once who had tampered with his sock drawer and put it down to
Nash or Sherlock but he realized now she was the most likely
culprit since she occupied the connecting bedroom.

But he was weary of this
business, weary of being attacked by rabid dogs and rolling barrels
and exploding bombs. Most of all he was weary of endless blather.
He wanted to go back to the Diogenes Club, to the dome room, to
privacy, to silence.

For that to happen he had to
put an end to whoever was behind this business to kill him off. It
had to be settled before he returned to London and the next attempt
proved successful.

“Nothing,” he confirmed,
sighing heavily. “Speak freely.” And, he wanted to add, speak
concisely and quickly for all our sakes!

“So be it: Dogs bite their
enemies, I bite my friends to save them,” she warned, quoting
Diogenes. “I want to stress I have no proof for what I am about to
put forward. This weekend has proven enlightening by way of hearsay
or anecdote and you may disagree with any part of it. That is up to
you. I shall start with the night of the ball.

It started with Dr Watson being
tripped on the stairs. He recognized the face before he blacked out
but he couldn’t remember exactly who it was when he woke up.
Yesterday he remembered it was someone dressed as Henry VIII. There
were three such figures at the top of the stairs: Damery, Blague
and de Merville. Now, he had not met Mr Blague, nor was he
personally acquainted with Sir Damery, but whether one is
acquainted with General de Merville or not, his photograph has
appeared in newspapers on numerous occasions. In other words,
everyone is acquainted with the general. If Dr Watson recognised a
face from the trio, it would most likely be that of General de
Merville.

We proceed to the dome room
where the first bomb went off. Someone, presumably the roaming
photographer, placed the bomb in the room but someone needed to set
the timer. It couldn’t be done hours in advance in case it was
found and defused. It could only be done minutes beforehand,
perhaps ten or twenty at most.

There were six men in that
room. It could have been any one of them who flicked a switch to
start the bomb ticking. Let us remind ourselves it was Isadora
Klein who suggested trying the hookahs and Blague who was most
keen. Damery was positioned in the centre of the room, acting as
mediator. Major Nash had his weapon pointed at Colonel Moriarty and
the colonel was in the spotlight. That leaves the general and the
prince free to see to the bomb. Mr Blague recalled the prince
lighting a cigarette and wandering around the perimeter of the
room, looking bored. The general, also bored, tinkered with the
water pipes on the hookahs.

Whoever switched on the timer
knew he had only a certain amount of time to get out of the room
before the bomb exploded. Mr Blague and Prince Sergei were keen for
the duel to go ahead but it was the general who argued most
fiercely in favour of not wasting time.”

She turned to Major Nash and
Colonel Moriarty. “Is that how you remember it?”

They both nodded.

“Yes, it was de Merville who
suggested the lanterns,” said Major Nash, sitting up and paying
attention despite his fatigue.

“He shot down everything Damery
said to postpone things,” added the colonel. “And he raced away
first. The others followed.”

“In other words,” said the
Countess, “he wanted to make sure he was not inside the dome room
when it blew up.”

“Bastard!” muttered Moriarty
under his breath.

“Don’t be hasty,” tempered
Mycroft, loath to point the finger at his old friend. “Let’s hear
all the anecdotal evidence and let’s bear in mind it is only
anecdotal.” He indicated for her to continue.

“Mrs Klein was meant to join
the men for some shisha but she never made it. She was dancing with
Pugsy Setterfield and when she managed to get away she claimed she
went to the wrong room. My maid confirmed seeing Mrs Klein rushing
up to the dome room on the other side of the building, staying but
a moment and rushing back down the stairs.

Now, one must ask, who set off
the second timer? The one person seen going up to the dome room
before the blast was Mrs Klein. So, was she going to the wrong
room? Or was it in fact the right room? If she knew the general was
setting the timer for the first dome room, she could set the second
and make her escape in plenty of time.

Mrs Klein claimed she saw the
Princess of Wales going to get her cloak as she was coming down the
stairs but we know the Princess of Wales was in the cloak room when
the bombs went off so she would hardly be getting her cloak
twice.

Though let us give her the
benefit of the doubt.

Nevertheless, there is also the
question of Pugsy Setterfield. Miss de Merville also claimed she
was having the last dance with Pugsy, so one of the women is lying.
I was dancing with the Prince of Wales when the three men were
crossing the foyer prior to the bombs going off and I can confirm
seeing Miss de Merville, though I cannot recall Pugsy, and I cannot
recall seeing Mrs Klein on the dance floor either and yet she is
not an easy woman to overlook.

Furthermore, Mrs Klein claimed
she saw the studio photographer moving the camera under the stairs
as she was descending the staircase, but she must have come down
much earlier and already have had her cloak and gone out to the
veranda as far from the pavilion as possible. Her gown and cloak
had no blood on them whatsoever as she directed the bucket
brigade.

The only reason I can think for
her to say she saw the photographer would be to divert suspicion
away from herself. If she saw someone moving the camera and thought
it odd or thought nothing of it, she could not possibly be accused
of knowing there was a bomb inside that was meant to be on the
table.

Much later, after she organized
the bucket brigade she disappeared inside the pavilion. My maid saw
her go to the powder room. But my maid did not see when she came
out. That suggests she was in there for longer than a few minutes.
She had time to follow the studio photographer up the second
staircase when he went to salvage his equipment; she had time to
strangle him with a length of petticoat which she could easily have
picked up. She is certainly strong enough to overpower a puny man
who is unprepared.

Of all the guests at the ball,
Mrs Klein was in the two places where someone needed to be to set
off the second bomb and strangle the photographer. Coincidence,
unfortunate timing or meticulous planning?”

Sherlock was smiling
proudly.

Mycroft was growing
uncomfortable.

Major Nash was sitting upright,
staring at the Countess as if seeing her for the first time.

Moriarty was muttering
obscenities under his breath along the lines of: Bitch…!

Dr Watson was listening with
interest, having missed most of the action.

“If no one has anything to add,
I will go on.”

The five men all nodded.

“This part, I admit, is pure
conjecture. My maid went twice to the carriage park to check for my
troika. On the first occasion she saw a man sitting in Mrs Klein’s
carriage. The carriage curtains were open. The man was not a guest
at the ball, in other words he was not wearing a costume, nor was
he wearing the livery of a servant or a military uniform. I suggest
it was the roaming photographer who had placed the camera on the
hall table as he had been instructed and then ran for his life. Mrs
Klein claimed the unknown man must have leapt into her carriage out
of fear but it is noteworthy that of all the carriages in the park
he leapt into hers.

A short time later the two
footmen went into the carriage and there was a lot of shaking. The
curtains were now closed. We now know the two footmen were part of
the Barney Stockdale gang. I think it highly likely they were
strangling him. He was strangled by hand so it had to be someone
strong. Not a woman. Sir Damery said the man later left the
carriage but he did not actually see him go. Prince Sergei, whose
carriage was parked alongside that of Mrs Klein, was in his
carriage the entire time but he did not mention the man apart from
seeing him running in a panic across the lawn toward the
carriages.

According to Sir Damery, when
Mrs Klein arrived at the carriage park, she went not into her own
carriage but into that of the prince who then suddenly had his
curtains closed. I presume they were having an assignation but it
also gave her an alibi, in that the prince witnessed her getting
into her own carriage which presumably had a dead body inside. So,
should someone claim the man never got out of her carriage she
could call their bluff, call on the prince to confirm he saw her
getting into her carriage and making no fuss whatsoever over a man
being inside her carriage, not even a dead man!

But here is the interesting
thing, witnessed by Sir Damery. Her coachman drives right around
the perimeter of the park, stopping several times for no apparent
reason. He goes around twice and then presumably finds the gate
that other drivers have had no trouble locating.

This makes no sense unless the
footmen used that time to dump the body of the photographer in the
pump house. The first time the carriage went round they leapt out
with the body and dragged it to the pump house. The second time,
they climbed back on the backboard. Hence the reason for going
around twice.

Mrs Klein made a great show of
berating her coachman for being drunk but I believe that’s what it
was – a show.”

Major Nash and Colonel Moriarty
were both nodding. They had both wondered why the photographer had
run all the way down to the pump house to hide. It was dark.
Everyone was distracted. Why didn’t he just keep running? Or better
still, if he had planted the bombs surely he would have arranged
for transport to flee the scene. But if it had been agreed that he
would get into Mrs Klein’s carriage and hide until she came,
perhaps to pay him off for a job well done, then it made sense.

If she had employed two
punishers from the Barney Stockdale gang it made even more sense
that the dead body would be dumped in the pump house and then
dumped in the lake the following night, hopefully so that no one
would link the body to the pump house and recall that her carriage
had stopped near the pump house twice on the night of the ball.