A Beautiful Blue Death

Chapter 29

Almost 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.