Queen's Gambit

by Bradley Harper

  Herr Schork conducted us through the press and led us to an Otis elevator operated by a young man in a bellboy uniform and spotless white gloves.

  I felt my throat tighten as the operator opened the cage and gestured for us to enter. “Is it safe?”

  Schork smiled and stepped inside without hesitation. “Entirely, Fraülein. I ride it daily to my office. It stops automatically if the cable breaks.”

  “The cable could break? How reassuring. And how many floors are we traveling in this two-ton steel cage operated by an adolescent?” The operator stiffened and, with as much dignity as his youth allowed, replied, “Zwei, Madame.”

  “Two stories.” Given the height of the first floor, that meant possibly forty feet. “Lovely.”

  I turned to study the operator and estimated he’d only started shaving within the year. “Wie alt bist du?” I asked, causing the young man’s cheeks to redden.

  “Neunzehn Jahre, Madame.”

  I reckoned he was probably closer to seventeen years of age than to the nineteen he’d reported. “Is this really necessary?” I asked.

  Bell chuckled. “Come, Miss Harkness,” he said. “Consider this part of the adventure. I’ve never ridden in one of these contraptions before and am looking forward to the experience.” He stepped inside, turned, and extended a hand to me.

  Seeing no way to delay further, I took the professor’s hand, turned to face the door, and squeezed my eyes shut as the cage doors clashed together. Bell surely noted my hand was cold but was kind enough not to mention it.

  I only realized I was holding my breath when the elevator lurched to a stop and the doors slid open. This birdcage suspended by a seemingly fragile cable incorporated my fear of heights in one hellish device, and the back of my neck felt cool as the fresh air of the corridor flowed over its dampness.

  Herr Schork led us to a plain wooden office door labeled only 28A. I suppose it would be foolish to place a sign declaring “Secret Police” in bold letters, I thought. Inside, a young man who resembled my Pennyworth persona sat behind a desk, guarding the entrance to a second door at the back of the room, probably that of the office of the chief of security. Four other desks were facing the left and right walls, two to a side, each occupied by an industrious male public servant.

  I noticed what appeared to be recently installed electric lights hanging from the ceiling above each desk, and a shiny new telephone at the clerk’s station. Impressive, I thought. Spying must pay well. The clerk sprang up immediately, but the other four paid us no heed, each occupied with ledgers and reports.

  “Herr Oberst Adler is expecting you, Herr Schork. Who may I say is accompanying you?”

  “You may not say, Johann. The Oberst understands why. Announce us, please.”

  The clerk inclined his head and led us to the door at the back of the room, marked—predictably—28B. He tapped on the portal and at a grunt from inside, opened the door a crack and announced, “Herr Schork, with companions.”

  A muttered “Ja!” came from inside, and the clerk fully opened the door, indicated we should enter, then closed it behind us.

  Oberst Adler was a slender, soft-spoken man, mid-fifties, not given much to blinking. Adler in German means eagle, and he looked much like a seasoned bird of prey, with a dueling scar on his left cheek hinting at younger, more energetic days. He was on the telephone at his desk when we entered, and mumbled “Auf Wiederhören,” before returning the receiver to its cradle. I was surprised to find when he stood that he was a half a head shorter than I am, though his short stature did not diminish the quiet menace his dark eyes contained.

  I was glad German custom did not include shaking hands with women, for I knew instinctively his hands would be cold, his grip overstrong. I was struck by the bareness of his office. No family photographs adorned his desk, nor certificates or diplomas on the wall. The only pieces of ornamentation were a large light fixture over his desk and crossed dueling swords mounted on the wall behind him, perhaps as a warning to those who displeased him. He was a man who kept his secrets to himself while seeking those of others.

  There was an awkward silence while the spymaster awaited introductions. Schork flushed. “Excuse me, Herr Oberst. You know why my two consultants are here.”

  Adler looked as though he had just bitten into something disagreeable as he nodded. “They are here to prove I am either incompetent, or a traitor. I am unsure which determination to hope for.”

  “Nein, Herr Oberst!” Schork protested. “Our enemies can be clever. Our superiors only wish for fresh, objective eyes to investigate. Your long service and loyalty are not in question.”

  “Aren’t they? I am the only common link among all the instances we know of when the anarchists discovered our secrets. If I am not a suspect, it is only because it was I who made that conclusion.”

  Bell had for all this time remained silent, unable to follow the conversation. When he turned to me for clarification, I held up my hand to request a pause while I translated.

  “Can’t blame the man for not welcoming us,” Bell said, once the gist of the conversation was relayed. “Ask him how his rrrecords of the conversations were handled. I assume they all occurred in this room?” Bell’s brogue betrayed his unease at our cool reception.

  “I can answer zhose questions directly, sir,” Adler said stiffly, in heavily accented but understandable English.

  “I didn’t know you spoke English, Herr Oberst,” Schork sputtered.

  “I would be a very poor spy if you knew everything about me,” he answered, the scar on his cheek blanching as he struggled to hide his smile.

  “And you, sir,” Adler continued, “from your brogue I assume you are a Scot, Ja?”

  “Ja, I mean yes,” Bell answered, nodding.

  “Ach, I have before me a distinguished Scottish gentleman, brought in anonymously, to investigate a leak of classified information. A task requiring skill, experience, and discretion. Do I have the honor of addressing Professor Joseph Bell?”

  Bell inclined his head in respect. “The same.”

  Herr Adler extended his hand, “I followed the events of the murder in Argyll. Your analysis of the gunshot powder I thought was conclusive, the lack of residue on the body proved the fatal wound could not have been an accidental discharge. A pity the jury was swayed by oratory.” Bell smiled at the man’s honest admiration. “Yes, but the murderer’s hubris brought him a reckoning of sort. But, please, let’s return to the business at hand. How do you secure your notes of sensitive meetings?”

  “A moment, please. As I now know your identity, could you introduce me to your female companion with the excellent German?”

  Bell looked at Schork, who shrugged. The cat, as they say, was well out of the bag. Nodding toward me, Bell said, “Miss Margaret Harkness. We are old comrades, she and I, and she is someone I know I can trust.”

  “A quality one should never undervalue, Herr Professor. But now, as you say, to business. A pity. Perhaps, once this matter is resolved and if I stay free of prison, you can share some of your true adventures. I feel better knowing you are the one looking into this. I trust you to be objective, and if I have failed in some manner, then so be it.

  “As for my notes, I encrypt them using a codebook of my own devising. I keep my codebook and notes in two different safes stored in this office.” Vogel indicated two sturdy iron safes behind him, both chained to the wall.

  “The safes are combination, and no one but myself knows the sequences. Since I suspected a spy, I have placed various ‘tells’ on the safes before I leave for the evening and look to see if anything has been disturbed the following morning. Things like a single one of my hairs lain at a specific angle along the top, which no one save myself would notice. To date, they have always been exactly as I left them the night before.”

  “And where do you discuss sensitive topics?”

  “Only here, in my office, or in the chancellery, though only one conversation there concerned one of our r
aids. All the others occurred here.”

  “And who was present at these meetings?”

  Adler turned to open one of the safes, pulling out a dark leather-bound journal before relocking the container. “There were five discussions of interest, held over a three-month period. Let me draw you a diagram.”

  The spymaster smoothed out a piece of foolscap and sketched our surroundings.

  ENTRANCE TO 28A

  Johann Müller (Clerk)

  Franz Weber (Senior Agent) Helmut Schröder (Informant).

  Wilhelm Schmidt (Weber’s Deputy) Jakobs Faulkner (Informant)

  ENTRANCE TO 28B

  “Müller is never involved. He has an influential father-in-law who ensures his daughter is well supported. Herr Müller is not terribly ambitious, which is fortunate, as he also lacks intellect. He manages the office and keeps my appointment book, nothing more. Think no more of him.

  “Next we have Herr Weber, my senior operative, and his deputy, Schmidt. Any field operation of consequence requires one of these men be present to oversee it. I have other agents in another location, but I prefer not to disclose their number or exact whereabouts at this time. Weber was present at four of the discussions, Schmidt at three. It is possible they are in collusion, but I doubt it. Although they work well together as required, neither man is over fond of the other. I will not discuss their personal lives unless you deem it necessary, Professor.

  “As for my two spymasters, Schröder and Faulkner, they are a study in contrasts.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  Adler looked up, startled that I’d spoken; then, glancing at Bell and seeing no rebuke, he answered, “Schröder is a quiet, cautious man, while Faulkner is outgoing to an extreme. Faulkner is the younger of the two, at thirty-two, while Schröder, at forty-five, is more settled. Schröder is married with two daughters, Faulkner a bachelor.”

  “I assume Herr Schröder is Faulkner’s superior?” Bell asked.

  “No, Professor, though that would be the logical conclusion. I run my informant network in parallel. Each spymaster has his own network. Only I have access to the complete list of informants, to ensure we are not double-paying our little pigeons.”

  “Is it difficult to get informants from the anarchists?” I asked, making sure Adler understood I was to be a full participant.

  Adler snorted, whether at me or at my question, I could not tell. “Until recently, I would have said no. There is much rivalry and even animosity within their ranks. But since this leak was discovered . . .” He sighed. “Three times we have planned raids on meetings where their highest members were scheduled to appear. Each time, we found the place abandoned. Two of my most trusted informants have disappeared—one of Herr Faulkner’s and one of Schröder’s. This must stop if I am to prevent any major mischief.”

  “Who within your office is aware of this breach?” I asked.

  Adler’s stone face softened a little, telling me he had resigned himself to my involvement. “Weber and Schmidt, my senior agents, who planned the raids. Faulkner and Schröder are, of course, aware of the disappearance of their respective informants, though neither is aware of the other’s loss.”

  “So it must be either Schmidt or Weber,” said Schork. “They must be interrogated at once!”

  Adler took a long breath before replying: “Herr Schork, until I am removed, I am chief of security. You will refrain from telling me how to do my job as long as it is mine to do!”

  Schork flinched, then Adler—satisfied his rebuke had done its job—returned his attention to us. “They are both experienced agents, and each has conducted multiple interrogations. They have risked their lives more than once in service to this office, and I will not risk destroying the trust of my two senior operatives without solid proof of their duplicity. Besides, I have discussed our dilemma with them, both individually and together. Were they guilty, they would be well-prepared to cover up their betrayal.

  “No,” Adler said, shaking his head in frustration, “I cannot believe either man is my Judas.”

  Bell looked at the telephone on Adler’s desk. It was the most modern of its time, a flat disc-shaped listening device above and a speaker tube below, all contained in one piece. Running from the handheld apparatus was a cloth-covered wire which led to an elaborately engraved wood and brass box supporting the cradle. It had a small hand crank on the side, used to contact the switchboard operator.

  “Do you discuss classified information on the telephone? Perhaps the switchboard operator listens in.” Bell narrowed his eyes in contemplation. “Also, I understand that telegraph lines can be tapped into. I suppose the same is possible with a telephone?”

  “That had not occurred to me, Herr Professor. Inanimate objects do tend to be overlooked,ja? But I always brief the chancellor in person. There are nuances in communication that are not well expressed though an electric line. My work involves subtle shades of gray. It is as important that the chancellor understand me as I him.”

  “Is there an office behind your rear wall through which one could eavesdrop?” Bell asked.

  “Nein. I chose this specific office to ensure such a thing could not happen. The other side of this wall”—he indicated behind him—” is exterior, two floors up. The wall to your right is a hallway, and to your left is another exterior. No, Professor, the walls are not a possibility. And, before you ask,” he said, thumping his foot on the floor, “the space beneath my office is a toilet that sees frequent use, and my ceiling is directly beneath the roof of the building. Anyone up there would be noticed sooner or later.”

  Bell rubbed his hands. “A classic conundrum—a locked room.”

  “Ja, Herr Professor. A puzzle for you, a headache for me!”

  I studied the room. Something wasn’t right . . . I turned to Bell. “No harm in examining the exterior, all the same. Wouldn’t you agree, Professor?”

  “It’s why we’re here, after all,” he agreed. “Care to accompany us, Herr Adler?”

  “By all means, for both personal as well as professional reasons, though I might advise Fraülein Harkness from entering the men’s toilet. I would prefer to avoid the explanations this would require.”

  The next two hours were spent verifying the Oberst’s descriptions. No blocked-off stalls in the men’s room (as Bell reported to me, after I stood watch outside), no storage closets where a listener could hide unobserved. Bell confirmed there were no recent footprints among the pigeon droppings on the roof above Herr Adler’s office (as I avoided the excursion to the top of the building). Throughout our inspections, I had the feeling there was something I’d missed. Something I’d seen but only noticed subconsciously.

  As we reentered the inner office I paused, looked over my shoulder to the outer room, then glanced at Bell. He looked at me with raised eyebrows until I tilted my head upward toward the ceiling, then a slow smile spread across his face.

  “Please step out of your office and close the door, Herr Adler,” Bell instructed.

  Puzzled, Adler complied.

  “Is there someplace Miss Harkness and I may talk in private, other than your office?”

  “There is a small conference room I use on occasion, down the hall,” Adler said, looking more puzzled than ever. “We can go there now.”

  “What’s all the mystery? Speak up!” Schork said.

  “Fraülein Harkness and the professor are here at your suggestion, Herr Schork,” Adler said, glaring at the junior bureaucrat. “Let them go about this in their own way.”

  “Thank you, Herr Adler,” Bell said, a glint in his eye hinting that he’d come to a conclusion similar to my own. “I believe Miss Harkness and I may have an answer for you shortly. If one of your staff could conduct us to the conference room and wait outside, we should have something for you in a few minutes.”

  I am accustomed to discomfiting men, so I took little notice of Schork’s reddening face as the secretary, Müller, led us out of the office and down the hall.

  Once
alone, the professor turned to me, beaming. “What did you see, Miss Harkness?”

  “I noticed the desk and furnishings in Herr Adler’s private office were of the same make and quality of those of his subordinates. There were no diplomas or awards on his wall.”

  “Just so,” Bell said. “Therefore, one can deduce he is a modest man, making his only two ornamentations all the more suspect.”

  “The dueling swords on his wall and the light fixture.”

  “Precisely! As I do not see how the swords could be used to convey information out of his office, it can only be the light fixture.” He rubbed his chin. “How should we proceed?”

  “I recommend we tell Adler privately, as he will know best what steps to take.”

  “Capital! I almost feel guilty taking their money.” Bell winked. “Almost.”

  I opened the door and asked the secretary to bring Herr Adler to the conference room. Alone. Adler arrived almost immediately, his lips tightly pursed as though tensing for a blow.

  Bell nodded to me. “Miss Harkness and I have arrived at the same conclusion. Neither of your senior agents are involved, sir. At least not directly.”

  Adler frowned. “Alright, Miss Harkness. You have me at sixes and sevens. What is your answer to our locked room problem?”

  “Your light fixture, Herr Oberst,” I said simply, “is substantially larger than those in the outer office.”

  Adler leaned in. “And?”

  “And I recommend you send a man to your office tonight, long after the building is closed, with a screwdriver.”

  9

  Tuesday, June 1, cont.

  Adler agreed to let us accompany him along with Weber and Schmidt that night to his office. Schork, to his immense irritation, was not invited.

  “I will update you in the morning,” the spymaster said firmly, smiling at the young man’s sulk. “If it is nothing, then you have been spared losing a night’s sleep. If it’s significant, we can brief the chancellor together. The fewer who know of this, the better. Don’t worry, you’ll get your share of the credit.”