by Amy Stewart
About my hairstyle—shall I keep you guessing? Just wait until you see those pictures!
Yours very truly,
Fleurette
Constance
Paterson, New Jersey
Constance to Bielaski
October 4, 1918
Dear Mr. Bielaski,
I’ve found a way to get inside the Wilmington household. As you might recall, I’ve observed that Mrs. Wilmington can’t sew, and she cares little for clothes. Even the curtains and upholstery are shabby and neglected.
With so much in disarray, an able seamstress could find a week or two’s worth of work for herself at the Wilmington residence. To that end, I’ve sent in my younger sister, Fleurette, who grew up as I did speaking French and German. As she is only twenty and stands a good head shorter than I do, we may be assured that the Wilmingtons will not suspect that she’s related to me.
“What am I to call myself?” was her first question. For once, her flair for the dramatic proves useful, as she does require a name other than the German-sounding Kopp. She settled on Gloria Blossom, which sounded obviously phony to me but I couldn’t persuade her otherwise.
She insisted on a disguise and I likewise didn’t object: a spy likes to put her own operation together, so to speak. She’d had a red rinse in her hair for the stage, but she darkened it considerably and cut it a few inches (she’s sneaking closer to a bob, I suspect). She put together the wardrobe of a working woman of modest means, which in her case is quite a disguise. We are, of course, of modest means ourselves, but you would never know it from looking at Fleurette’s collection of silk, crepe, beaded slippers, and furs. To be noticed is always her objective, and to make herself plain is a remarkable trick.
It was up to me to get her hired on. Fortunately, Mr. Wilmington’s coat is nearly in tatters. It hangs all day on a coat-rack just outside his office. I had no difficulty at all in ripping a few seams in his pockets when he wasn’t looking.
He cursed loudly the first time a handful of coins dropped right out of his pocket and onto the floor. I looked up calmly from my typing and said, “I know a very good seamstress.”
“We require a dozen seamstresses,” he said. “Everything’s falling apart. I don’t know what Mrs. Wilmington does all day.”
I, of course, am likewise curious as to what Mrs. Wilmington does all day.
“If you’ll allow me,” I said, “I’ll send a note to Mrs. Wilmington making an introduction to the girl I know. Her rates are quite reasonable. She’ll have the entire household stitched back together in no time.”
This was easily accomplished. By yesterday afternoon, Fleurette had secured employment in the Wilmington household. She noticed right away that most of Mrs. Wilmington’s dresses fit her poorly and has scheduled a number of fittings to make alterations to almost everything she owns. It helped considerably that Fleurette let it be known that she could put her hands on fabrics not generally available in war-time—bits of silk, velvet, and so forth, to dress up a collar or a cuff. This might not sound like much to you, but Mrs. Wilmington’s face lit up at the sight of even a few scraps of hard-to-find fabric in Fleurette’s mending-basket.
I’ve encouraged her to expand her role as seamstress-spy in any way that might keep her in the house longer. She’s offered her services for other domestic tasks as well, such as polishing furniture and dusting picture-frames.
You may expect quick progress now that we have my sister on the inside.
Yours very truly,
Constance A. Kopp
P.S. By the way, Fleurette reports that the ceramic figurine sits alone on a curio shelf, untouched.
Bielaski to Constance
October 6, 1918
Dear Miss Kopp,
I never expected to have an all-girl spy network on my hands, but I have no doubt you’ll make a success of it. I’m sending under separate cover two identification badges like yours, one for Miss Bradshaw, and one for your sister. If they get into any trouble and have to send for the police, they are to present them just as you do and expect prompt co-operation. The police should let you use their call-boxes as well. If they give you any guff about it, send them to me.
Yours very truly,
A. Bruce Bielaski
Miss Bradshaw to Constance
October 8, 1918
Dear Miss Kopp,
Pursuant to our conversation tonight, I submit this report to document a most eventful day.
As you know, I’ve tried twice to follow the messenger and have twice been foiled. I’ve been able to track Mrs. Wilmington’s newspaper as it travels from the newsstand to the hotel in Mrs. Wilmington’s possession, from the hotel to the train station in the hands of the first messenger (it’s always the same man), and again as it is picked up at the station by the second messenger and taken on board the train.
The trouble is that the second messenger is in the habit of evading detection. He changes rail-cars frequently, steps off at any convenient stop, switches from the express to the local and back again, and manages to thoroughly lose me when he does. No one will let a lady step from car to car unassisted, so I attract too much attention when I try to follow him. I’ve lost him twice so far and was near despair—but today I had a stroke of luck.
As is his custom, Mr. Wilmington departed for the office precisely at eight. At 8:30 Mrs. Wilmington walked out and went directly to the news-stand on the corner to purchase the New York Times.
With the Times in hand, she walked once again directly to the Hotel Manhattan. She sat in the same place near the window, in a high-backed green chair next to a potted palm.
I took my usual spot behind a column, across the lobby. I had a book with me and pretended to read. Mrs. Wilmington sat for precisely ten minutes, reading the newspaper but not reading it, as previously described. She seemed merely to pass her eyes across each page, for a minute at a time, giving equal interest (or a lack of interest, as I’ve yet to see Mrs. Wilmington interested in anything) to each page, even a page filled almost entirely with advertisements.
After ten minutes passed, she stood, dropped the paper, and left.
This time, however, no one came to pick it up.
I waited a full fifteen minutes. Men and women walked in and out of the hotel. The paper sat, untouched, ignored by porters and waiters who circulated through the lobby.
At that moment I had a decision to make. I had no specific instructions from you regarding what I was to do if the newspaper was simply abandoned. Had the messenger failed to appear? Surely Mrs. Wilmington wouldn’t have simply left it if she hadn’t seen him. Had someone interfered with him, and prevented him from coming into the hotel?
I suppose we’ll never know. I didn’t see the man approach, nor did I see or hear any kind of scuffle on the street. My best guess is that he was spotted by someone who knew him and was forced to abandon the mission.
But there I was, staring at the discarded newspaper across the lobby. A porter started walking around, picking up stray papers and abandoned cups. He began at the other end of the room, which gave me only a moment to act.
I dashed over to the green chair, picked up the paper, and started to read. Tucked in between the pages I found a grocery list, written in Mrs. Wilmington’s hand.
I withdrew from my pocketbook a handkerchief and held the grocery list gingerly, as you instructed, to avoid leaving finger-prints or damaging any already put down. I don’t believe anyone saw me doing this—the green chair is high-backed and deep, so that it’s easy to avoid being seen.
There was nothing remarkable about the note. If it holds any useful information, it must be in secret ink or code.
After spending only about three minutes in the chair, I tucked the note into my handbag (discreetly, behind a curtain of privacy afforded by the newspaper), folded the paper, and walked out.
Both the note and the paper are now in your possession. Per your instructions, I’ll stay at my post and continue as before.
Yo
urs very truly,
Anne Bradshaw
Mrs. Wilmington’s grocery list
Oat flakes
Butter
Laundry soap
Cabbage
Evaporated milk
Mincemeat
Constance to Bielaski
October 8, 1918
Dear Mr. Bielaski,
Enclosed please find Miss Bradshaw’s report. The note she intercepted appeared at first to be a grocery list, unremarkable, and in Mrs. Wilmington’s hand, as confirmed by Fleurette, who was able to smuggle out other notes written by her.
We brushed on a coating of the reagent. It is quite miraculous to watch the writing emerge in its ghostly fashion. Quite apart from the spectacle of it, we did uncover what appears to be code written across the list. I’ve enclosed a complete transcript—as you can see, the format is as follows: three numbers, separated by a period.
25.8.3
163.20.4
439.40.8
. . . and so on. I only wish my sister Norma were here, as she’s never met a code she couldn’t decipher. Absent any help from Norma, I entrust it to you and await your reply.
Yours very truly,
Constance A. Kopp
Bielaski to Constance
October 10, 1918
Dear Miss Kopp,
The code looks like book cipher. Is there a book to which Mrs. Wilmington is particularly attached? The code works as follows: If the line reads 2.5.6, the first digit represents the page number, the second digit represents the line of text on that page (counting down from the top), and the third digit represents the position of the word in the line, starting from the left.
Thus, 2.5.6 instructs the recipient of the code to turn to the second page, count down five lines, and read the sixth word on that page.
It only works if both sender and recipient possess identical editions of the same book. It’s generally not a slim book of prose or a volume on a narrow subject, but some doorstop of a book covering a wide range of topics and therefore containing, somewhere within its pages, every possible word a messenger might have cause to use. Dictionaries, encyclopedias, and Bibles are likely suspects.
Yours very truly,
A. Bruce Bielaski
Telegram from Bielaski to Constance
October 11, 1918
ON SECOND THOUGHT DO NOT PUT SISTER IN DANGER OVER HUNT FOR TREASURED BOOK WE HAVE CAUSE TO ARREST PULL HER OUT AND I WILL SEND IN MY MEN
Telegram from Constance to Bielaski
October 11, 1918
NOT YET
Constance to Bielaski
October 12, 1918
Dear Mr. Bielaski,
Beg pardon for the abrupt telegram, but we can wrap up this operation ourselves and bring in the rest of the ring if you’ll only let us. You know you wouldn’t have pulled three men out—you would’ve let them finish their work and you would’ve rewarded them for doing so. We deserve the same.
Fleurette has made herself quite useful at the Wilmingtons’ and now has reason to be there almost every day. Whenever Mrs. Wilmington leaves the house on some small errand, Fleurette starts going through drawers, files, and even paging through books in the library in search of hidden notes.
It comes as no surprise, then, that Fleurette knew immediately what the book in question might be. She’d found it on the floor in Mrs. Wilmington’s bedroom only last week. Supposing it had been knocked off the night stand, she picked it up, dusted it off, and was about to replace it when Mrs. Wilmington walked in.
You would’ve thought Fleurette was fingering her jewelry box! Mrs. Wilmington snatched the book away, furious, and told Fleurette to never again touch her things.
But it’s Fleurette’s job to touch her things, of course: she’s there to repair clothing, put upholstery and curtains in order, and so forth. She managed to settle her employer down and to assure her that she was only tidying as she went about her work.
The book in question is Dr. Chase’s Recipes or Information for Everybody, Enlarged and Improved Edition, published in 1902 by Thompson & Thomas of Chicago, in red binding. I haven’t any idea how she and the person with whom she is in communication happened to come into possession of two copies of this particular volume, but it is a good choice for a book cipher, as it is filled with information on everything from gunsmithing to beekeeping to cooking for the convalescent, and offers a detailed index of some ten pages, listing entries from Ale, Homebrewed to Worm Lozenges.
As you said, a book cipher is no good unless the book contains the words you wish to use. I can’t imagine a single word that wouldn’t be found in this dense volume.
As soon as Mrs. Wilmington discovered Fleurette with the book, she hid it away, but all women hide things in the same places. Fleurette needed only an hour alone in the apartment to retrieve it. The book was too large for a flour canister, leaving the mending-basket as the next most likely place, but Mrs. Wilmington has no mending-basket (if she could mend, Fleurette wouldn’t be there). The lingerie drawer might’ve been another likely spot, but Fleurette was in and out of her bureau every day, as Mrs. Wilmington well knew.
Fleurette’s next idea was to search for a drawer with a false front in her writing desk—and she quickly found one. The false front was cut out of paste-board and fitted with nothing but a few tiny furniture nails to hold it in place. My mother had one just like it. If you ever meet a woman who hasn’t carved out some tiny hiding place in a desk or drawer, be very suspicious. It doesn’t mean she has no secrets: it means her secrets are too large or dangerous to be hidden in her bedroom or sitting-room. Look for a gun under the floor boards in that case, or a body buried in the garden.
The code Mrs. Wilmington tucked into her newspaper translates as:
Will proceed on the first quiet night
There’s more. We found a bit of scrap paper tucked inside Dr. Chase’s, written in another hand. In faint pencil was another series of book codes, which we have transcribed to read:
Rubber gloves
If glass breaks bury underground
1 inserted into nostril or feed or water
2 into muscle with syringe
I can only hope that the intended recipient of the syringe is not Mr. Wilmington, and that Mrs. Wilmington will have to leave the house to carry out her plan, whatever it is.
We’re working three eight-hour shifts now. Fleurette takes the day shift inside the apartment, Miss Bradshaw spends the early evening watching from across the street, and I have the night watch from midnight to eight in the morning.
When Mrs. Wilmington proceeds with her plan, we will follow and apprehend if necessary.
Yours very truly,
Constance A. Kopp
P.S. I’m not at all worried about being spotted. Fleurette has proven herself to be a master of disguises. With a complete change of wardrobe, theatrical face-paint, and gray powder in the hair for me and a pair of glasses for Miss Bradshaw, we are practically unrecognizable even to each other.
Bielaski to Constance
October 14, 1918
Dear Miss Kopp,
Would I have allowed three men to stay on the job and wrap it up themselves? I admit that I would, if one of them were a trained agent with some background in law enforcement—and you are. I concede defeat. Please proceed.
No reason to work overnight duty and then try to stay awake all day at Hudson Printing. Give your notice and let Mr. Wilmington shift for himself. He can find another secretary. You, Miss Kopp, and Miss Bradshaw ought to finish what you started.
Yours very truly,
A. Bruce Bielaski
Constance to Mr. Wilmington
October 16, 1918
Dear Mr. Wilmington,
It is with regret that I submit my resignation from Hudson Printing Company, effective immediately, owing to a pressing family matter. I thank you for the opportunity and wish you and Mr. Archer all the best in your future endeavors.
With best regards,
Winifred Sedgewick
Miss Bradshaw to Mr. Wilmington
October 19, 1918
Dear Mr. Wilmington,
I’m in receipt of your kind letter, forwarded from my boarding-house in Paterson, and your offer of return fare so that I might resume my position at Hudson Printing Company. I’m sorry to say that my mother’s health has only deteriorated, and she requires constant care. I’m sure you’ll find many an eager applicant for the position of secretary. With much gratitude for your kindness and forbearance, I remain—
Yours very truly,
Anne Bradshaw
Constance to Norma
October 19, 1918
Dear Norma,
Fleurette has made herself comfortable in my little basement apartment. She refused the cot and demanded a proper bed, which Mrs. Spinella declined to furnish. She (Fleurette, that is) still suffers from a cough she picked up last month, so I want her to be comfortable.
To that end, Francis and I went out to Wyckoff on Saturday, had a look around the house (which is fine but dusty—there’s not a leak or a broken window-pane anywhere), and hauled out the little day-bed from Mother’s old room for Fleurette. I took a few extra blankets as well, and a lamp for her bedside, and a couple of your bird books, which she demanded because she spends hours training that parrot to whistle and sing. She wants to know how to keep her feathers lustrous, and what sort of toys might best amuse her while we’re away at work. I told her I didn’t think that you ever gave a toy to your pigeons, but I’ll let you answer that.
