“We can make neither heads nor tails of it,” my father told him. “The code appears to consist entirely of lines drawn in a most peculiar fashion.”
“Are the lines straight and uninterrupted?”
“Yes, but all are slanted at varying angles.”
“Do they contain adornments?”
“Only very small beads placed at one end or the other of each line.”
Sir David nodded slowly. “Then they are surely symbols, which in itself is a most helpful clue. To conceal a message individuals often create symbols that by themselves demonstrate little or no significance. However, once it’s recognized that these symbols stand for letters, one can apply the rules that can guide us through all secret readings. As you may be aware, the letter e is the most commonly used letter in the English language and it predominates to such a marked extent that in any message you will see it used over and over. So you must pick out the symbol that appears most often, for that invariably represents the letter e.”
My father reached in his coat for a copy of the message and, studying it, counted silently to himself. “There is one symbol that is slightly slanted and appears four times. Thus, it must signify the letter e.”
Sir David’s eyes narrowed noticeably. “How many symbols are contained in the entire message?”
My father counted again. “Eighteen in all.”
“Your message is quite short.”
“So it would seem.”
“And that, my dear Watson, presents us with a great problem, for in short messages the usual rules for deciphering may not apply. As a matter of fact, the briefest messages may be among the most difficult to unravel.”
“I would think the opposite.”
“That is a mistake the uninitiated often make, for they see only a line of simple symbols and expect the answer to jump out at them,” Sir David explained. “And it rarely does.”
“So we have learned,” my father said. “We were hoping you could break the code for us during our visit.”
“I am afraid you will in all likelihood be disappointed,” Sir David said frankly. “For the most part, codes employing symbols cannot be quickly solved, regardless of their apparent simplicity. It is not usually a matter of days, but weeks before one can uncover the hidden meaning of a cleverly constructed code.”
“Even with your expertise?”
“Even so,” Sir David replied. “But I shall give you guidelines that might shorten your search. You may wish to write them down.”
My father and I reached for pen and paper, but Joanna did not. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on Sir David and watched as he picked up a small stick of chalk and jotted down the numeral 1 on the blackboard.
“First,” Sir David began, “do not concern yourself with immediately breaking the code, but rather how to deconstruct it. You must look for the frequency and pattern in which the symbols are written. The symbols most often used are likely to represent the letters e, t, a, and o, usually in that order, but not always when dealing with a short code. Nevertheless, search for the symbols most frequently seen in the message, for they will signify the letters I just mentioned. Then you must move the letters about and determine what pattern they fit into best.”
“But surely patterns are difficult to see when the message consists of only eighteen letters,” Joanna said.
“Exactly right, madam. And that is yet another reason why brief codes are at times the most difficult to decipher,” Sir David said, and wrote the numeral 2 on the blackboard. “Next, keep in mind that short messages require that only a limited number of words be included. For example, the word importance would seldom be used because it takes up too much space. Remember, as a rule, a symbol represents a single letter. Thus, if you have a total of eighteen symbols, the message must be restricted to eighteen letters. So you can readily see letters here will be at a premium and used most sparingly.”
“We should therefore search for the shortest possible words,” Joanna surmised.
“Correct again, madam,” Sir David said, nodding his agreement. “In a message of eighteen letters, there will be a number of quite short words, such as I, a, and at.”
“Of course these are generalities,” Joanna said impatiently. “Do you have any absolutes to offer?”
“Several,” Sir David replied. “One of the surest keys to uncovering certain letters is the presence of an apostrophe. Are any included in the message?”
“None.”
“That is unfortunate because apostrophes are always followed by the letters s, t, d, m, ll, or re,” Sir David went on, then wrote the symbol # on the blackboard. “What about numbers? Do any of the symbols have the configuration of a number, such as 1 or 7?”
“None that appear so.”
“Oh, my!” Sir David said gravely. “This could turn out to be quite difficult. You see, numbers can often tell a lot. As an example, the number 1 could represent an a, the first letter in the alphabet, the number 2 a b, and so on.”
“Are we to deduce that the creator of the code is most clever?” Joanna asked.
“Ah!” Sir David smiled. “Now you are beginning to understand the art of code-breaking. Look for every clue the code may offer. As a rule, it requires considerable intellect to say a lot in a few words. So with that in mind, let us talk of a bright chap who knows a sophisticated method to hide his message in a code. Have any of you heard of the Caesar shift?”
The three of us shook our heads collectively.
“It was supposedly invented by Julius Caesar,” Sir David continued on. “It is simple to use, but very difficult to crack. In this code you shift the alphabet a certain number of spaces in one direction. Allow me to give you an example. A shift of three spaces to the right would tell the reader to replace the letter a with d, or b with e, and so on. Using a Caesar shift of three to the left, the nonsense word krz would translate into how.”
“But how could this Caesar shift apply in any way to our symbols?” Joanna inquired.
“It could if the individual who constructed the code is a very clever fellow. For example, if the symbols represented numbers, with each number assigned a letter in the alphabet, the words spelled out might appear nonsensical. But if you applied the Caesar shift, the true meaning would come into view.”
Joanna quickly asked, “Would not the message include a number to indicate how many spaces to shift?”
“Not necessarily,” Sir David replied. “The number and direction could be agreed upon beforehand between the sender and the recipient.”
“We seem to be reaching one dead end after another,” my father said unhappily.
“Perhaps if I examined the message I might be able to give more assistance,” Sir David offered.
“Of course,” my father said before adding a caveat. “But I must insist that the message and its code go no further than the confines of this room. We are involved in a criminal matter at the highest level and any disclosure to the public could adversely affect bringing the case to a successful conclusion. Thus, I must have your word that you will neither show nor discuss it with anyone.”
Sir David’s eyes sparkled briefly. “Like in the case of The Adventure of the Dancing Men that you and Mr. Holmes were so kind to bring to my attention.”
“Similar, but the circumstances are different.”
“Then I shall give the coded message careful study and all will be held in the strictest confidence.”
My father handed him a copy of the message and watched Sir David scrutinize it at length. The curator’s lips moved silently as his eyes scanned the code over and over. He seemed to be counting off numbers to himself and this went on for a while, but his expression told us he was having little success.
Finally Sir David shook his head and said, “As I thought, it is proving to be quite difficult to decipher. I am afraid it will take considerable time to solve this riddle.”
“How long?” my father asked.
“It is impossible to say,” Sir David
replied.
“We desperately need this code broken,” my father urged. “And unfortunately we have so little time.”
“I shall give it my best.”
“But you are not optimistic.”
“I have learned over the years, Watson, not to make promises I cannot keep.”
We thanked Sir David for his time and left his cramped office, no closer to an answer than when we entered.
Outside the sky was gray and gloomy, which matched our moods after such an unproductive visit. We strolled away from the museum and down Great Russell Street, which was crowded with tourists. Keeping our voices low, we discussed our problem that had no apparent solution.
“Perhaps Sir David was simply being modest and downplaying his code-breaking skills,” I suggested.
“I believe otherwise,” my father said. “I think he was being realistic and telling us not to raise our hopes too high.”
“But he was quite helpful in assisting you and Sherlock Holmes decipher the devilishly clever code in The Adventure of the Dancing Men.”
“It was not he who solved the code, but Holmes himself,” my father said. “When Sherlock received the first of the dancing men messages, he could make little of it, so he consulted with Sir David because he wondered if the figures were hieroglyphs. But even with intensive study, David could not come up with a suitable answer. Over time, more pieces of a message containing the dancing men appeared and Holmes, with his usual brilliance, solved the code on his own. Indeed, it was then that he informed me he had written a monograph on secret writings, in which he analyzed 160 different ciphers. Yet the dancing men ciphers were new to him. Thus, it required days of deep study for Holmes to finally break the code.”
Joanna quickly asked, “Do you have a copy of his monograph on secret writings?”
“I have looked everywhere, with the assistance of Miss Hudson, but it was not to be found.”
“Then we are entirely on our own,” Joanna said.
“Perhaps Sir David will shortly come up with the answer,” I hoped.
Joanna shook her head. “To him, it is another interesting puzzle. To us, it is murder. If the code is to be deciphered shortly, it will be up to the three of us to do it.”
“And sadly, even if the code is broken, it may be to no avail,” my father said, with a heavy sigh. “For the message itself may not solve our mystery.”
“I am certain it will,” Joanna said assuredly. “It is the key to everything.”
“Why so?”
“Because it will reveal the crime the quartet committed while in Afghanistan,” Joanna replied. “The deaths of both Charles Harrelston and Benjamin Levy revolve around that singular event.”
15
The Housekeeper
Another day passed before we were allowed to interview Mrs. Lambert. But this was only permitted after Christopher Moran had visited her and given his approval, which afforded him yet another opportunity to rehearse the woman. Joanna was not deterred by this possibility, although she did caution us.
“Remember, she is an employee of Moran’s,” Joanna warned. “She will say nothing to refute his account, so we must pry gently.”
“But then her words will be his,” I said.
“We shall see,” Joanna said as our carriage slowed and stopped at the front door of the housekeeper’s home.
Mrs. Emma Lambert lived in a small house with a thatched roof near the Surrey Docks in Brixton. Her home was modest by any standard, but seemed grand when compared to the seedy slum only blocks away. As we seated ourselves in a shuttered parlor, I watched Joanna take a rapid inventory of its well-worn furnishings before turning her attention to the housekeeper, whom she studied at length. I saw nothing unusual about Mrs. Lambert, other than her poor hearing, which necessitated her repeatedly bringing a cupped hand to her ear, so as to catch all of my father’s words. He raised his voice to make certain he was being clearly understood.
My father’s kind bedside manner, from his many years as a practicing physician, quickly put the housekeeper at ease. “I am delighted to see you are recovering from your ordeal,” he was saying.
“It has been slow, but I have been coming round.” Mrs. Lambert was a plump woman, in her mid-fifties, with totally gray hair that was held back in a tight bun. She showed no signs of distress, although the dark circles under her eyes indicated a lack of sleep. “It cannot be rushed, you know.”
“Indeed,” my father agreed. “And I know you must be most grateful for Dr. Moran’s concern.”
“He came to see me regular, he did,” Mrs. Lambert said in a pronounced Cockney accent. “Like a proper doctor would.”
“Such kindness,” my father remarked. “It sounds as if he stopped by on a daily basis.”
“That he did.”
“Were any medicines prescribed?”
“Not a one,” Mrs. Lambert replied. “He just took the time to assure me that Mr. Harrelston’s fall was the result of a brain sickness and that I should try to erase the terrible memory from my mind.”
“Not an easy thing to do,” my father commented. “It is particularly difficult if one knows the poor man who fell to his death. I of course assume you knew Mr. Harrelston.”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Lambert replied. “I had seen him a good many times and he always seemed so cheerful, but not on that awful day. I could see his unhappiness the moment I opened the door.”
“Unhappiness, you say?”
“Clear as day, it was,” Mrs. Lambert said. “And Dr. Moran noticed it as well.”
“He made mention of this to you?” my father asked.
“Oh, yes. Dr. Moran told me it was no doubt part of the brain sickness,” Mrs. Lambert said. “This of course led to the man’s terrible ending.”
“It all seems to fit,” my father said sympathetically, then motioned to Joanna. “Mrs. Blalock here, who also represents the Harrelston family, will wish to know some particulars about the poor man prior to his fall. Please be good enough to oblige her.”
“Of course, sir.”
“I take it you alone greeted Mr. Harrelston when he arrived,” Joanna said, entering the conversation and speaking loudly for the housekeeper’s benefit.
“Yes, madam,” Mrs. Lambert answered. “As I do for all visitors, be they patients or friends of the doctor. I show them both in and out.”
“Was Mr. Harrelston by himself when you opened the front door?” Joanna asked.
Mrs. Lambert thought for a moment, then replied, “All by himself, except for the hansom that brought him.”
“Do you recall the hansom?”
“An expensive one, it was. You could tell from the shiny carriage and well-groomed horse.”
Joanna nodded at the description. “You have a very good memory, Mrs. Lambert.”
“I pride myself on it.”
“Excellent,” Joanna said, lowering her voice to a normal level. “I am certain your recall of events will be most helpful.”
“What was that you just spoke?” Mrs. Lambert asked, and cupped a hand to her ear. “I didn’t quite get your words, for my hearing is a bit off.”
Joanna repeated the comment with a louder delivery, then continued on. “Please take us back to the very moment he arrived.”
“Well, I opened the front door and there he was, dressed as finely as usual,” Mrs. Lambert said. “But unlike his normal self, he was in a hurry and dashed up the stairs, with me a step behind.”
“Did he offer you any greetings?”
“Only a brief ‘good day’ or something similar,” Mrs. Lambert replied, then added, “And, oh yes, there was one other thing. He did inquire about the dog and was somewhat saddened to hear of Punch’s death. You see, Punch and Mr. Harrelston got along quite well together.”
“So I take it the dog never barked at Mr. Harrelston?”
“Oh, no, madam. Punch looked forward to Mr. Harrelston’s visits because the gentleman would often bring along a treat for old Punch to chew on.”
/> Joanna gave my father and me a subtle smile, for Mrs. Lambert’s words told us why the dog had remained so quiet the night Charles Harrelston broke into Moran’s home. Harrelston had fed the dog a treat, guaranteeing its silence. “You are being most helpful, Mrs. Lambert. Now please describe the events once you and Mr. Harrelston reached the third floor.”
“Nothing happened,” Mrs. Lambert said with a shrug. “The doctor greeted Mr. Harrelston and they went into the parlor, closing the door behind them. I then hurried back to my duties downstairs.”
“When passing the second floor, did you notice Mr. Morris at his desk?”
“As usual, he was busily working away.”
“According to Inspector Lestrade, you returned to the third floor some hour and a half later, which would have made it approximately one o’clock,” Joanna recalled. “Is the time correct?”
“It was just after one,” Mrs. Lambert said. “I came upstairs to see if the gentlemen required any refreshments. The door was closed, so I knocked and announced it was me.” The housekeeper’s face suddenly lost color and she hesitated to gather herself. “That was the start of the awful happening.”
“Here we need details,” Joanna urged. “Please do your best to remember them.”
Mrs. Lambert took a deep breath before continuing with the unpleasant memory. “Dr. Moran opened the door and said Mr. Harrelston was not feeling well. He asked that I go downstairs with him to obtain a glass of water for Mr. Harrelston while he fetched his medical kit. And so we did. I then—”
“Before you moved toward the stairs,” Joanna interrupted, “tell us if you recall any conversation between Dr. Moran and Mr. Harrelston through the open door.”
“I remember Dr. Moran’s exact words, plain as can be,” Mrs. Lambert said. “He told Mr. Harrelston to remain on the couch until he and I returned.”
“Did you hear him mention your name in particular?”
“I did indeed,” Mrs. Lambert said at once. “The good doctor called out that I was going for water and he for his medical kit, and for Mr. Harrelston to rest on the couch.”
“Did Mr. Harrelston respond?”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Lambert said. “In his high-pitched voice, he assured us he would be all right.”
The Daughter of Sherlock Holmes Page 16
