Crowned and Dangerous

by Rhys Bowen

  “You can’t pick them up for me,” Dooley said, his voice heavy with despair. “You won’t know which regiment they belong to and exactly where the regiments should be. Look, you’ve got Frenchmen here among the Black Watch.”

  “We’ll all help,” I said. “You direct and we’ll put the soldiers where you want them. We’ll have it back as right as rain, I promise.”

  Dooley managed the ghost of a smile. “You’re a good, kind girl, Georgiana,” he said. “And I’m sorry. I’m afraid I flew off the handle. I realize it must have been easy for this young lady to mistake one door for another in the darkness.”

  “Queenie, go back to your room and don’t come out until you are properly dressed,” I said, wanting to give the impression of a mistress who is in control of her servants. “And make sure this never happens again.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll put a chair or something across my door so that nobody can make the same mistake again,” Dooley said. He had already squatted down and was busily picking up lead soldiers.

  “Leave that until you’re dressed and have got a good breakfast inside you,” Oona said. “Then we’ll do as Georgiana says and all help you. It will go quickly. You’ll see.”

  Dooley nodded and shuffled away. I felt terrible for him. We went down to breakfast and, fortified by smoked haddock and poached eggs, returned to tackle the battle of Waterloo disaster. I instructed Queenie to go to my bedroom and stay there until given permission to move. I wasn’t about to let her anywhere near the battle. We had managed to rearrange several battalions (not so easy for one who is only slightly less clumsy than Queenie) when we heard the dogs barking and a shout echoing up the stairwell, “Anyone home?”

  “Up here, Darcy!” Oona shouted back. “Only don’t let the dogs come—”

  She didn’t finish that sentence as there was the patter of doggie feet on the bare treads and several dogs came into view. Dooley uttered another cry of despair and flung himself at the door, managing to shut it in the nick of time. He then opened it cautiously, a few inches, to see Darcy’s surprised face staring at him.

  “Well, that’s not exactly what I call a warm welcome,” Darcy said.

  “Not you, dear boy. The blasted dogs,” Dooley said. “We have just spent the last hour rearranging the disaster at Waterloo.”

  “Disaster? I thought we were winning.” Darcy looked amused.

  “We were, until a certain young person who shall be nameless blundered in upon my battle and wreaked havoc,” Dooley said. He stood at the doorway, allowing Darcy to enter while dismissing the dogs. Darcy squeezed into the room.

  “You did this?” he asked me.

  “Not me. Queenie,” I said. “She came back from the loo during the night and opened the wrong door. I rather wish you’d sent her back to England on the first boat, Darcy. You know what a walking disaster she is.”

  “Sorry,” he said, smiling at me. “I knew you wouldn’t be thrilled, but there she was, having found Kilhenny all by herself and stuck with nowhere to go for the night, so of course I had to bring her here.”

  “I know.” I gave a big sigh. “She really is the world’s worst maid, but she’s like an old dog that one can’t find it in one’s heart to put down. And she has a good heart.”

  “At least now you have your maid and she can also take care of the princess when she comes here,” Oona said. “I don’t suppose she usually travels anywhere without her maid.”

  “Oh golly,” I muttered. Queenie and princesses should never be uttered in the same sentence. At least this one had a good sense of humor. I suspected she’d need it.

  “So are you ready to head back to Dublin?” Darcy asked me.

  “We should stay and help Uncle Dooley put his battlefield to rights first,” I said.

  “Oh, don’t worry about me, dear lady,” Dooley said. “It’s more important that you do everything you can for young Thaddy. I’m convinced that once they’ve got the goods on the manservant, all will become clear.”

  “Got the goods?” Oona boomed. “Dooley, you must stop watching American films. Your language is becoming abysmal.”

  Dooley shrugged. “I just thought, since we were talking about shady Americans, that I should use appropriate terminology,” he said.

  I turned to Darcy. “Great-Uncle Dooley thinks that someone might have paid or threatened Mickey to help with the killing of Mr. Roach. Or at the very least paid him to keep quiet. He did seem most uneasy when Zou Zou spoke with him yesterday.”

  “Well, we have his fingerprints now, and his photograph, as soon as it can be developed. So let’s see what the embassy can make of them. By now my friend in London will have been in touch with Washington and we may be offered a little more help. We’ll find out when we go there today.”

  I collected my overcoat, hat and gloves, instructed Queenie not to open any doors, and to behave herself until I returned, and off we went in the Rolls. It was a bitterly cold day and I was glad of the travel rug over my knees. Threatening gray clouds were building in the western sky, promising rain or even snow. The sort of day when roaring fires and hot chocolate are more inviting than driving around the countryside.

  “You must have got back to Kilhenny quite early last night,” I said. “I’m surprised Zou Zou didn’t ask you to stay—for dinner, I mean,” I added, making him smile.

  “She did invite me—for dinner, I mean—but I wanted to come straight back to have dinner with my father. He seemed to have perked up quite a bit, actually. I think it was Zou Zou’s doing. She had quite an effect on him. Did you notice he had combed his hair?”

  I laughed. “I did. And frankly I’m sure she has that kind of effect on any male.” I shot him a challenging look. He grinned. “I’m surprised she hasn’t married again by now.”

  “I think she enjoys her freedom too much. What husband would allow her to buy an aeroplane and fly around in it?”

  “I hope my husband will let me do anything I want to,” I said. “Not that I want to fly around in aeroplanes.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he said. There was a moment’s silence. Then he added, “Georgie, I hope you realize that we are not out of the woods yet. My father’s fingerprints. His claim that he remembers nothing. A jury could well find him guilty if they choose to go ahead with this case.”

  “Then we have to make sure they don’t,” I said. “Once the dead man has been correctly identified they will have new motives and new suspects.”

  “Yes.” He nodded emphatically, clearly trying to convince himself.

  I reached across and stroked his cheek. He grabbed my hand and kissed it, then looked at me, my fingers still on his lips. “Oh, Georgie,” he said, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Me too.” Then I yelled, “Watch it!” as he leaned across to kiss me and we headed for a ditch beside the road.

  We drove into the hustle and bustle of Dublin and found Zou Zou sitting in the foyer, getting admiring looks from all who passed. Today, along with the dark mink, she was wearing an emerald green hat perched to one side with a feather curling down her cheek. She stood up as we approached. “There you both are. Would you like a drink or a late breakfast or should we get going?”

  “We’ve eaten, thank you,” Darcy said. He picked up the suitcase that lay at her feet. “Is this your luggage? You’ve checked out of the Shelbourne, then?” He looked around at the elegant foyer. “You’re sure you want to exchange this for lodging with my aunt Oona? It’s not too late to change your mind and it’s no problem to pick you up here, you know.”

  “Darling, I’m positively dying to stay with your aunt Oona. There are so few true eccentrics in the world any longer. It will be an adventure.”

  “I hope you’ll feel the same way in a few days,” Darcy said. “Actually I was thinking that you might want to fly your little aeroplane home while you can. There is supposed to be a spate of
bad weather coming in. You might find yourself stuck here for a while.”

  “I really am getting the distinct impression that you don’t want me anymore,” she said, making me read an incredible amount of double meaning into those words.

  Darcy looked embarrassed. “Zou Zou, I’m delighted to have you around. It’s just that . . . well, I know you have an incredibly busy social life and Christmas is rapidly approaching and you’d be missing all kinds of parties.”

  She laughed. “I don’t think it’s that at all. You’d rather not have me around playing gooseberry when you want to be alone with your lady love.”

  “This is hardly a time for being alone with my lady love,” Darcy replied. “We’re all here for one purpose and that is to prove my father’s innocence.”

  “Speaking of which,” Zou Zou said, reaching into her purse and bringing out a piece of paper. “There was a telegram waiting for me from my friend in London last night. He’s given me the name of the man he says is the best barrister in Dublin. Sir Grenville Hobbes. That sounds distinguished enough, don’t you think? We should go and see him right away.”

  “Do you think we should do that before we go to the embassy and drop off the reel of film and the fingerprints?” Darcy asked. “He may not be there.”

  “He will be there,” Zou Zou said with conviction, “because I telephoned him and told him that my friend Roddy was sending me to him on a matter of great urgency.” She checked her wristwatch. “So you see we have time to do both. Embassy first. The sooner we have those fingerprints sent to America the better.”

  And she strode ahead of us toward the front entrance where several bellboys fought for the privilege of opening the door for her.

  Chapter 29

  WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 5

  IN DUBLIN AND HOPE AT LAST.

  We meet a splendid barrister.

  “I can’t wait to hear what they’ve been doing at the embassy,” Zou Zou said as we stepped out of the warmth of the Shelbourne into the blustery cold of St. Stephen’s Green. “Perhaps they’ll already have identified our Mr. Roach.” She raised a hand to clamp her adorable little hat to her head in the strong wind and with the other clasped her mink around her. “How exciting. This really is positively thrilling, Darcy. Thank you for drawing me away from dreary London.”

  “I hardly arranged this for your enjoyment, Alexandra,” Darcy shouted back over the wind.

  She hurried to catch up with him. “I know that, my darling. But I can’t help finding it thrilling. I feel just like Hercule Poirot. Do you ever read mystery novels? So clever.”

  We retrieved the Rolls and drove along the river back to Phoenix Park and the embassy. The promised rain had not yet reached us but the wind was buffeting the bare trees and tossing around the seagulls as they flew overhead. We parked the car close to the door and made a dash inside without getting blown away. The same lanky young man was at the reception desk. He rose this time as we came in.

  “Good morning,” Darcy said. “My name is O’Mara. We were here yesterday, about the Timothy Roach murder, and we have brought more pertinent information. Was it the ambassador himself we were speaking with yesterday?”

  “It was.” The young man came around the desk. “However, the ambassador is otherwise occupied today and I’d be pleased to help you.”

  “Oh, I really don’t think . . .” Darcy began. “Maybe we should come back at another time?”

  “If I could just have a word, Mr. O’Mara?” the man said. “If you’d care to step this way.”

  He took Darcy’s arm and ushered him off down a side hallway. I sensed we were being given what the Americans would call the brush-off. Our matter was not important enough for the ambassador himself, or somebody didn’t want us getting involved. Perhaps the inspector from the Garda had warned the Americans not to include us in any more details. We waited, and a minute or two later the men returned, both looking grave.

  “If you’d care to follow me to a reception room,” the man said. At least we were not being shown the door. Perhaps we would be waiting for the ambassador to be free. We were shown into a pleasant room overlooking the gardens. The view would have been lovely in summer, I thought. Now the rhododendron bushes were dancing crazily and sleet was already peppering the windows. We took our places on the sofa and armchairs around the fire. The lanky American pulled up a straight-backed chair and sat facing us. This was unexpected. I shot Darcy a glance.

  “This is Mr. Lennox,” Darcy said. “He has been notified about us and I think he’s just the person we need to help us.”

  He didn’t say it but now I realized that this was the man planted at the embassy from the FBI, the man who could get things moving. Darcy introduced us and told Mr. Lennox about our escapade the afternoon before. “So we now have photographs of the man’s employee, as well as his fingerprints.”

  “Well done.” Lennox nodded appreciation to Zou Zou and me. “That was smart thinking.”

  “I hope the prints are clear enough,” Zou Zou said. “I made sure the photograph was wiped clean before I handed it to him.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be able to glean some good prints from it,” Lennox said. “And get them off to Washington for a match.”

  “Won’t that take an awfully long time?” Zou Zou asked.

  “Not at all. We now have the facility to send photographs via the cable, just as one would a message. Brilliant technology, developed by RCA a few years ago. Now AT and T has a facsimile service that can send a picture in six minutes. Speeds things up no end. If this man has a criminal record of any kind, we should know in a day or two.”

  “How absolutely clever of you.” Zou Zou gave him her dazzling smile, which made him blush bright red. I was rather glad I didn’t have that effect on men.

  “And speaking of fingerprints,” Lennox went on, “I have some news to share with you. I went to the morgue yesterday to take the victim’s fingerprints, and . . . he doesn’t appear to have any.”

  “Oh, do fingerprints fade after death?” Zou Zou asked.

  Lennox shook his head. “No. The tissue shrinks and wrinkles, of course, but it is normally possible to get fingerprints for quite some time. This man has no fingerprints for one of two reasons: either he worked with acids, in a profession such as a printer, etcher, photography developer, and his prints were burned away over time, or”—and he paused, looking at each of us in turn—“or his prints were deliberately removed. Filed smooth, or even replaced with a skin graft. We’re inclined to suspect the latter. We suspect he has had some quite sophisticated surgery done to his face. There is a slight scar along his left cheek and another at his hairline. So either he is a Germanic type who was involved in duels or an attempt was made to change his appearance.”

  “Golly,” I said, swallowing back the word too late. I really didn’t want Princess Alexandra to think that I used such childish expressions. “Can they really do that?”

  “It would take a highly skilled doctor, but yes, it can be done and we know it has been done.”

  “Then that must have been the doctor who came to see him,” I exclaimed. I turned to Lennox. “Lord Kilhenny overheard a conversation between Roach and an American doctor. It was implied that he might have to undergo another operation and Roach seemed unwilling. But the doctor told him it might be necessary.”

  “Meaning that someone had found out where he was and who he was,” Lennox said. “I wonder if Lord Kilhenny can describe this doctor for us. We know of a couple of medical men who have made a good living altering the facial features of criminals.”

  “So if this man has no fingerprints and his facial features have been altered it will be impossible to know who he was, won’t it?” I asked.

  Lennox nodded. “It will certainly make it tough.”

  “So our photographs and fingerprints of the manservant might be crucial,” Zou Zou said with a grin
of satisfaction. “How super if you and I solved the case, Georgie.”

  “You did the interviewing and got the fingerprints. I just took the pictures, and I hope they came out all right,” I replied.

  “I’m sure they could be helpful,” Mr. Lennox said. “But if the prints don’t show up on any of the FBI’s lists of wanted criminals, it might take a while as our operatives show them to local law enforcement. In the meantime . . .” He left the rest of the sentence hanging.

  “So you’ve already sent the dead man’s picture to Washington, have you?” Darcy asked.

  Lennox nodded. “Yesterday. And he didn’t show up on the FBI’s wanted lists or we’d have heard by now. The only possibility seems to be a millionaire who vanished from his yacht a few years ago. The yacht was found off Florida with nobody on board. His wife’s body was later found washed ashore but he was never found and was presumed drowned. However, if he chose to fake his own death, he would have had the funds to do what this Mr. Roach did. And he is about the right build and coloring.”

  “And perhaps his doctor came to warn him that someone was on his trail,” I suggested.

  “Yes, it would certainly help to find out if a doctor who is known to us has been in Dublin. It’s too bad that there is no passport control between Ireland and England. He could have gone back to London or taken a ship out of Liverpool or Southampton by now. I’ll check with the shipping companies to see if any names come up.”

  “And also see if Professor Peabody has left Ireland,” I said, making Lennox look up in surprise.

  “Peabody? Who is he?”

  “Someone calling himself Professor Peabody came to the archeological dig right outside the castle gates,” I said. “He claimed he was from the University of Southern Nebraska.”