Embassy Row

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “It is unlikely he will return,” I said, feeling inexcusably bad for misleading the ambassador.

  “Well, there are those in Japan who would share his sentiments, were they present to express them.” He bowed again. “I thank you for bringing the news. It is not wholly welcome but it will permit us to get on with our duty here. The agreement is to be made public at midnight. You have made this possible.”

  “You are very kind, Ambassador Tochigi,” I responded, thinking I was getting better than I deserved.

  “Nonsense,” he said, and turned back to the table where the rest of the group were gathering with the purpose of making the agreement official.

  I let myself out of the Terrace Suite, the ambassador’s courteous words ringing like tocsins in my ears. What would Ambassador Tochigi think of me when he learned the truth of the situation, as he must do in a matter of forty minutes at most? I realized my position could become more precarious than it was. Ambassador Tochigi could demand my dismissal for failing to inform him of Lord Brackenheath’s murder. The word murder stuck in my thoughts like a stone in my shoe.

  I found Andermatt far sooner than I wanted to, for I had not yet gathered my thoughts enough to present this unwelcome intelligence in a manner gauged to make it as palatable as possible.

  “There is a spot of blood on your face, sir,” said Andermatt as I came up to him in the entrance to the dining room, supervising the servants where the midnight buffet was being set out. “Is anything the matter?”

  I must not have got all the blood off my face after all, and I knew it was useless to deny it was there. “Yes, Andermatt, I am afraid there is,” I said, and motioned him to a corner of the room. “And I am afraid there is a very . . . untoward development you must know of at once.”

  “Goodness, Mister Guthrie,” he said, his very blandness stirring me to a more emotional response.

  “A short while ago I went in search of Lord Brackenheath. He was wanted in the Terrace Suite. I sought him first in the ballroom, but he was not there.” It was a quiet enough beginning, and I was hoping I would not make a mull of it when I heard myself say, “I found him on the terrace stairs where they turn, almost at the foot in the garden. Lying dead.”

  Andermatt’s eyes widened. “How lamentable,” he exclaimed. “Are you certain he had not collapsed? Should we not summon a physician at once?”

  “A physician could not help him now,” I told him, and went on before I could stop myself “He was stabbed to death.”

  Now Andermatt was very much distressed—although no agitation disturbed his manner—but he was breathing quickly and his neck had reddened. “Stabbed? He was murdered, you are saying. Are you certain?”

  “I felt the knife in his back. The blood on my face is his.” This was blunter than I had intended, but I was not able to find softer words.

  “Oh, dear,” said Andermatt. “I will have to inform the ambassador at once.” He literally wrung his hands.

  “Yes, you must.” I did not like to contemplate what would come next.

  “And given that Lord Brackenheath is English, it would be courtesy to summon the English police.” He was thinking aloud.

  “Yes, and his killer might well be English, too,” I reminded him, and received a weak smile for my efforts. “The English police will know best what to do.”

  “Yes. Yes. That is always possible, is it not?” He looked so relieved I nearly laughed, though I did not like to be so unsympathetic to the man. “The men we have here do not often deal with criminals of this order.” He made up his mind quickly. “I will authorize you to contact Scotland Yard for us, in your capacity as Mister Holmes’ secretary. Tell them they are being summoned as a gesture of cooperation. And we do not have the personnel to conduct such an investigation in this embassy. Of course, this is legally Swiss business, but we do not want it said that we are unwilling to accept the aid of our host country, or that we have failed to do the most we can to ensure the protection of those who have put their trust in us.” I was a little surprised at the readiness with which he made the decision, and was about to remark upon it when he said, “The ambassador leaves such matters to me. It would be lamentable if we lost prestige because of this unhappy event, and the ambassador has been at pains to be certain he maintains the highest integrity for our country. He has his hands full dealing with the management of international matters.”

  In other words, I told myself, the ambassador is a well-born fool with a family name who does not know or want to know anything of the daily working world. In the last several months I had met my share of those in England. “I will go there myself, as soon as you have seen the body.”

  “Ah . . .” said Andermatt, his eyes darting nervously. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I should summon an officer or two and have them accompany us to the body.”

  “Us?” I said, disliking the word.

  “You will have to show me. You found him.” It was nearly an accusation. “You will have to come with me.” He indicated my crutches. “A fortunate thing you have those, or you might find yourself suspected of the crime.”

  I could not conceal my shock. “How do you mean?”

  “It is difficult, if not impossible, to wield a knife while supporting yourself on crutches. You might be able to fire a gun, but not strike with a knife. You may count yourself lucky to have been injured.” His face had that sharp look now that told me he was rather more than the chief servant of the Swiss ambassador.

  “True enough,” I said, astonished at the rush of gratitude I felt.

  “So. Wait here while I summon our guards and we will find the body.” He turned on his heel and went away, only to return in less than five minutes with two uniformed guards. “We will go out the side door, beyond the Terrace Suite,” he announced. “That way we will not draw attention to ourselves. We do not want to rouse the suspicions of our guests, or to disrupt the evening.”

  “Or alert the murderer,” I added as I fell in with them.

  “Precisely,” said Andermatt.

  The guards were carrying lanterns. Both were young men with open faces and firm jaws, and I found myself thinking that they were chosen more for their appearance on parade than for their experience in battle. Still, they were selected by Andermatt, which I was certain meant more than simple approval.

  The steps were reached too quickly for my taste. I started down them, using the light from the lanterns to set my crutches easily on the stone treads.

  Lord Brackenheath lay where I had left him. I saw his rictus features and flinched, using that as an excuse to move aside. “There he is,” I said, knowing how unnecessary such a statement was.

  Andermatt bent and touched the dead man. “Not dead long. He’s cooling but not cold.” He then tested the pool of blood that spread around the body; I wondered at how he came to know so much about blood and death. “Not wet, but not yet fully coagulated.”

  “How long dead, sir?” asked one of the guards in German.

  “Forty minutes at most. With such a quantity of blood, it takes longer to congeal.” He straightened up. “All right, Mister Guthrie. The corpse will be watched and no one will interfere with it. Off you go to Scotland Yard. And not a word to anyone here about what you have found.”

  “I have informed Mister Holmes,” I said, and explained. “He was the one who instructed me to tell you. I thought that must be obvious.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” said Andermatt, and sighed. “Very well. We must rely on Mister Holmes to guard his tongue.” He rubbed his chin. “All the more reason to hurry this along.”

  “Certainly,” I said, wanting to do my utmost to help.

  He bent over the body again. “I will touch nothing until the police arrive. The guards will remain posted here, so that no one will have any opportunity to touch it, or remove any objects that might be part of the murder.” He leaned nearer. “Did you see the knife clearly?”

  “No. I did not have much light,” I said to him.

&n
bsp; “More’s the pity.” He peered at the body. “I can see part of the handle. It is unfortunate the body fell back this way. The knife is concealed.”

  In conscience, I felt I had to explain. “The body has rolled slightly. I did it while I was trying to discover who it was.”

  Andermatt licked his tongue. “Necessary, I suppose, but it could have caused a problem. There is bound to be gossip.” He motioned me aside, and I went with him to the start of a long avenue of roses. “Did you remove anything from the scene? Your word as a gentleman, sir.”

  “No, I did not. I found the body, saw the face and came away.” At another time I might have been offended by his question, but at the moment, I could not blame him for making such assumptions. The whole affair was potentially disastrous, and we were all aware of it.

  “Prudent of you,” said Andermatt. He indicated where he wanted his guards to stand, and then said to me, “Well, be about your errand, Mister Guthrie. Your employer will tell Lord Salisbury of what has transpired so that he may excuse himself before the questions begin and the press gets wind of the murder. The sooner we commence this, the sooner it will end.”

  I nodded my agreement, and made my way along the garden path to the front of the Swiss embassy. How much I wished that Sid Hastings were here, but I knew better than to expect him for at least another two hours. I would have to rely on the embassy to supply a discreet driver. I went to the front and asked for a whiskey to be called. A few minutes later, I was on my way to Scotland Yard.

  FROM THE JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS

  Word has come from the Swiss embassy that M H and G will be delayed there well into the night for reasons he disclosed with care. What a truly shocking development, to have a murder during a gala reception. In regard to these unfortunate events, I have been requested to investigate the associations and connections of Lord Brackenheath, who I am informed has met with an untimely end. I have assured M H that I will do my utmost to gather all the information I can before news of his demise becomes public, as it must do in the morning.

  I have informed Sutton of this development, and it is to his credit that he has not allowed himself to be troubled by this revelation. He informs me that he is now certain his little charade is useful to M H and is determined to pursue the role he is playing for as long as it is deemed necessary to protect M H. I can only laud his courage, which I did not think he possessed.

  The investigation of the murder is to be offered to Inspector Cornell if he is available. His expertise and tact are both wanted in this instance. If he is not available, I suppose Inspector FitzGerald will be chosen. Either man is capable of dealing with the ramifications of this unfortunate crime, though Cornell is the more astute of the two. FitzGerald is marginally the more perceptive.

  INSPECTOR MARCUS FITZGERALD did not like being called from his home, let alone for an event such as this one. He got into the whiskey with me, his square features and military moustache set in stern lines of disapproval, as if he thought well-born men such as Lord Brackenheath should have better manners than to be murdered at so inconvenient an hour, and in so potentially embarrassing a manner.

  “I am sorry, Inspector, but I was informed that Inspector Cornell is not in London just at present.” I tried my best to sound contrite, but did not manage as well as I hoped to. The pressure of the crime was pressing upon me as I knew it must upon others.

  “No, he’s not, worse luck,” growled Inspector FitzGerald, who was Cornell’s only recognized rival at Scotland Yard.

  “If he were scheduled to return tomorrow, it would be another matter. But as he will not, we are depending on you to do your best, as Inspector Cornell would do,” I kept on, determined to make him see the advantages to himself this case presented.

  “He’s gone until Friday week. The trial is expected to take that long, given the nature of the offenses.” He made himself comfortable, tucked his small portfolio behind his legs, and regarded me with a mixture of philosophical acceptance and annoyance. “So, let me have your version of what has happened. There’s a Peer of the Realm dead. I understand that much. The Yard didn’t send you round to me in this havey-cavey manner without there being something difficult in the man’s murder.”

  “I thought all murders were difficult,” I said, feeling put-upon.

  He laughed. “Lord love you, no. Most of them are simple as salt. A fellow has a quarrel with his neighbor or his family. The neighbor or relation gets even by killing him. Nothing difficult in that. All we have to do is ask one or two questions and the thing’s all right and tight. As easy as shooting clay pigeons. Juries know what to make of such cases. They find the murderer guilty without trouble and the whole thing is over and done with.” He regarded me with a faintly cynical smile. “This isn’t going to be one of those, is it?”

  “I doubt it,” I answered, and proceeded to tell him of the events of the evening that led to my discovery of the body of Lord Brackenheath. I was at pains to make it clear that the circumstances were delicate in the extreme, not only because the dead man was a Peer of the Realm, but because the negotiations at the Swiss embassy were delicate and had reached their most crucial stage. I made an effort to emphasize the importance of decorum as well as integrity in dealing with the murder. FitzGerald listened to me in silence, a frown deepening on his brow. “And that is the whole of it. Lord Brackenheath has been stabbed by a person or persons unknown during an important diplomatic mission. His death may or may not be connected with the mission. If it is, the honor and safety of England may well be at stake here.”

  “And the Admiralty and the government expect the police to take the heat for them. Saves them looking like fools,” said FitzGerald with amiable cynicism. “Where do you fit into all this, Mister Guthrie?”

  “I have been attending the negotiations in my capacity as personal secretary to Mycroft Holmes, who has been participating in the negotiations in an unofficial capacity.” I hoped this last was not lost on Inspector FitzGerald. “On his orders I was sent to bring you to the Swiss embassy, and I am doing it to the best of my ability.”

  “So you are,” said Inspector FitzGerald. He looked at the buildings. “And we will arrive shortly. Who knows of this . . . development?”

  “I must suppose the Swiss ambassador has been informed, though I did not do it. I do not know who, if anyone, among the other guests has been told. I assume the general announcement will be delayed as long as possible.” It was as candid an answer as I could give, and FitzGerald greeted it with a nod and a grunt.

  “We’ll find out about that directly.” He pulled his watch out and squinted at the face. “I won’t see my desk again before dawn, I warrant.”

  “Very likely not,” I agreed, thinking the same myself

  As he replaced his watch, he looked nervously at me. “You say that there are Japanese involved?”

  “There are Japanese at the gala. It is being given in their honor, and in honor of the Emperor’s second son, who is a cadet at Dartmouth.” I realized that Inspector FitzGerald had no experience with the Japanese, so I said, “Don’t worry, Inspector. They speak English and they will cooperate with your investigation.” I hoped devoutly that this was true.

  The whiskey turned into the drive to the porte cochere of the Swiss embassy. The lanterns were all still blazing away, and I could hear the little orchestra playing The Lancers, and saw the movement in the ballroom as shadows on the half-open draperies. I guessed that the guests were still generally in ignorance of the death of Lord Brackenheath, for I doubted diplomatic sangfroid extended to such blatant disrespect for the dead.

  We were met by Mycroft Holmes himself, who stepped up to the whiskey as it drew to a halt. “Thank you for coming so promptly, Inspector. I know we may rely on your absolute discretion in this matter. It is a most awkward circumstance, whatever the cause of the murder. I fear any premature release of information might well prove damaging for England, and I am certain you have no wish for such a development.”

&n
bsp; “Good Lord, no,” exclaimed Inspector FitzGerald as he got out of the whiskey, taking his portfolio with him and tucking it under his arm. “Wouldn’t want the government to lodge a complaint with Scotland Yard. And you may be certain that they would, as quick as lightning.” He ignored me as I descended less handily behind him, my crutches making my movements slow and clumsy.

  “If you will follow me, I will take you to where the body lies,” said Holmes as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. “The ambassador has said he does not want the evening to end in upset if that can be avoided.” His smile was slight. “And his head of household, Andermatt, agrees.”

  “Has the body been disturbed?” asked Inspector FitzGerald, getting down to business at once.

  “Not since Guthrie discovered it. He admits to having moved it sufficiently to discover the identity of the victim, but nothing more disruptive than that. A man on crutches is ill prepared to handle a corpse. He very correctly informed me of what he had found, and I at once sent him to fetch you. As I must suppose he has already told you.” Holmes had set off along the path leading directly into the garden, going at a steady pace, but not so quickly that I had any effort to keep up.

  “Yes, so he informed me,” said Inspector FitzGerald. “He also told me that guards were posted to be certain nothing else befell the body.” He let the implication sink in before he added, “I hope that there has been no attempt to tamper with Lord Brackenheath.”

  “None. I will vouch for that,” said Holmes at once. “The embassy staff have set guards to protect the body, and to ensure nothing of the scene is altered.”

  “And there has been no announcement made?” asked Inspector FitzGerald. “No alarm has been given?”

  “Our only announcement has been of the signing of our agreement with Japan. That is the reason for this gala, essentially. It suits our purpose to have the guests unaware of this tragedy, at least for the time being.”

  “I take your meaning, Mister Holmes,” said Inspector FitzGerald as they carne around the high bow at the end of the terrace and found the guards waiting, with Andermatt still in charge. In my absence someone had brought a stretcher to the top of the stairs, in preparation for the removal of the body. A dark blanket lay folded at one end of the stretcher. The Inspector stopped abruptly to take in the sight. “Guthrie said that there was very little light when he found the body.”