“Just one or two,” my father said. “Tell me, manager, has anyone else inquired about Mr. Ainsworth?”
“Not to my knowledge,” the manager answered promptly. “But if one did, it would prove fruitless. We scrupulously guard any and all information about our clientele.”
“Did you ever see Mr. Ainsworth intoxicated?”
“Never.”
My father gestured to me but I hesitated, for I had no further questions regarding Ainsworth. Yet Lady Jane Hamilton remained on my mind. “You mentioned a female companion a moment ago. Do you know her name?”
“I did not inquire.”
“Did it appear there was a special relationship between the woman and either man?”
“None was apparent.”
Joanna nodded at my question, obviously pleased I had asked it. Seeing we had no further inquiries, she thanked the manager for his time and led the way out into a clear, brisk evening. The traffic on Park Lane was heavy and loud, so there was little chance we would be overheard as we strolled toward our carriage.
“Not very informative,” Lestrade pronounced.
“At least we can say with certainty that Ainsworth was not taken at the casino,” Joanna noted.
“Which I would have thought unlikely, even before our visit,” Lestrade said.
“True,” Joanna said. “But now it is entirely out of the question, for Ainsworth was frequently accompanied by friends and that would have surely dissuaded the Germans.”
Lestrade shrugged his shoulders, unimpressed with Joanna’s conclusions. “In your phone call you mentioned a second place you wished to visit. Perhaps that will prove more rewarding.”
“We shall see. Please be good enough to follow us to the Admiralty, a pub frequented by Alistair Ainsworth.”
We remained silent as our carriage traveled down Park Lane and turned left at the statue of the Duke of Wellington. But our collective minds were centered on Lady Jane Hamilton. Why had she lied to us? Why had she told us she occasionally ran into Roger Marlowe while in fact she was a frequent companion at Laurent’s casino? Was she still close and romantically involved with Marlowe, and was either or both still connected to the Germans? There was one certainty, however. Both knew of Alistair Ainsworth’s habits and could have betrayed him to the enemy.
“Perhaps we should requestion Lady Jane,” I suggested, breaking the silence.
“To what end?” Joanna asked. “She would simply say she had forgotten about the visits to the casino and considered them unimportant. She might insist they were spur-of-the-moment invitations.”
“While we believe otherwise.”
“But cannot prove.”
I was surprised by Joanna’s response. “Are you saying we should ignore it?”
“I am saying we should docket the information, for it may become important later on,” Joanna advised. “We should do nothing to alienate or alarm Lady Jane, for I believe there is much more to her than meets the eye.”
“Such as a romantic assignation with Roger Marlowe?”
“At this point that is a guess and guesses will not help our cause,” Joanna said. “For the present, let us be aware that Lady Jane is being less than honest, and thus she is hiding something.”
“But what?”
“A secret that she guards closely.”
Our carriage continued on, and reached Piccadilly Circus with its fashionable shops and restaurants. Couples were leisurely strolling about on a pleasant evening, seemingly oblivious to the depressing news from the war front. The Second Champagne Offensive was not going well and our losses were said to be dreadful. It was fortunate indeed that the public was unaware of the disappearance of Alistair Ainsworth and the disaster that awaited England were he not rescued promptly. As Dunn had stated, every man had his breaking point and it was only a matter of time before Ainsworth reached his.
We came to a halt in front of the Admiralty, which was located on Trafalgar Square, just across from Lord Nelson’s monument. Lestrade led our way into the large, well-appointed pub that had a long, polished bar with throngs of people crowded around it. A curved flight of stairs ascended gracefully to a noisy second tier. Lestrade was familiar with the Admiralty and explained that such crowds were not unusual at this hour, for it was a favorite of theatergoers and government officials who worked nearby. From my vantage point, all those in attendance appeared to be well dressed and upper middle class.
At the bar Lestrade showed his credentials to the barkeep and said, “We require information on one of your patrons. Any and all details may prove to be helpful, and thus nothing should be withheld.”
The tone of Lestrade’s voice placed the barkeep instantly on guard. “Is—is this individual said to be a regular here?”
“That is to be determined,” Lestrade went on, without answering the question. “The gentleman we are interested in is Mr. Alistair Ainsworth.”
“Oh, of course,” the barkeep said, now at ease. “We see Mr. Ainsworth virtually every evening at six or so.”
“Was he in attendance this past Monday evening?”
The barkeep thought back before answering with a firm nod. “He stopped in, with his colleague, Mr. Marlowe, at the usual time.”
“How long did they stay?”
“No more than a half hour, during which they both enjoyed a glass of single-malt Scotch before going on their way.”
“Did they chat with others?”
“Of that I can’t be sure.”
“Yet you seemed to remember their presence without hesitation.”
“That is because they always order Old Vatted Glenlivet, a most expensive Scotch that very few can afford.”
“Were there any foreigners about that evening?”
The barkeep shrugged. “Inspector, we see a good many tourists in our establishment.”
“Any of German extraction?”
The barkeep’s face hardened. “They would not dare.”
Lestrade motioned to Joanna to indicate his line of questioning was finished.
“I assume that Mr. Ainsworth and Mr. Marlowe are employed nearby, like many of your patrons,” Joanna began.
“Indeed they are, ma’am,” the barkeep replied promptly. “They labor with the Admiralty Club.”
“The Admiralty Club, you say!” Joanna exclaimed, feigning real interest. “Are they associated with His Majesty’s Royal Navy?”
“Oh no, ma’am,” the barkeep replied. “I believe they took that name because the rooms they occupy are located on the uppermost floor above us.”
I smiled inwardly, admiring Joanna’s clever interrogation technique. She was well aware of how the club had gained its name, but pretended ignorance to gauge the accuracy and depth of the barkeep’s knowledge.
“Did you ever inquire about their work?” Joanna asked.
“I did, and they were quite eager to speak of it. They spend all their time devising word games and puzzles for newspapers and magazines. Since they were so finely dressed and drank the most expensive of Scotches, I could only assume they were well paid for their services.”
“Are they the only members of the Admiralty Club?”
“I can’t be sure of that, ma’am. You see, they do not go through the pub to reach the third floor. There are stairs at the rear of the building that allow them to enter.”
“I take it you never hear voices through your ceiling.”
The barkeep shook his head. “They are quiet as church mice.”
“Do the pair ever stay late into the evening?”
“Never.”
“Are they ever accompanied by a woman?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“I have one final question that I would like you to consider carefully,” Joanna said. “Is it possible that Mr. Ainsworth, without your knowledge, returned later this past evening for a nightcap?”
The barkeep rubbed his forehead while he concentrated. “I think that is most unlikely. As I mentioned, the gentlemen insisted on O
ld Vatted Glenlivet. When I served them Monday evening, I noted the bottle was nearly depleted and had enough remaining for only two or so more drinks. Because of this, I placed an order for an additional bottle.” He turned and reached for an elegantly crafted bottle on a shelf behind him, then held it up for us to see. “The amount remaining is the same as when I poured the pair their drinks earlier Monday evening.”
“An astute observation,” Joanna praised. “Thank you for your assistance.”
Outside, a thick mist was forming and the air was once again filled with moisture. Joanna looked about before gazing up to the windows on the third floor. I followed her line of vision and saw that the rooms were dimly lighted. There were no shadows or figures moving about.
“I believe you have dug another dry well,” Lestrade remarked.
“So it would seem,” Joanna said.
“I trust there are no other stops required of me this evening.”
“None that cannot wait.”
“Well and good, then,” Lestrade said and, tipping his derby, bade us a pleasant good-night.
We entered our carriage and remained silent until Lestrade was far out of earshot. Only then did Joanna rap on the ceiling and give the driver an East London address.
She sighed to herself and commented, “Lestrade detects the important clues, but in this instance fails to see their significance.”
“Which clues in particular?” I asked.
“The ones that make it clear that Ainsworth was not taken captive in the early evening at the pub, which indicates the capture took place elsewhere.”
“But there are no clues to indicate where.”
“Those will not be handed down to you on a platter, John. They must be sought and placed in order to learn where Ainsworth and Marlowe traveled to after leaving the pub.”
“How can one go about gaining that information?”
“By a number of avenues,” Joanna said, as we left Trafalgar Square behind. “First, as you no doubt noticed, there is a line of taxis outside the pub that drop people off and take them away. It would not be difficult to question the drivers and learn if one picked up the pair and where they were let off.”
“That seems a long shot,” my father mused aloud.
“Well then, here is one that is not so long,” Joanna went on. “It is now close to eight, yet the lights are still on in the rooms occupied by the Admiralty Club.”
“So?” I questioned.
“Which indicates they work into the late hours. It would have taken only a moment to go to those rooms and ask the members if Ainsworth or Marlowe mentioned where they were headed that evening. It is the trail that is so important here and following it has allowed us to exclude the casino and pub as the site of Ainsworth’s disappearance.”
“If your assumption on the three possible locations is correct, then the opium den is our last and best hope.”
“It is, and I believed that to be the case from the very start,” Joanna said. “There would be no better place for kidnapping than an opium den that is dimly lighted and open until the late, late hours when the streets are empty and taxis in short supply. In addition, the victim would be groggy and under the influence of the drug, thus rendering him defenseless and easy to capture.”
“But there are dozens of these dens in East London, many of which are well hidden.”
“True,” Joanna said. “But there is only one major player who will know all. His name is Ah Sing and he owns a string of opium dens, which are said to be among the more exclusive in that community. I have read that this particular Chinaman is reputed to know the secret of mixing the best of opium that affords the most pleasant of effects. Our Alistair Ainsworth is accustomed to only the highest quality, as witnessed by his selection of twenty-five-year-old Old Vatted Glenlivet at the Admiralty. I therefore believe it is fair to say he would frequent an opium den of the highest quality, such as Ah Sing’s.”
We rode on in silence until we reached the dark district of Limehouse in East London. Our carriage turned onto Narrow Street and continued on for another block before coming to a stop at a storefront that had Chinese characters written upon its window. Lurking about in a nearby alley I could see shadowy figures in the dimness. The entire setting was ominous, to say the least.
“Perhaps we should have brought Lestrade along, if only for protection,” I thought aloud.
Joanna waved away the suggestion. “With the presence of police, everyone within the den would have instantly clammed up or taken cover and our journey would have been wasted.”
I motioned with my head toward the alleyway. “Nevertheless, I sense real danger here.”
“They are here to protect the clientele,” Joanna said without concern. “Should anyone cause a disturbance, those in the shadows would see to it that person disappeared. You must remember that Ah Sing is a businessman, first and foremost, and he will not allow anything or anybody to interfere with his income.”
“May I inquire how you came upon this knowledge?”
“I asked,” Joanna said, and left it at that.
She rapped on the thick door, which opened immediately. A young, sharp-featured Chinese woman led us into a smoke-hazed den, where beds and mats took up most of the space. Upon them rested Englishmen, upper and lower class, all puffing on long pipes that were being held over lamps. The patrons were reclining in order to hold their lengthy opium pipes over oil lamps that heated the drug until it evaporated, thus allowing the smoker to inhale the vapor.
We were approached by a stout Chinaman in his middle years, wearing Oriental garb and slippers. His jacket was made of blue silk, as was his simple hat that covered all of his hair except for a tightly braided pigtail that extended halfway down his back.
“May I be of service?” he asked in perfect English.
“Are you Ah Sing?” Joanna returned the question.
“I am.”
“Excellent. Do you have an office where we can speak?”
“This is my office.”
“Then we shall conduct our business here,” Joanna said, but moved the conversation nearer to the door, putting some distance between us and the opium smokers. “I have come for information that I believe you can provide. If you are unwilling to do so, I can return later with Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard.”
Ah Sing seemed unmoved by the mention of Scotland Yard. “May I ask who you are?”
“I am the daughter of Sherlock Holmes.”
A hint of a smile came to Ah Sing’s inscrutable face. “Are you truly as keen and clever a detective as your father before you?”
“There are those who believe so, Mr. John Johnson,” Joanna replied. “Or do you prefer to be called Ah Sing?”
“In here, the name Ah Sing suits me best.”
For the hundredth time or more, I was amazed at the depth of Joanna’s knowledge of such a wide variety of subjects—which included the mean streets of East London. She seemed to know so much about opium and opium dens, and even more about Ah Sing who had apparently taken on an English name.
“Well then, Ah Sing, tell us if you can recall a frequent visitor to your establishment whose name is Alistair Ainsworth.”
Without hesitation, Ah Sing said, “He, along with his friend, preferred the mats in the corner.”
“His friend’s name?”
“Mr. Marlowe. He never gave us his first name.”
“Were they frequent users?”
“They were not addicted, if that is your question. Their custom was to arrive just before nine every Monday night, smoke a pipeful or two and then be on their way.”
“Always at that time?”
“Always,” Ah Sing reaffirmed. “They insisted on having mats in the far corner, which I reserved for them at an additional fee, I should add.”
“Am I to assume Mr. Ainsworth was here this past Monday night?”
“Correct. He arrived at nine and smoked two pipefuls.”
“Did Mr. Marlowe do the same?”
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Ah Sing considered the question briefly. “I believe he left early, after a single pipeful.” He snapped his fingers to a small Chinese woman sitting at a nearby table and uttered a command in their language. In an instant she hurried over and handed him a thick notebook. Ah Sing quickly thumbed through its pages, which recorded the patron’s name and amount of opium he used. “Yes. One pipeful for Mr. Marlowe, two for Mr. Ainsworth.”
“Was that their usual consumption?”
“On most occasions they each smoked two, but as I said Mr. Marlowe left early, which accounts for his single pipeful.”
“So I take it Mr. Ainsworth remained alone to enjoy his second purchase.”
“But only briefly, for another customer appeared and took the mat Mr. Marlowe had vacated.”
Joanna’s brow went up. “Was this new arrival a friend?”
“I could not be certain, but they did talk at length.”
“Had you seen this man before?” Joanna asked quickly.
“On occasion,” Ah Sing answered. “But he was not a user of any significance. He never had more than one pipeful and rarely finished that.”
“I would like you to describe this man in detail,” Joanna urged.
Ah Sing thought back, as if trying to picture the man. “He was Caucasian and quite tall, with broad shoulders.”
“His hair color?”
“I cannot recall.”
“Did you yourself serve him?”
“I did.”
“Can you remember any feature of his face that may have stood out? I am thinking in terms of blemishes or scars.”
“He had none of those, although I did wonder if he had some ailment affecting his eye,” Ah Sing replied. “He continued to blink, as if something was caught up in it.”
The German agent with a facial tic! the three of us thought simultaneously. The description was a perfect match.
“Do you have a name recorded for this man?” Joanna asked without inflection.
Ah Sing shook his head. “There was no need, for his visits were so infrequent.”
“Did the two of them leave together?”
“Of that I cannot be certain.”
Joanna gazed over to my father. “Do you have any questions, Watson?”
The Disappearance of Alistair Ainsworth Page 7
