The Disappearance of Alistair Ainsworth

by Leonard Goldberg

  “St. John’s Wood,” I breathed excitedly. “The Germans never left the area.”

  We passed through an intersection and continued on, but Toby Two became clearly unhappy. She made a whining sound as the tail dropped and its wagging diminished.

  Joanna rapped on the roof of our carriage and called up to the driver. “Return to the intersection and wait for further instructions!”

  Our carriage did a slow turnabout and came to a halt at a wide intersection. Toby Two immediately jumped to the opposite window and yelped in a most pleasing manner.

  “Turn left!” Joanna ordered the driver.

  “Left, you are, ma’am, and onto Wellington Road,” the driver called down.

  “They are on this street,” Joanna said to us without inflection.

  “How can you be so certain?” Beaumont asked.

  “Because of the map that Ainsworth left for us, on which he circled Waterloo Station,” Joanna replied.

  A confused look crossed Beaumont’s face. “I am at a loss here.”

  “Ainsworth was also telling us to concentrate on the battle at Waterloo where the Duke of Wellington was the victor,” Joanna explained. “He was drawing our attention to Wellington Road where the Germans decided to reside yet again, but in a different house a good distance away.”

  “Very clever,” Beaumont said.

  “Very,” said Joanna, and called out for the driver to stop, thus giving the carriages carrying Lestrade and his men the opportunity to catch up.

  27

  Alistair Ainsworth

  From a distance and using a handheld telescope, Joanna watched Dunn enter a fashionable two-story house that had an expansive lawn in its front. With the address that housed the Germans and Alistair Ainsworth having been located, Wellington Road was closed off for several blocks in both directions. A few carriages were allowed through, for they carried innocent-appearing Scotland Yard sergeants in civilian attire, who would surround the house to ensure that escape was not possible. The homes on each side of the Germans’ abode had been commandeered so that constables could be placed on their second stories to serve as lookouts. The quiet neighborhood was as peaceful as one might find in all England. But this was soon to change.

  A sergeant sprinted up to us and reported to Lestrade, “Sir, the men are now in place and await further orders.”

  “Make certain the drapes are tightly drawn, with only the narrowest of openings,” Lestrade said.

  “Done, sir.”

  “I trust you instructed them in the proper use of their whistles.”

  “They are to sound off loud and clear at the earliest sign the Germans are attempting to escape.”

  “Well done.”

  “There is one other precaution I took upon myself, Inspector,” the sergeant added. “At the first shot, if there are any, the occupants of the adjacent homes are to retreat to their innermost rooms and lie flat on the floor. I thought this wise in the event of a fierce gun battle, in which shots might go astray.”

  “A most excellent idea,” Lestrade praised. “You may return to your post and keep the sharpest eye out.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  I could not help but be impressed with Lestrade’s command of the dangerous situation. Whether he had been involved in similar activities in the past, I could not say, but he behaved as though he had. Admiral Beaumont stood by patiently, but had no official capacity, for the intelligence service did not possess the power or authority of police. Nevertheless, Beaumont’s presence could be of value should an exchange of prisoners be proposed. As director of Naval Intelligence he knew what could and could not be offered to the Germans.

  “However,” Lestrade was predicting, “I feel they will fight to the very end, like good German soldiers.”

  “They may,” Beaumont said. “But when given the chance to live and perhaps fight another day, they often change their minds.”

  “Who would be involved in this exchange?” Lestrade asked.

  “Their spies for ours,” Beaumont replied tonelessly. “This rather unpleasant task is done under civilian guise in a neutral country such as Portugal.”

  “I take it they have one of our agents whom we would very much like to bring home,” Lestrade surmised.

  Beaumont nodded. “A fine young lad from Winchester who was providing us with information on the movement of German warships.”

  “I trust that Dunn will not be part of any such exchange.”

  “Dunn will be marched up to the gallows and hanged.”

  “In total secrecy, I would think.”

  “It is best not to advertise there is a traitor within your ranks.”

  Lestrade turned to the street as a carriage slowly passed by. The occupant closest to us doffed his derby twice.

  “The house is surrounded,” Lestrade announced. “We shall shortly begin our move.”

  “May I suggest offering them the opportunity to surrender?” Beaumont advised.

  “I think it would be of no use and only serve to warn them,” Lestrade said.

  “But it could work and thus save Ainsworth’s life.”

  “I too would vote for the warning,” Joanna said. “For if the battle goes against them and they are down to the last man, he will surely kill Ainsworth.”

  Lestrade contemplated the matter at length before reaching for a megaphone.

  “Achtung! Achtung!” he bellowed out in German, which was certain to arouse the agents’ attention and further unnerve them in the process. “You are surrounded on all sides by Scotland Yard, with no hope of escape. You must surrender immediately or you will be taken by force. We will allow you one minute to reach a decision.”

  I concentrated my attention on the windows of the Germans’ house, watching for any movement behind them. But I could see none, for their drapes were tightly closed. The roof appeared to be gently sloped, with scattered brick chimneys, but there was no motion there either. Joanna’s eyes were on the back garden where there were tall willow trees and flowering bushes.

  “What in the garden so grabs your attention?” I asked quietly.

  “The most likely escape route,” Joanna replied.

  “I doubt the Germans would be so bold.”

  “They may have no choice.”

  “You have thirty seconds remaining!” Lestrade called out.

  To my right I saw a group of sergeants carefully checking the rounds in their service revolvers. Behind them was a smaller group of police constables, holding on to a long, thick spar that was unadorned and resembled a utility pole. There was no nervousness about them, only the steely resolve of brave men about to do their duty.

  Lestrade signaled over to the group. In quick order the armed sergeants formed a phalanx around the men now holding the sturdy beam in a horizontal position. The last seconds dragged by in a silence so eerie that even the birds above stopped chirping.

  “The Germans will open fire from the second floor,” Joanna said in a whisper.

  “Why so?” I asked.

  “It is the point of greatest advantage.”

  “But certainly our side will return fire, will they not?”

  “It is a well-known fact that it is easier and more accurate to shoot down rather than up,” Joanna said.

  “Which I can attest to,” my father agreed. “For it is so cited in the Military Manual of Arms. I can also vouch for this fact from personal experience.”

  Joanna beckoned over to Lestrade. “Inspector, it might be wise to have your men focus their attention on the windows of the second floor.”

  “I see no activity there,” Lestrade said, after taking a studied look.

  “You will once the attack begins,” Joanna said. “Have your men train their weapons on the glass panes themselves and be prepared to open fire immediately. Shattering glass, you see, will throw off the aim of even the best of marksmen.”

  Lestrade quickly passed on the instructions, then brought his arm up and abruptly dropped it as he called out
, “Now!”

  The constables manning the battering ram charged forward, with a phalanx of sergeants rushing alongside them, weapons drawn. A volley of shots rang out from the second-floor windows of the surrounded house. Two of the advancing sergeants fell, one clutching a bleeding shoulder, the other shouting in pain from a leg wound. Those left standing returned fire with round after round, many of which found their mark. Windowpanes were blasted apart, sending down a shower of shattered glass. For a brief moment there was a halt to the German fire, which gave the men with the battering ram an opportunity to charge once again. On the second try the fortified door crashed with a loud bang. The constables hurriedly stepped aside as a barrage of shots came from within the house. The sergeants, now in shooting positions, gave as good as they got and then some, firing round after round and reloading to fire even more. Suddenly all went quiet. Ever so cautiously the Scotland Yard operatives advanced, with their weapons cocked and at the ready. The sergeants closest to us kept their service revolvers aimed on the blasted-out second-story windows. Those too were now quiet.

  Our attention was abruptly drawn to the rear of the house from where we heard a window being smashed apart. A heavyset man, clothed only in underwear, rolled out onto the grass and crawled on his hands and knees to the nearby shrubbery. The sergeants rapidly trained their weapons on the partially clothed man.

  “Hold your fire!” Beaumont shouted loudly. “It is Ainsworth!”

  Sergeants and constables from all sides converged on the Germans’ house, all crouched low and expecting a fight-to-the-death struggle. But it did not occur, for there was neither a shot nor sound coming from within.

  It required a full ten minutes for the house to be searched and deemed safe for us to enter. In the foyer, where they decided to make their last stand, lay three German agents. Two were dead with head wounds, the third was gasping and exhaling a bloody froth. As my father examined him to determine if any treatment could be applied, the German agent, with the broad shoulders and facial tic, breathed his last.

  “All clear of Germans,” a sergeant reported to Lestrade.

  “What of Dunn?” Lestrade asked at once.

  “Not to be found, sir.”

  “I want every square inch of this house gone over, cellar to attic,” Lestrade ordered, and watched as the officer raced away.

  “How could he have possibly escaped?” I wondered.

  “The cleverest always have a way out,” Joanna said.

  “But the house was being watched from all sides at every moment,” I argued. “How could he have executed such an escape?”

  “There are two possibilities, and I suspect Mr. Alistair Ainsworth will tell us which one is true.”

  “I will indeed, madam,” Ainsworth said, strolling up to us. He was now covered with a blanket and bleeding from dozens of small cuts on his face and arms. “Although I perceive from your tone of voice that you already know the answer.”

  Joanna gave him a humorless smile. “Dunn presented you with the opportunity to escape.”

  “Oh, he did much more than that,” Ainsworth said. “The German agents had tied me to a chair when they became aware of your presence. They wanted to be certain I could not bolt and make a run for it. When the firing started and the others were preoccupied, Dunn untied me and pointed to the rear window, which was obviously my only avenue of departure. At first, I thought he’d had a change of heart.”

  Joanna shook her head. “Evil men do not change their hearts; they adapt.”

  “So I was to learn.”

  “Were you able to discern the direction Dunn took after freeing you?” Joanna asked.

  “He dashed for the stairs while the Germans provided covering fire.”

  “Did you in fact see him go up?”

  “I did not, but I heard him call out to the German agents that he was going upstairs where he could keep Scotland Yard at bay.”

  “He escaped through the attic,” Joanna said, and led the way up to the top of the stairs where a group of sergeants stood. “Where is the opening to the attic?”

  “At the end of the corridor, ma’am,” the lead sergeant replied. “You will find the opening there, with its ladder down. But the attic is clear, ma’am.”

  “It is not the attic you should be concerned with, but the roof.”

  Joanna hurried over to the hinged ladder and ascended it, with Lestrade, my father, Beaumont, and I only steps behind. The attic was dark and cluttered, and had the stale odor that was characteristic of an enclosed space with poor ventilation. Two sergeants followed us in and lighted the attic with powerful torches. Most of the articles were stored in boxes and bins, whilst used pieces of dust-covered furniture were heaped up one upon another in tall columns.

  “There!” Joanna pointed to a large couch upon which rested a desk and atop the desk was a wooden stool. She waited for the sergeants to shine the light of their torches to the column of stacked furniture. Behind it was a stepladder of considerable length that went up to a closed trapdoor. Narrow streaks of sunlight clearly illustrated its outline.

  “Do you believe the scoundrel is up there, having found a hiding place?” Lestrade asked.

  “That is unlikely, for the longer he remains on the roof, the greater the chance he will be discovered,” Joanna replied. “The smart move is to keep moving.”

  “But to where?”

  “That is to be determined.”

  “Let us be certain,” Lestrade said, and gestured to the two armed sergeants. “Inspect the roof with the greatest of care. If Dunn is found and resists, do not hesitate to shoot.”

  As he watched the sergeants scale the ladder, Beaumont suggested, “Perhaps Dunn is attempting to throw us off the track.”

  “That being the case, he would not have gone to the trouble of hiding it so well,” Joanna countered, and began to search the area surrounding the stepladder. Finding nothing of interest, she went to a large wooden crate that was nearby and had its top incompletely closed. She opened it and extracted an officer’s coat of the Royal Navy, with its lieutenant insignia clearly visible. “And there is your proof. Of course he would change into civilian attire, for his naval officer’s uniform would surely attract attention.”

  “He was a most careful planner indeed,” Beaumont said.

  “The best of them always are.” Joanna dug deeper into the crate and found an oversized hammer, with a large, squared head. The metal section of the hammer was coated with white dust. “What do we have here?”

  “An old hammer that has been sitting there for quite some time,” Lestrade answered, moving in for a closer look.

  “Why do you believe it has been in this position for such a long while?” Joanna asked.

  “Because it is covered with dust,” Lestrade replied.

  “The head is, but the handle is not,” Joanna observed. “The wooden handle is clean and spotless, which indicates it was used recently.”

  “But how do you explain the dust?” Lestrade argued.

  Joanna reached for her magnifying glass and studied the head of the hammer. “It is not dust, but a powdery substance filled with small particles. Thus, it would seem this hammer was used to strike stone or plaster.”

  “To what end?”

  “I believe the answer to that question lies on the roof.”

  “All clear!” a sergeant shouted down from the open trapdoor.

  We followed Joanna up the stepladder and onto a broad slate roof that was bordered by a stone parapet approximately three feet in height. The roof itself was somewhat sloped, with a multitude of brick chimneys, so we walked with care.

  The two sergeants rushed over to us, with their weapons holstered. “Nothing,” one of them reported. “There is no place to hide nor any stairs or steps leading to the ground.”

  “I would not have expected to find those, for he would have been visible to the constables while climbing down,” Joanna said.

  “But during his stay on the roof, he had to conceal him
self from the lookouts,” Lestrade opined.

  Joanna studied the slate roof at length before turning to me. “John, please be so good as to stroll over to the easternmost edge of the roof that overlooks the adjacent house and tell me what you see.”

  I walked over to the eastern parapet and gazed out at the nearby house and the activities in its front courtyard. “There is nothing remarkable about the house itself, but in the courtyard I can see the wounded sergeants being attended to.”

  “Excellent!” Joanna cried out. “Now wait a moment, then turn around and describe my whereabouts.”

  I did as instructed and saw the entire group of men—Lestrade, his two sergeants, the admiral, and my father—but Joanna had disappeared. “Has she gone back downstairs?”

  “No, I have not,” Joanna answered, and stepped out from a pair of brick chimneys. “I simply slouched low where Dunn must have, and was thus hidden from the view of Lestrade’s lookouts.”

  “But where did he go from this point?” Lestrade asked. “He was trapped unless you believe he was capable of flying away.”

  “That is a talent he does not possess,” Joanna said, and once again studied the entire roof until her eyes came to a halt on a large willow tree whose slender limbs were touching the rear section of the parapet. She hurried over and stopped abruptly in front of a leaf-covered limb. “Here!” she called to us and gestured downward.

  We dashed over to the area of the parapet that acted as a barrier to the smoke discharged from the close-by chimney. The slate roof adjacent to the parapet was covered with a thick layer of soot and ashes, in which resided two handprints and two round smudges made by Dunn’s knees.

  “He crouched down on his hands and knees at this position, and waited for his chance,” Joanna said. “As soon as Alistair Ainsworth crashed through the window, all of our eyes went to him, and that was the moment Dunn escaped.”

  “But this is a willow tree and its fragile branches could not begin to support a man of Dunn’s weight,” Lestrade contended. “And its trunk is well away from the roof and would require an exceptional jump to be reached.”