Peter Tremayne - An Ensuing Evil and Others

The head waiter was looking glum. “I have already suggested to His Grace that the case might have been left in the dining room and sent one of the waiters to check. It was not there.”

The old man bristled. “Knew it would be a damned waste of time. Said so. I know where it went missing. I’d start interrogating your employees, sir. At once!”

The club chairman looked unhappy. “Your Grace, please allow us time to search the premises before we start anything so drastic. Perhaps it has simply been mislaid?…”

“Mislaid!” The word was an explosion. “Dammit! Mislaid! Do you take me for a fool, sir? I demand that an interrogation of your employees begin at once. I suggest that you now send for the DMP!”

The mention of the Dublin Metropolitan Police had made the chairman slightly pale. “Your Grace, the reflection on our reputation-”

“Damn your reputation, sir! What about my hairbrush!” quivered the old man.

It was then I felt I should intervene. “Excuse me, Your Grace,” I began.

Rheumy blue eyes turned on me and assessed my youthful years. And who the devil are you, sir?”

“My name is Holmes. I might be able to help you.”

“You, you young jackanapes? What do you mean?”

I heard my brother tuttutting anxiously in the background at my effrontery.

“With your permission, I think I might be in a position to recover the lost item.”

Cloncurys eyes narrowed dangerously. “Do you have it, you impudent whippersnapper?” he demanded. “By God, if you are responsible…”

Mycroft came to my help. “Excuse me, Your Grace, this is my younger brother, Sherlock Holmes.”

Cloncury glanced up and recognized Mycroft, knowing him to have the ear of the viceroy. He looked slightly mollified. “Why didn’t he introduce himself properly then, hey? Very well, young Holmes, what do you mean by it?”

“With your permission, sir,” I went on, unperturbed, “I would like to put a few questions to the chairman of the club.”

The chairman began to flush in annoyance.

“Go ahead, then, Mr. Holmes,” instructed Cloncury. “I am sure that the chairman will be in favor of anything that stops the incursion of the police into this establishment.”

It seemed that the chairman, albeit reluctantly, was in favor.

“Well, sir, if I remember correctly, the washroom is next to the cloakroom, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“Is the washroom attended?”

“It is not.”

“And the cloakroom? Is it attended at all times?”

“Of course it is.”

“Your Grace, will you be so good as to show me where it was that you left your toilet box?”

We turned in a body, headed by the duke, and passed into the washroom. He pointed to one of the ornate marble washbasins at the far end of the room. It was one of a dozen such washbasins lining the entire lefthandside wall of the chamber, which was fronted by a series of mirrors for the use of the members. The righthandside wall was fitted with toilet cubicles in dark mahogany and brass fittings, except for a small area behind the main door. The marbletiled wall here was unimpeded by anything except for a small opening. It was about two feet square, framed in mahogany and with a hatch door.

I pointed to it. “I presume that this hatch connects the washroom with the cloakroom?”

“Naturally,” barked the chairman. “Now what is all this about?”

I turned and led them out of the washroom and into the cloakroom, where a uniformed attendant leaped from his chair, dropping a halfsmoked cigarette into an ashtray and looking penitently from one to another of us.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” he stuttered.

“Yes, you can,” I assured him. “You can bring me the garment that you are holding for Colonel Sebastian Moran. I think you will find that it is a heavy riding cloak or one of those newstyle long, loose coats which, I believe, is called an Ulster.”

The attendant returned my gaze in bewildered fashion.

The chairman pushed forward. “Good God, sir, what do you mean by it? Colonel Moran is a respected member of this club. Why are you presuming to ask for his coat?”

The Duke of Cloncury was looking at me with a frown of disapproval. “You’d better have a good explanation, young Holmes,” he muttered.

“I believe that you want the return of your toilet case?” I asked blandly.

“Gad, you know I do.”

I turned to the attendant. “Have you been on duty for the last half an hour?”

“That I have, sir.”

“A short while ago, Colonel Moran knocked on the hatch from the washroom side and asked if you could pass him his coat for a moment. Is that correct?”

The man’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “It is, sir. He said he wanted to comb his hair and had left the toilet items in his coat. And the coat was, indeed, one of those newstyle Ulsters, sir.”

“I believe the colonel then came around from the washroom, into the cloakroom, in order to hand you back the coat?”

“That is exactly what he did, sir.”

I turned and smiled at the astonished company, perhaps a little too superior in my attitude.

“How the hell did you know that?” growled the chairman.

“Now, my man,” I said, ignoring him but speaking again to the attendant. “Would you fetch Colonel Moran’s Ulster?”

The attendant turned, picked down the garment, and handed it to me in silence.

I took it and weighed it carefully with one hand before reaching into the inside lining. There were several large pockets there as was the fashion with such garments. The leather box was tucked neatly into one of them.

“How did you know?” gasped Cloncury, seizing his precious box eagerly.

“Know? I merely deduce from facts, sir. If you will open the box and check the brush? I think you may find that in the brush are some strands of dark black hair. The color of Colonel Moran’s hair, which is easy to spot, as it is dyed.”

It took the duke but a moment to confirm that I was right.

“I think the colonel is someone given to seizing opportunity. A chance taker,” I told them. “He followed His Grace into the washroom when His Grace had already entered the toilet. He saw the leather case there. He knew it had great sentimental value for His Grace. Perhaps he thought he might be able to blackmail Cloncury for its return, probably through an intermediary, of course. He seized the opportunity, asking for his Ulster to be passed through the hatch in order to conceal the box in order to get it out of the club. He chanced that members would not be searched….”

“It would be unthinkable that a member of this club would be searched,” muttered the chairman. “We are all gentlemen here!”

I chose not to comment. “He could not carry the box out of the washroom into the cloakroom without observation. When I saw the hatch, I knew that he had only to ask for his coat to be passed through, place the box in his pocket unobserved, and the theft was complete.”

“How did you know it was an Ulster or a riding cloak?” demanded His Grace.

“He would have to be possessed of a heavy coat such as an Ulster or riding cloak with large enough interior pockets to conceal the box in.”

“Why not pass the coat back through the hatch once he had hidden the box in the coat?” demanded Mycroft. “Why do you think that he came out of the washroom door, into the hall, and then into the cloakroom to return the cloak to the attendant?”

“Moran was cautious. Passing it back through the hatch might cause the attendant to feel the box and become suspicious, especially after Cloncury raised the alarm. So he carried it round and handed it to the attendant holding it upright by the collar. The extra weight would not be noticed. Is that correct?”