Page 26 of The Locked Room

Abruptly, she stopped speaking but the name Moriarty tightened around her like the coils of a serpent. ‘There are a lot of unanswered questions,’ Oliver said gently. ‘I don’t think we should rush to any conclusions without a better understanding of the letter’s contents. Inspector Wells has agreed to show it to us, in exchange for any insight we – that is to say, you – are able to offer into these new developments.’

A dull roar began to build in Harry’s ears. The letters she read and replied to in the course of her work at the bank had often involved accusations of murder, but they had always seemed remote and fantastical, and she had not judged any of them as likely to be true. This letter could not be so easily dismissed. Someone had gone to terrible lengths to get Holmes’ attention and she could not shake the horrifying suspicion that the death of this unfortunate girl was somehow her fault. Perhaps, had she acted on her instincts sooner, the girl might still be alive. ‘When?’ she asked, as guilt threatened to overwhelm her. ‘When can I read it?’

‘The inspector wants us at the house as soon as possible,’ he said. ‘Within the next hour, if we can manage it.’

‘It will take us that long to get dressed,’ Harry observed, running a shaky hand across her forehead. ‘And we don’t have Beth to help with our whiskers.’

‘I daresay no one will notice if they are not quite symmetrical,’ Oliver reassured her. ‘Will you be all right until I get there? I should be with you in about quarter of an hour.’

She didn’t answer right away; her head spun with the shock of the revelations. Murder – for it seemed that could be the only explanation – changed everything. ‘Of course,’ she managed at length, in a voice that did not sound like her own. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

She sat without moving for several minutes. Slipping into the role of Sherlock’s secretary had never felt like a game to her – she had always been too aware of the real-life consequences that hung on her actions, for both those who sought help and for Harry in supplying it – but the knowledge that murder had finally made a chilling appearance made her blood run cold. Yet even as she replayed the shocking conversation with Oliver in her mind, common sense reasserted itself. She had not dealt the blow that killed the girl, nor had she done anything to trigger it. The terrible impulses that drove some to kill was as old as time, as was the determination of others to bring their victims justice. Whoever the dead girl turned out to be, and whatever the reason for her demise, the best Harry could do for her now would be to help find those responsible for her death.

Giving herself a brisk shake, she went into her bedroom and pulled the carpet bag from under the bed. By the time Oliver arrived, she had laid their disguises out and set the kettle on the stove. A cup of Earl Grey could not wash away the distress she still felt, but perhaps it might ease things a little.

The look Oliver gave her when she opened the door was penetrating. ‘How are you feeling? Bearing up?’

She managed a nod. ‘Yes, I think so.’

Oliver did not look convinced. ‘Because you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I know you’re strong, Harry, but murder is a grim business. I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest if you decided to leave matters to the police.’

Grim was exactly the right word, Harry thought, even as she shook her head. ‘If it wasn’t for the letter then I might be tempted to do just that.’

‘We don’t know for sure that it’s from Moriarty,’ he countered.

She did not grace that with an answer. ‘Have we got time for tea, do you think?’

He eyed her for a long moment, then gave up. ‘I think so, yes. It’s probably going to be a long evening.’

The pair of stern-faced uniformed officers at the door of 50 Berkeley Square did not surprise Harry in the least, nor did the two burly figures that loomed outside number 48. This time, she and Oliver were not kept waiting on the doorstep; the door was open before they could even give their names and they were waved inside without ceremony. Inspector Wells met them in the hall, her expression sombre as she shook their hands. ‘We’ll start in here,’ she said, indicating the door to the study. ‘I have a few questions before we address the worst of this business.’

The room had been significantly reordered since Harry and Oliver had last visited. The curtains were now drawn, blocking the view to and from the street, which she assumed was to prevent ghoulish onlookers and members of the press from gawking at the scene. The desk had been moved to one side and the tasselled rug was rolled up, revealing dark wooden floorboards beneath, some of which had been lifted here and there in an effort to ensure there were no further tunnels. A large white sheet covered the area in front of the fireplace, criss-crossed with muddy bootprints. The hole in the hearth was guarded by a uniformed officer, who saluted as Inspector Wells approached. ‘Would you mind giving us a moment, PC Vincent? Close the door on your way out.’

When they were alone, she turned her brisk gaze upon Harry. ‘Has Mr Gill explained the situation to you?’

‘I believe he has covered the essentials,’ she replied cautiously. ‘A secret chamber was found at the end of the tunnel, and this chamber contained the body of a young woman.’

‘Exactly so,’ Inspector Wells said. ‘I’m sure he has also informed you of the letter we found, somewhat bafflingly addressed to someone who does not exist.’

‘Yes,’ Harry said, resisting the temptation to fire a covert glance at Oliver. How much did Inspector Wells know?

‘Needless to say, we have not released that particular detail to the public.’ Her eyes sharpened. ‘Sherlock Holmes. If I didn’t know better, I’d suggest it was an extremely tasteless joke.’

Ah, Harry thought, with a sinking heart. She knew. ‘I wish it was.’

The other woman sighed. ‘I’m sure you do. But the time has come to lay our cards on the table, Mr Thompson. When I was first approached by our mutual friend, Mr Fortescue, he explained your position to me.’

Harry did not dare look at Oliver. ‘Oh? What position is that?’

‘He advised me that, for the purest of reasons, you had investigated several crimes under the guise of an assistant to Sherlock Holmes,’ Inspector Wells said. ‘In the course of these investigations, it would appear that you have made a powerful enemy. Someone who has attempted to draw you out, but who also enjoys toying with their prey before they pounce. Someone who calls themselves Moriarty.’

There seemed little point in denying it. ‘Yes,’ Harry said simply.

‘Very well,’ the inspector replied. Crossing to the desk, she picked up an envelope and thrust it towards Harry. ‘Then this is yours. I hope it means more to you than it does to me.’

They had opened it, of course, and Harry had no doubt it had been subjected to a number of forensic tests; a shimmer of silvery powder still adhered to the envelope. With some trepidation, she withdrew the letter and began to read.

My dear Holmes,