Page 38 of The Locked Room

Much like the study in the house next door, the floor in this room was furnished with an expensive rug. Almost as soon as Harry stepped across the threshold, a floorboard creaked under her feet. She stopped to scan the floor, noting that the rug did not extend under the desk beneath the window, then fired an enquiring look Oliver’s way. ‘I wonder if you might help me lift this rug?’

Together, they heaved it out of the way to reveal dark wooden floorboards. Dropping to her knees, Harry ran her hands across them, searching for a tell-tale gap. Finally, she found what she was looking for – a slender crack at the end of one board. ‘Could you pass me that letter knife, please?’ she asked Oliver.

He took it from the desk without comment, watching as she slotted it into the space and levered the wood upwards. It came away easily, lifting to reveal a long, thin cavity. But that was not all. As she pulled the board away, a lengthy strand of fiery red hair caught the light, snagged on the roughened edge of the wood. Harry looked at it for a moment. ‘I don’t suppose there’s an envelope to hand, is there?’

Oliver cast around. ‘No, but there’s a sheet of paper.’

‘That will do.’ Teasing the hair free, Harry tucked it into the folded paper, offering it to Inspector Wells. ‘You might want to take this. I think you’ll find it matches that of one of your soon-to-be suspects.’

Without waiting for a response, Harry ran her hands along the floorboards once more. The next slid out smoothly and soundlessly, and the board beside that did the same, until over a third of the floor had been removed. She bent to examine the edges of the boards that remained, noting a series of shallow grooves that had been carved into the wood. ‘Take note of these, Inspector,’ she said, pointing at the indentations. ‘They are also a clue.’

In silence, Inspector Wells examined the scuff marks, although it was clear from her bemused expression that she did not yet understand what they meant. Once she stepped back, Harry set to with her fingertips once more, this time exploring the cavity beneath the missing boards, and again she found a break. She dug with the letter knife, scarcely daring to breathe as she levered upwards, and was rewarded as the whole section of floor beneath the boards shifted. Thrusting her fingers into the widened crack, she pulled hard and felt the wood come away. For a moment, all she saw below was darkness, then her eyes adjusted and she saw the barest outline of walls and floor. ‘Would one of you be good enough to go downstairs and turn the dining-room light on?’ she said, glancing over her shoulder.

Inspector Wells vanished from the room and Harry took the opportunity to examine the raised wooden panel, noting the underside had been painted white to blend in with the ceiling. Moments later, the space below Harry was lit up by a pale-yellow glow that spilled through the hole in the wall, and Inspector Wells appeared. Her face craned up at Harry. ‘They lowered the safe-cracker from the room above. The grooves you pointed out were made by the rope.’

‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘Once inside, they navigated the tunnel, stole the diamond and came out the same way. Perhaps Polly fell from up here in the course of the theft, or perhaps she knew more than was good for her and that led to her death, but at some point, her embalmed corpse was lowered back into the room on the chair.’

Oliver frowned. ‘It would take tremendous strength to do that.’

‘Exactly,’ Harry replied. ‘The kind of strength one might expect from the self-proclaimed strongest man on earth.’ She returned her attention to Inspector Wells. ‘If you hurry, you should be able to catch Cuthbert’s Travelling Circus before it leaves London Fields. Their strongman performs as Hercules Jones, although I don’t imagine that’s his actual name. And the hair in that paper is the exact shade worn by Angelique, an escapologist I saw perform this afternoon. She claims there isn’t a lock in the world that can resist her.’

Inspector Wells gave her a penetrating stare. ‘The circus?’

‘The circus,’ Harry confirmed. ‘If we’re really lucky, you may even find the Sora-Sora diamond there, although I’m more inclined to think Solomon Pole the pawnbroker has that.’

There was a brief silence as the inspector processed the flurry of new information. ‘Pole’s shop has been known to Scotland Yard for some time,’ she said, frowning. ‘But we’ve never been able to pin anything on him. What makes you think he’s involved with the theft?’

‘Hercules Jones was moonlighting for him as an enforcer when I visited the shop,’ Harry said. ‘I confess I have no hard evidence Pole is involved with the theft but there’s definitely a connection between him and the circus. I suspect he may be the mastermind of the operation.’

Oliver became very still. ‘You think he’s Moriarty?’

The name caused Harry to hesitate, recalling the almost palpable sense of villainy that had emanated from Solomon Pole. He had been greedy and cunning, eager to take advantage of the desperation of his customers and quick to fall back on the threat of physical violence. At first sight, she had imagined him as a Dickensian crook, but he might just as easily have stepped from the pages of an Arthur Conan Doyle adventure. And yet Harry felt a niggle of doubt. Holmes described Moriarty as an elusive puppet master, one who inhabited a world far removed from the dark deeds he orchestrated. He never dirtied his hands by committing the crimes himself. If the criminal who had planned this crime had modelled himself on the fictional character of Moriarty, it seemed unlikely he would have left a trail of breadcrumbs for Scotland Yard to follow. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted with a sigh. ‘But if Pole isn’t Moriarty then he may know who is.’

The inspector puffed out her cheeks, her expression suddenly subdued. ‘I doubt we’ll find the diamond, in any case. It will have been broken up into smaller stones by now.’

‘You might be surprised,’ Harry said. ‘Whoever Moriarty is, he appears to view crime as something of a game. The theft of the diamond was simply have been a move, not his ultimate goal.’

‘Perhaps,’ Inspector Wells conceded. ‘We’ll see what this strongman and the escapologist have to say. I’ll gather my officers and go there now.’

Harry got to her feet. ‘I’ll come too.’

‘Absolutely not.’ Oliver and Inspector Wells spoke at the same time.

‘It’s too dangerous,’ Oliver went on, his brows furrowed. ‘Especially since it seems Jones recognised you at the circus. You’ve done all you can. Leave the rest to the police.’

Inspector Wells nodded, equally implacable. ‘This is not a detective novel, Miss Smith. While I am grateful for your help, Scotland Yard is not in the habit of involving civilians in their arrest and interrogation of suspects. I am grateful for your help to this point but you may leave the remainder to my officers and me.’

Seeing Harry’s mulish expression, Oliver placed a hand on her arm. ‘Moriarty expects you to leave your King exposed but you’re too clever for that. Step back now and let Scotland Yard finish the job.’

Harry swallowed a groan of frustration. It made sense, she knew it did, but the impulse to confront Hercules and Angelique and observe their guilt for herself was hard to quell. ‘What if I’m wrong?’

‘All the more reason to remain in the wings,’ he said, and raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you think you’re wrong?’

She ran through everything she had learned, the leads she had followed and threads she had connected, the grooves from the rope and the red hair that had been caught between the floorboards. Everything pointed in one direction and if she had learned anything from Sherlock Holmes, it was to follow the evidence. She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Then leave it to Inspector Wells.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘I’m sure we shall read about her brilliance in the papers once the case is wrapped up.’

There was wisdom in his counsel, Harry knew. It often happened this way for Holmes, and he was content to let the police capture the criminals, but she couldn’t help feeling somewhat disappointed that she would not see for herself whether the missing diamond was where she predicted. On the positive side, she would not have to endure the vulturous gaze of Solomon Pole again, although she would have liked to have watched his expression as she reclaimed the charm bracelet he had all but stolen. ‘I wish you good hunting, Inspector Wells.’