The Scottish Ploy (11 page)

The door opened and Chief Inspector Vaughn Pryce came into the drawing room. Of average height, lean, about thirty-five or so, with a strong face, he was altogether a smoother customer than Inspector Lionel Featherstone; he looked about and said, “Good evening, gentlemen. I see there has been a development here. How did it come about?” He had a better accent and tailor than most policemen could boast: I remembered hearing that his mother, whose name he used, had been an entertainer before she married a very minor Earl from the north and earned the odium of all her husband’s family. Did that account for the saturnine cast of his countenance, or had his police work made him cynical, as it had done for so many others?

“So you are Chief Inspector Pryce,” said Mycroft Holmes. “My brother has spoken of you often. I am Mycroft Holmes. I am associated with the Admiralty.”

“Holmes, Holmes,” said the Chief Inspector. “Yes, I think I know your brother: tall, clever chap with a knack for turning up culprits.”

Ordinarily Mycroft Holmes would protest such a demeaning description of his younger brother, but now he only said, “Sounds very like him.”

“Does he have anything to do with this?” asked Chief Inspector Pryce. “No one said so.”

“Alas no. This is a suspicious death that may have diplomatic implications, which must be the reason you have been sent to investigate,” said Mycroft Holmes pointedly; he, too, knew that Chief Inspector Pryce had in the last year been assigned to crimes among the upper classes.

“Diplomatic implications?” Chief Inspector Pryce echoed. “How is that?”

Mycroft Holmes spoke before anyone else could. “Well, this house is owned by Dietrich Amsel, a German national, and the dead man is also German. The man who employed him is a Baron. We were gathered here this afternoon to arrange a visit for Lady MacMillian—you know Sir Cameron, of course?”

“By reputation,” said Chief Inspector Pryce. “A privilege, Sir Cameron.”

“You’re most kind,” said Sir Cameron in a voice that suggested that such homage was his due.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause, at the end of which Chief Inspector Pryce was moved to speak. “So you were here to make arrangements for Lady MacMillian. And this man just keeled over?”

“It seemed almost that way,” said the Baron, as if the death of his aide was only now becoming real to him. “He drank some tea and collapsed.”

“Um-hum,” said Chief Inspector Pryce. “Why?”

“Did he collapse? It would appear to be from poison,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Swift and paralytic, by the look of it. Monkshood, perhaps.” He coughed. “Nothing has been moved aside from a small amount of action each of us has taken.”

“I see,” said Chief Inspector Pryce. “Did any of you notice anything beyond the ordinary? Before the man ... collapsed?”

Mycroft Holmes answered again. “While we were waiting for you to arrive, I asked that we each put down our recollection of the moments leading up to Herr Kriede’s death. My secretary Guthrie has the pages for you.”

I opened my portfolio and retrieved the pages I had just put there. “I think you will find them useful, Chief Inspector,” I said as I handed them to him.

He took them, a bemused light in his eyes. “How very ... beforehand of you, Mister Holmes,” he said, and I reckoned he was not best pleased by this.

“My brother has imparted to me the importance of preserving first impressions of crimes, as well as keeping the actual scene as undisturbed as possible. I have seen the wisdom of his admonition, and heeded it here. That was why I ordered the room closed and put us all to the task of recording our impressions of Herr Kriede’s demise. I trust I have not over-stepped myself?” He caught his lower lip in his teeth, but this was his only outward indication of apprehension. “If it would suit you, we will now withdraw to the library, leaving this room to your attention.”

Chief Inspector Pryce contained his growing annoyance and said, “That would be more convenient, yes, sir.”

“Then come along, good Herren, Baron von Schattenberg, Sir Cameron,” Mycroft Holmes declared. “The Chief Inspector has much to do.”

The Baron was reluctant to leave. “Helmut Kriede was my aide, and he is dead in my service. I think I should remain here to see that he is not mishandled, or made ridiculous by your police.”

“I wouldn’t do anything of the sort,” said Chief Inspector Pryce with an oily kind of sympathy. “But we must make certain tests in order to determine how he died, and from what cause. We need such information in order to mount a prosecution of the guilty party when he is brought to answer to the law. Poison can be difficult to identify. This man is the victim of a crime, and it behooves us to do all that we can to apprehend his killer, wouldn’t you agree? If I tell you that nothing disgraceful will be done, that he will be treated with respect, will you leave the room while we do what we must?”

Baron von Schattenberg considered his answer. “Will he have to go to your morgue? Can we not send him directly to the undertaker, for embalming, before his body is shipped back to Germany?”

Mycroft Holmes turned to the Baron. “Do you think that is wise? Herr Kriede was murdered, and his body may tell us much.”

“He was here as a diplomat,” said Baron von Schattenberg sharply. “For that reason alone, we should be allowed to return the body to his family as quickly as possible. Or must I inform the Kaiser that Her Majesty’s government will not adhere to diplomatic custom?”

“If you want him shipped,” said Chief Inspector Pryce in a tone of some surprise, and with an uneasy glance at Mycroft Holmes. “I’ll try to hurry the release of the body from the morgue. You’ll want to make arrangements now to have the body picked up. It will probably have to be Monday: tomorrow few of our men work unless they must. I’m sorry, but I doubt I can speed the examination of the body more than that, not where poison’s involved. He’ll have to be vetted by our doctors, and I’ll try to get one of them to tend to it tomorrow, so you may have him first thing on Monday.”

“Thank you,” said Baron von Schattenberg, much subdued. “His family will be distraught.”

“More’s the pity,” said Chief Inspector Pryce. He was growing anxious to have us leave the room. “If you please, gentlemen?”

“One thing,” said Mycroft Holmes as he went toward the door. “We do not know if anything was done to the food and the tea. Have your men check the food, the plates, the tea, and everything else on the tray for poison.”

Chief Inspector Pryce sighed. “All right. Since the man died of poison, we’ll endeavor to find out how it got into him.” He bowed slightly to Sir Cameron. “Sorry to have to exclude you, Sir Cameron. A man of your ... experience might be most helpful, but under the circumstances—”

Sir Cameron shook his head. “No, no. Best to leave things of this nature in you johnnies’ hands. No fear. I know when it is best to lie doggo.”

“I’m sure you do,” said Inspector Pryce, his admiration making him smile, no matter how somber this occasion had become. “We’ll need an hour or so to inventory the pertinent items for our investigation, and then, of course, the body will have to be removed.” He looked away, shaking his head. “The young man is German, I suppose? Did you say he was German?”

“Helmut Kriede, yes, was German,” said Mycroft Holmes from the door. He gestured to Sir Cameron to follow him, and then stepped into the corridor with the Baron and his two aides. I kept near at hand, wondering what might be best to do.

“The library, I think,” said Baron von Schattenberg. “May we have some schnapps brought there?” This last was to the butler, who hovered nearby.

“If you wish. Do you want anything more?”

“I don’t think so,” said the Baron.

“I could use a strong cup of coffee, if you have it, with sugar,” said Sir Cameron. “And something to tide me over until supper.” He saw the distress in his host’s eyes and added, “I know it may not seem suitable to be hungry at such a time, but I’ve learned through my various adventures to make the most of these moments. You worry about how it looks, you eating at such a time. Well, I’ll tell you it looks a damned sight less peculiar than you going off in a faint because you’re famished. Who knows how long the police will keep us here? It is a cold night, coming on to frost, I should expect, and we will have to be out in it. So it is only sensible to have a bit to eat now, in case we must be here for hours.”

“You may be right,” said Baron von Schattenberg, and nodded to the butler. “If there are any sandwiches you could send up, that should be enough.” He started toward the library, his men following after him. “Is the fire built up?”

“I’ll attend to that,” said Paul Farbschlagen, going ahead of us to see if the chamber was warm enough, glad, I assumed, to have something to do.

Mycroft Holmes fell in beside the Baron, saying, “A most unfortunate loss, Baron. My most sincere sympathies to you.” He sounded genuine enough, and I supposed he meant what he said. “If you need my help in anything relating to his death, you have only to ask.”

“The body must be readied to be shipped home at the first opportunity,” said the Baron as we entered the library, Sir Cameron lagging behind.

“I will do what I can. I will ask that the Admiralty prevail upon the police to hasten their investigation of the body—which I feel you would want them to do as thoroughly as possible—so that you may handle all the other arrangements. I am reasonably certain the body can be made ready to release to you on Monday morning, just as the Inspector said. I will inform you if there are to be any delays, and the reasons for them.” He looked about him, taking stock of the library. “I think it would be wise to turn up the lamps. It is quite dark in here.”

Baron von Schattenberg was walking as if his ankles could not bend, and I began to feel for him. He was upset, beyond all question, and his two aides were doing their best to conceal their distress, as well. Eisenfeld sat down at the side-table and occupied himself setting up the chessboard. Farbschlagen had gone to the hearth and was choosing more wood to burn; he moved automatically, as if by rote, and his hands shook as he stoked the fire. Sir Cameron made for the sideboard where a decanter of sherry stood, while the Baron drew an overstuffed wing-back chair up to the fire and sat down, staring into the flames as if they were far, far away.

“Baron von Schattenberg,” said Eisenfeld when the Baron had remained silent for the greater part of two minutes, “what shall we do?” He spoke in German.

I answered awkwardly, as I had been instructed to do, “We had best obey the police.”

“Ja,”
said the Baron distantly. “Until they leave this house, we obey the police.” He said this last in English, as if to be certain everyone understood.

Farbschlagen moved away from the hearth where he had just laid two new logs. “We will be warmer in a moment.”

I doubted that, although I understood Paul Farbschlagen’s intent. “It is not easy to warm up after such an event,” I said. “It is not only the flesh that is chilled.” I noticed Mycroft Holmes was watching Sir Cameron, and I guessed he was not sanguine about how the Scot was behaving; being a Scot myself, neither was I.

“I must inform his family,” said the Baron. “I must write a letter at once.” He started to get up, but Mycroft Holmes stopped him. “Please. It is my duty.”

“Then do it properly,” said Holmes. “Collect your wits and bring your thoughts into order. Do not write so important a letter without calming yourself. Have a drink, and then get pen and paper.”

“I must write to the German Ambassador here in London as well. I will need his help in the arrangements,” said the Baron a bit distractedly. “This must be done properly from start to finish.”

“Yes, yes. You shall do all these things. But first you must restore your self-possession. It will not do to let the police see you thus dismayed. They would likely draw conclusions you would not like. You are rattled, sir, as who would not be?” Holmes signaled to Paul Farbschlagen. “If you would, fetch a glass of sherry for the Baron. If we wait for the schnapps, it may be an hour before he is steadied.”

“Is the sherry ... safe?” asked Farbschlagen.

“I should think so,”
Mycroft Holmes said after considering it for a moment. “Poisoning the sherry is too random. Who knows who might drink from it? Whereas the tea-tray was bound for the drawing room and our consumption.” He waited a moment. “Sir Cameron has suffered no ill-effects,” he added. “Given the speed with which Herr Kriede collapsed, Sir Cameron should be dead by now if there is poison in the sherry.”

“Thanks very much,” said Sir Cameron, much affronted.

“You reputation for bravery is well-deserved,” said Baron von Schattenberg as Farbschlagen went to pour a large tot for him.

Somewhat placated by this observation, Sir Cameron helped himself to another glassful.

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS

An Inspector Featherstone has just called to see MH, and I had to tell him that he is from home and will not return until later this evening. A solid sort of policeman, Featherstone, not too imaginative but not a lump, either. He is looking into the death of Yujel Kerem, and has some questions he would like answered as soon as is convenient. I have told him MH will be available to him tomorrow at noon, if he is not opposed to working on Sunday.

Nothing more from Halil Kerem. I have prepared an inquiry regarding him, and will present the results of the inquiry to MH by tomorrow evening. First: must be discovered on which vessel he arrived in England, and from what port. Then: to discover his place of residence and his activities since his arrival ...

A note was delivered from HRHE, asking for MH’s report on Sir Marmion’s work. I must assume that whatever his reason, HRHE is in some haste to have the evaluation he seeks ...

Sutton is off to the club, and then to the theatre. If Saint Martin’s Lane were a bit nearer he would be tempted to walk the distance, but that might also cause someone to recognize him and make an association that would be to no one’s benefit, so it is just as well that he rides in Sid Hastings’ cab. These have been a demanding few days for him and will not cease to be so until the run of the play is over next week. In anticipation of that event, he has been reading plays this afternoon, trying to determine which of them he should do next, as the run of MacBeth is coming to an end. He says he would like to try something less traditional for his next work, something that will call upon him to expand his range. After tonight, he has three performances to go until closing, and he wishes to have some new project for the future. None of the plays he is considering is as famous as MacBeth, but each has something to recommend it. I foresee another spate of learning lines and prancing movements.