Embassy Row Read online

  “How?” I asked, worrying what scheme Sutton—an actor fond of dramatics—would present to Tyers and me.

  “Well, if we could convince them they are in error, or if we could frighten them sufficiently that they are not likely to continue their observations so brazenly.” He was on the edge of an idea, and he struggled to put it into words.

  “I think I take your drift,” said Tyers. “You want to confuse them, make them distrust what they see.”

  “Yes!” Sutton exclaimed. “That is precisely it. I want to cause them such consternation that no matter what they see, they will not trust themselves to know what it means.” He beamed at Tyers and then at me.

  “But how might we do it?” I asked, troubled by the enthusiasm Sutton was showing.

  Sutton’s blue eyes grew brighter. “I think we must lead them astray. Very much astray.” He grinned. “And we must scare them.”

  I lowered my eyes to the remnants of our tea. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, I will need a costume of sorts. Something foreign and rather feminine,” he said, improvising with relish. “Something not outrageous, but enough to hold their attention.” He looked directly at Tyers. “On the rack—there is a Chinese robe. It is a deep golden color, like honey.”

  “I know the one,” said Tyers at once. “The banker’s coat.” He was about to go off to the kitchen and the room behind it where a large number of disguises hung to retrieve the garment in question.

  “Yes. That and the long black wig—the one you used in Cairo. I should be able to put something together with those that will provide a distraction.” Sutton rose at once. “And we will work out another deception for tomorrow, if they are not routed today.”

  “Might it not be prudent to inform Holmes of what we intend to do?” I interjected, not as confident as Sutton of bringing this off. “These men may be very deadly of purpose.”

  “All the more reason to tend to them ourselves,” said Sutton. “He has so much demanding his attention, he need not be bothered with this. We can do this ourselves.” There was an air of self-satisfaction about him, and I was aware that he wanted to do something for Mycroft Holmes beyond his regular impersonation. I did not want to dash his hopes, so I quashed my inner doubts and said, “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  Sutton began to pace, his manner animated. “I will make it appear that Holmes had a possible assignation, one that has just been brought to an end. I will make an exit that will demand their whole attention. While I carry on with you, Guthrie, Tyers can go to observe the men, and discern their purpose. If they think they may have to deal with an hysterical woman, they will reveal themselves.” He grinned. “Now, about tomorrow. Tyers, if you can find some opportunities to complain to the other domestics in the building that there are necessary repairs mat must be made. Let them know you will have a carpenter the first thing in the morning. My arrival in overalls with tools will not attract anything more than resignation. If the watchers are still here, they will not question what they see.”

  I realized the wisdom of this part of his plan at once. “Very good. And if there is an apparent disruption in some of Holmes’ established habits, they are explained by the presence of the carpenter. He would not be expected to remain here while the hammering and sawing are going on.”

  “I’ll have to generate a bit of noise, to make our duplicity convincing.” He was warming to the scenario. “I don’t know how much we will disturb the judge, immediately below. I would not like to have him criticize our efforts.”

  “He will not,” said Tyers with purpose. “I’ll have a word with his housekeeper tonight, as a courtesy. Then we’ll be all right and tight.”

  “What repairs are being done? Ought we not to agree on them?” I asked, not wanting to be too much caught up in this escapade without sufficient planning.

  Sutton did not give me an answer at once but directed his attention to Holmes’ manservant. “Tyers, bring me the banker’s robe and the wig. I will prepare. My case is—”

  “I know where it is,” said Tyers, and turned to get the items. Then he spoke directly to me. “There are warped doorframes and doors that need to be rehung. The pocket doors between the parlor and sitting room do not close properly. Holmes remarked upon it last week.”

  “Can anything truly be done with them?” I asked, knowing that some work must take place if the watchers were to be convinced.

  “I’ve built more than my share of sets and set props. I am a reasonably capable carpenter when I need to be,” said Sutton with understandable pride. “I can certainly manage the doors, if it comes to that. And I can build, stain, and varnish everything to match.” He smiled with great good humor. “You are prone to underestimate me, the both of you. I wish you would not do that.”

  I realized his accusation was deserved. “I apologize. You are right, and I have been unfair to you, Sutton.”

  “Don’t poker up, Guthrie,” Sutton chided me, sounding amazingly like Mycroft Holmes. “Let us get through today and make ready for tomorrow. I will, of course, bring the wood, as part of my character. I will plan to continue the diversion for three days at least, so Mister Holmes will have more flexibility of time.” He went to change the angle of the shutters on the windows, bringing the light from above and effectively cutting off any view from below. “I will now prepare for a scene Sardou would envy.” He bowed to Tyers as he returned with the banker’s coat and the wig in one hand and Sutton’s makeup case in the other. Pushing the last of the dishes away, he took off his jacket, flung away his tie, opened his collar, and sat down again, the makeup case on the chair next to him. He brought out a large mirror and a tin of cleansing cream and set to work.

  I watched him as he began yet another transformation, softening his features to an exotic prettiness and changing the line of his brow to an Asiatic slant. In twenty minutes he rose and changed to the banker’s coat; his fair hair was now emphatically out of place. He remedied this with the wig, which he had shaped to a kind of disheveled coiffeur. Aside from his height and his light-colored eyes, he might have been an Anglo-Chinese female past her youth but not yet in the grip of age.

  “Now what?” I asked as he turned to me, his demeanor entirely changed from what it had been.

  “Now you and I will have a dispute on the backstairs while Tyers makes the most of this distraction to determine who is watching this flat, and, if possible, why.” He could not keep the amusement from his voice. “You, Guthrie, will call me Missus . . . oh, Swindon. It sounds respectable enough. You will say that Mister Holmes has said I am not to be admitted to the flat again. Offer me money to leave England. Make the whole encounter cold and crass on your part and leave the rest to me.” He winked. “You know what to do, Tyers. I won’t tell you your business.”

  Sutton said that so comfortably that I wondered how much he knew of the manservant’s history. I had been curious about it for some while but had not been able to learn more than smatterings. Clearly Sutton had more knowledge of the man than I did. “Are we ready?” I asked as I got to my feet. Now that we were embarked on our project I put my misgivings aside. “I hope I will carry my part to your satisfaction, Sutton.”

  “I believe you will, Guthrie,” said Sutton, and then his voice shifted up half an octave and he began to weep as we went into the corridor and along it to the rear of the flat. When we arrived there, Sutton redoubled his weeping and flung the door open, turning back to look at me. “I never thought he could use me so!” he exclaimed amid his tears.

  I was vaguely aware that Tyers had gone out the front of the flat; Sutton expected me to respond, so I said, “You know what you must do, Missus Swindon.”

  “He wants me to do away with myself,” he proclaimed dramatically. “I will not let him have the satisfaction. Not after his shabby way with me!”

  “You have been offered a generous settlement, Madame. Do yourself a favor and accept it graciously.” I noticed Sutton’s eyes flashing encouragement, so I
went on harshly. “I can do nothing more for you.”

  “And Mister Holmes will not,” said Sutton with awesome finality. “Well, you may be sure I will not permit him to—” The tears became a tempest.

  “Madame!” I cried, beginning to be caught up in our little drama extempore. I moved as if to close the door.

  “No!” Sutton held his head up in defiance, and his voice, unnervingly feminine, was a clarion call. “I am not trash to be tossed into the dustbin.”

  “Missus Swindon, please. You will embarrass yourself.” I was astonished at how very condemning I could sound, how stuffy and condescending.

  “I don’t care. If Mycroft Holmes is embarrassed, it means nothing to me.” Sutton retreated toward the backstairs, taking care not to look down into the service yard below. “I hope the whole world learns of his perfidy.”

  “Madame!” I thought I saw a flash of movement in the service yard, but kept from looking toward it. “Do not make it necessary for me to summon the authorities.”

  “Have them in,” Sutton countered at once. “Have the whole of London here!”

  I was flummoxed by this. “You must go,” I said coldly, unable to think of anything more to say.

  “You do not know who you are dealing with. I will not let him trifle with me,” Sutton insisted passionately.

  “There is nothing I can do for you, Missus Swindon,” I reiterated, ready to slam the door.

  Sutton grabbed hold of my wrist. “You must listen to me, Mister Guthrie. You must. I have given everything to Mister Holmes. He is more than life to me. Do not let him end it like this. It will hurt him, I know it will, as much as it hurts me.” The pathos of this declaration struck me: If Sutton had not been acting, I would surely have been moved to compassion.

  “Tell me you will intercede for me, Mister Guthrie,” Sutton pleaded. “I would thank you every day of my life if you will do this.”

  “Missus Swindon—” I began.

  “Please, Mister Guthrie,” he begged. “Tell me you will talk to him. Let him know that I can still forgive him if he will have me back.”

  I strove to break his grip but could not. “Please leave, Missus Swindon,” I said.

  He broke his hold abruptly and flung himself away from me, starting toward the stairs in a distraught manner, weeping loudly and occasionally voicing expostulations and profanities that were the more distressing for seeming to come from an attractive, half-Chinese woman.

  As I watched Sutton’s descent, I saw one of the men in the wagon stick his head out of the back, openly gawking at Sutton. I also noticed that Tyers was standing, very unobtrusively, less than five feet from the wagon. I was reluctant to retreat into the flat, although I supposed it was what was expected of me. Folding my arms as if to bar Sutton’s return, I kept my place and watched as he finally reached the service yard, behaving as if he were trying to summon up a few scraps of dignity. Sutton was making his way toward the alley to the street when the man on the driving box caught sight of Tyers, and became distressed.

  “You!” the driver shouted, reaching for his whip with the seeming purpose of driving Tyers off by main force.

  Tyers moved handily out of the way; the lash of the whip missed him by a good yard and more. It swung around and struck the lead horse on the neck.

  The horse whinnied and lurched into a canter, dragging his teammate and the wagon with him, directly at Sutton, who had just entered the alley.

  I watched, aghast, as it appeared Sutton must be injured by the runaway wagon.

  The wagon careened into the alley, the horses settling into a run in earnest. Sutton was now aware of his danger and looking frantically about for a place to hide. Belatedly I shouted and began to run in the direction of the alley—although what I might do in the event, I could not think. I reached the alley just as I was certain the tragedy must occur.

  Then the horses reared, stopping abruptly as a figure appeared at the head of the alley, doing something to arrest the team in mid-plunge. The driver managed to bring his team under control, swearing vituperatively as he did.

  Sutton, who had fallen to the ground and now lay huddled in a ball, his arms over his head, his knees drawn up to his chest, his wig askew, slowly recovered, looking bemused to find himself still alive. I came running up just as the driver gave his horses the office and they went out of the alley at a more sedate pace.

  Mycroft Holmes stood at the entrance to the alley, his great-coat flapping about him, his expression one of exasperation. “Well,” he said as we came up to him, Tyers looking sheepish, ‘Sutton in disarray, and I beginning to experience the pangs of chagrin. “What brought this on?”

  Sutton adjusted his wig. “We wanted to find out who was spying on the flat.”

  “And did you?” Holmes inquired calmly.

  “No, sir, we did not,” said Tyers in an unruffled way. “Had their horses not bolted, we would have done.” A glance passed between him and Holmes that I could not fathom, but it was apparent both men understood his meaning.

  “In fact,” I said, wanting to make a clean breast of our errors, “we have alerted them to our intentions, which was most unwise.”

  “I am glad you recognize it,” said Mycroft Holmes, a good deal less severely than I thought we deserved. “I am also glad that nothing beyond embarrassment has befallen you.” He signaled to Sutton. “You will have to scramble if you are to get out of that rig and across the street by four-forty-five.”

  It was less of a reprimand than Sutton anticipated. “Yes. You’re right.”

  “Then get to it, man,” he said, adding, “Don’t forget to weep and cast more aspersions on my reputation as you go. The neighbors will want to see the end of the act.”

  Sutton lowered his head, raised his voice half an octave and said, “Thank you, thank you. I knew you could not be so unkind to me.”

  “Go with him, Tyers, and help him. Guthrie and I will follow directly.” Holmes motioned them off and then pulled me aside. “Was this your idea, dear boy?”

  “I think we were mutually responsible,” I said. “We had a better result in mind.”

  “No doubt,” Holmes agreed, propelling me toward the backstairs. “It may surprise you to know that I do not disapprove of the enterprise you’ve shown, though the results were not what I would have liked.” He made a point of going slowly up the stairs. “I am troubled that you would let it all get out of hand. That isn’t like you.”

  “We did not know the horses would bolt. How could we?” I asked, stung by this unjust accusation.

  “You could not, of course,” said Holmes as we began to climb. “The trouble is, as you have already said, that the watchers are now on the alert, and they will be more cautious next time.”

  “I know,” I confessed, shocked that I should have bungled our task so badly.

  “The trouble is,” said Mycroft Holmes as we reached the first landing, “that we do not know with whom we are dealing, or why. If I had some sense of that, I might be better able to deal with the situation.” He was half-way up the next flight when he turned back to me. “If anything should have happened to any of you, I would hold myself accountable.”

  “Sir—” I exclaimed, trying to find the words that would exonerate him. “It is, in fact, our doing. We did this without consulting you. It is our—”

  “Guthrie,” Mycroft Holmes interrupted, “you and Tyers and Sutton are in my employ. Had you not been, you would have had no reason to undertake this scheme of yours.” He laid his hand on my shoulder. “Your intentions were commendable. But just suppose, Guthrie, that those men are not agents of the Japanese, or the Germans, or the Bulgarians, but part of the Brotherhood. You learned enough about them to know it would be folly to warn them of our intentions. Did you not?”

  I had a brief, intense recollection of the sight of a man murdered in one of their loathsome rituals, and I nodded. “But surely—”

  “They are still very much with us. And what mischief they might want to mak
e in our dealings with the Japanese or the Bulgarians, I dare not hazard to guess.” He resumed climbing. “Until we know what the game is, Guthrie, we had best be very careful of how we play.”

  I nodded in acknowledgment and went after him. I was trying to think of something to add when he turned around again, saying with such a degree of resignation that I gave him my full attention, “I am sorry I must attend this banquet tonight. If we had more time, I think we might be able to work out a better plan regarding these watchers.”

  “But the Japanese would not understand,” I said, recalling all I had learned about their emphasis on protocol. “Perhaps later.”

  “I hope. But this is becoming such a public affair, it might not be possible,” he said, and reached the landing at the rear of his flat.

  FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS

  A packet was delivered at half-eight this evening, from Yvgeny Tschersky. I have put it in M H’s study against his return this evening.

  I have prepared a note to hand Sid Hastings when he brings M H back tonight. I hope he will have some answers for us in regard to the activities of the butcher’s delivery van. After our debacle this afternoon, progress is wanted on that front. If anyone can gain us the intelligence we need, it is Hastings.

  A formal case of documents has been delivered here to M H. In a silk-covered chest with the imperial device of Japan—it is, I believe, called a mon—worked into the silk. It is a splendid piece of work. The instructions are that it is only to be opened by M H himself, which just at present is a problem, for Sutton is filling in the role until the banquet concludes, and it is not fitting that he should open the package. So if those watching us are agents of the Japanese, this apparent lack of regard for their delivery may work against us. But as M H is dining with members of the Japanese embassy, I cannot suppose this is very likely. However, the Japanese are more keenly aware of embarrassments than most, which could prove awkward.