And why was he so sure of my innocence?
These baffling conundrums kicked around with my mind as if it were a football as I traipsed down through the forest.
Upon reaching the pretty little town in the valley, though, I thankfully found that I had quite enough to occupy my attention to set my rambling reflections back into the further reaches of my brain.
After a period of scouting around, I managed to locate the telegraph office and found a stall, upon whose table was a pad of telegram forms and some pencils. I tore off the topmost turquoise form and laid it upon the table. I did not intend for anyone to be able to pick up the underlying sheet. I did not care for them to use some technique such as pencil lead shavings, by which they might read off the impression, left thereon, of my handwriting. And so I wrote my message.
DEAR FLEMYNG BEING WATCHED.
NEED CODE. KEY PSALMS. COUNTY SCORES.
BOWLING FIGURES. OVERS PSALMS.
MAIDENS MEANS VERSE.
RUNS NA. WICKETS NA. BATSMEN
RUNS MEANS WORD NUMBER.
B C C&B ONLY. RONO ST N/A.
REGARDS ACD
Having completed and presented it to the clerk, I paid for the service and withdrew. A task, I felt, satisfactorily completed.
I continued feeling this for approximately twenty seconds. This is the time it took for me to step out onto the main street and stumble straight into Tomas and Anna Pivcevic. They were standing by the window of the office and beaming at me.
“What are you doing here?”
They looked hurt.
“We came down this morning to explore,” Anna said. “There is a very fine private museum here. Natural history, botany, insects. Some collector and eccentric left it to the municipality about fifty years ago.”
“Ah… I am sorry if what I said just then sounded rude. I did not mean it to be. I was just surprised to see anyone I knew so far away from the village. And these past few hours have been most trying.”
“Why?” asked Pivcevic, solicitously. “What is the matter, doctor? Is there something wrong? How may we help?”
“You are too kind. But I mean, what with the death of Brown and the séance and… and, I wonder… have you heard whether the village has been talking about the séance? About us? About my rôle in all of this in particular?”
“The séance?” Anna looked at me curiously. “Well, no. I have not heard anything. Have you, Tomas?”
“I have not. Although I would not blame anyone if they thought we were the laughing stock.”
“I see. So… are you about to make your way back up to the village?”
“We were planning to stop first for lunch,” said Anna. “Would you care to join us?”
“I should be glad of your company.”
We passed a wide, sweeping drive enclosed by high walls and bordered by laurel. The sign at the entrance proclaimed that it was a private sanatorium and that the management offered a wide range of services catering for both physical and mental needs. The thought of taking up residence there for the remainder of my stay, a long walk down a pleasant, welcoming drive to a sanctuary, shut in by gates and a tall wall, was very appealing.
I did not want to run. I did not want to hide. I had come for peace of mind and, instead, I was sinking deeper and deeper into the mire.
We sat at a hotel café window and looked out upon the passers-by who came and went with a steady frequency. It was a quaint little establishment with clean, crisp white linen tablecloths and acres of red velvet curtains. There were newspapers available to read for the clientele. Anna went across to take one and peruse the latest news. It was not terribly exciting; these were just the local weekly journals and one or two of the Interlaken daily presses. Nothing with a wider, international perspective.
I surveyed my companions over the rim of my coffee cup. They were delightful people, short and round like gnomes. Anna had deep brown eyes, the black pupils indistinguishable from the iris. The black ringlets of her hair fell gaily around her apple cheeks. Pivcevic was equally jolly, with a near-shaven head and little round wire spectacles that mimicked his round, merry cheeks. When at leisure like this they laughed and giggled a great deal. Pivcevic continually spread and reclasped his chubby hands, with their Wienerwurst fingers, in continual delight. That I could have snapped at them like a fractious Pekingese upon seeing them at the telegraph office was to pay them a great disservice.
And yet now I trusted no one. Not even, I realized, these Pivcevics. Most of this mistrust, active distrust even, was sponsored by my personal disquiet at my situation. I felt entirely out of my depth. Holloway’s arrogant and demeaning assault upon me had done nothing to help. If I were confused and dismayed before by the twists and turns of events, I was even more so after that. Encounters such as those with Father Vernon, Anton and even these two had only served to entangle my thoughts further. Not that the Pivcevics and I discussed such matters at first. We spoke of the edelweiss, which they had visited yesterday up in the lush alpine meadow. They had been as entranced as I had and had resolved to transport some seeds or cuttings home to Bosnia when they returned.
Upon the subject of their homeland, they were most expansive and became markedly agitated. Their generally cheerful aspect was swiftly dulled by the patina of fear and uncertainty. The Serbo-Bulgarian war some half a dozen years earlier had settled nothing and had left the whole region in a more than usual state of ferment. Being both Croats, this left them at even more of a disadvantage. In many ways they were stateless, since they were absorbed in another nation and felt trapped by the confusion of national boundaries. They lived constantly under the shadow of being barely tolerated rather than assimilated. Despite having lived in that part of the world for generations, their family was constantly under tacit suspicion of being the enemy within.
The whole region was in turmoil. Germany, Austria and Italy had not helped matters with their schemes and machinations and brittle alliances. And then there was the growing interdependence of Russia and France. The Pivcevics had grave misgivings over foreign influence in their homeland and the surrounding region. They were convinced that sooner or later the region would be drawn into a dreadful conflict. The consequences of which were unimaginable.
I had long ago understood the unfathomable difficulties that swamped the region. Or perhaps that would be better put as failed to understand. But I had noted carefully, for it was a particular interest of mine, my own country’s rôle in all of this. As the senior player in Europe – a fact the other great nations such as Russia, Austro-Hungary, Germany and France refused to accept – it was our calling to act as head prefect. One of the boys, but with palpable extra responsibilities.
It was a revelation to me, therefore, to note how my country’s policies actually affected ordinary people in ordinary homes in other parts of the world. Not that I developed a guilty conscience as a result. I believed that whatever methods were employed to maintain the stability of the nations, not least those employed in the Balkans, were justified in the interests of both national and international security. The ends justifying the means? Probably.
And yet it was a shame to see these happy, intelligent people reduced to sombre and nervous introspection, and I told them so. They were grateful for my kind words, and Pivcevic told me that I had not to worry unduly. He and his race were a tough, fearless people who had managed over countless generations to uphold their rights in the most grievous of situations. Doubtless they would continue so to do.
Anna laughed and nervously suggested that Tomas’s patriotism would one day land him in some very great difficulty. She rather wished he wasn’t quite so headstrong when it came to his partisanship. At this Pivcevic went bright red and countered with a sharp jibe at his wife, telling her to stop harking back to her hobby horse where his wishes were concerned. This was presumably a serious topic of discussion between them, and a sadly recurring, possibly insoluble one. All at once, I found myself in the middle of a long-standing husband a
nd wife dispute, where I seemed to be expected to act as judge and jury on the issue, they both putting their cases to me in rapid succession.
In effect, Anna wanted to cut their losses, leave the past behind and go to join her cousin, who had left for America under similar circumstances seven years ago. Pivcevic was defiant and stubborn and made it clear that he would never leave the land of his birth, nor would he forsake his kinsfolk. He could not countenance leaving people behind, suffering, while he went gallivanting across the Atlantic to live a life of ease in Kentucky or wherever it was.
I was, understandably, unable to pronounce on the matter without offending one or other of the parties in this dispute. Wisely, as far as possible, I therefore kept my own counsel. My taciturn demeanour meant that, ultimately, the storm had nowhere to go and blew itself out. A little of the couple’s natural cheerfulness soon returned thereafter and provided the semblance of equilibrium in their relationship.
We paid our bill and set off to commence the arduous climb back up to our village. Downhill, the walk had taken just over the half-hour. The return journey could take twice as long. I suggested, for Anna’s sake, that we might consider availing ourselves of a cart back up the hill. But she was as hardy as any highland Scot and refused even to entertain the notion. So we climbed.
Along the way, we returned to other, more recent, concerns. I asked them if they had been in any way dismayed by the séance. They had not. Not that I would have expected them to have been so; their consistent objectivity and healthy scepticism had continued undiminished. They remained unconvinced regarding Francesca’s performance, as they described it. Their only concerns were for the other attendees, and whether such obvious cant and claptrap might affect those more suggestible folk.
“Did you have anyone particular in mind?” I asked, puffing a little from my exertions.
“Mr Holloway,” Anna pronounced instantly, and her husband nodded.
“Why?”
“Have you not noticed the difference in him?” Pivcevic responded. There was in his voice something beyond concern, however. It was distaste. At what, I could not discern immediately.
“Is he different? I have managed only the one interview with him subsequent to that meeting. Although I detected a certain arrogance – and boorishness – I did not feel that his behaviour was out of character.” I did not mean to sound disloyal but, then again, ever since my arrival I had made it patently clear that he and I were not in the least friends.
“Well, you know,” Anna said, “he came to see us in our room.” There was suppressed indignation in her voice, as if there were matters she was prepared to discuss, and some that she was not.
“What did he come to see you about?”
“He said he was conducting his own investigation into the tragic death of Peter Brown. He said that you were incapable of showing any initiative in this respect and that he had, perforce, to venture upon his own, independent course of action.”
“Did he, by Jove! And exactly what form did these enquiries of his take?”
“He asked a lot of very personal questions about our background and circumstances,” said Pivcevic, speaking, I surmised, in order that Anna did not have to. “He even asked us if we were involved in any way with trade from the Far East, perhaps China.”
“What kind of trade?”
“He would not say. Once we had pointed out that we were teachers, nothing more and nothing less, he lost interest.”
“He did not, Tomas. He asked us what our recreational habits were like. Whether we enjoyed alcohol or anything else. We thought that he was suggesting that we had been inhospitable, even though we had offered to order him a coffee when first he arrived, which he declined – and so we offered him a glass of ouzo.”
“Ouzo?”
“It is a Greek schnapps – some think it is Russian in origin,” Pivcevic explained. Although I was already acquainted with the name.
“Yes,” I said, “a distilled liquor flavoured by anise-seed.”
“Have you tasted it?” Anna looked pleased and proprietorial. “It is a beautiful, delicate taste. I take it with fresh water. I am sure it has medicinal properties. We have a bottle in our room. For our private use.”
“Of course,” I replied, not caring at all whether they imbibed in the privacy of their own room or in the middle of the street. I keep a tantalus containing whisky and brandy at home. It is of no significance. What was of significance was the simple fact of the ouzo’s existence in the same district as Brown’s anise-seed-scented demise. I was sure that Holloway had made the connection.
“Did he ask to see the bottle?”
“Yes,” returned Pivcevic. “Why do you ask?”
“Why did Holloway ask?”
“He was just interested, I suppose. He had heard of such a liquor, but had never seen or tasted any.”
“So you showed him, and he smelled it and then tasted it?”
“Yes… How did you know?”
“I guessed. Was there anything else unusual about Holloway’s visit or interest in the ouzo?”
“No.”
“There was one thing,” corrected Anna.
“And what was that?”
“The stopper for the ouzo bottle was missing. I noticed it as I brought it out of the bedside cabinet, and Holloway remarked upon it immediately.”
“Where was the stopper?”
“That is just it, doctor,” Anna looked across at her husband as we strove three abreast to surmount the interminable slope. “We do not know. We searched the room high and low and we could not find it. Eventually I closed it with a cloth.”
“And did Holloway say anything else about this?”
“No,” said Pivcevic. “He was very supercilious and swept out of our room with barely a thank you or goodbye.”
“He was very agitated about something,” confirmed Anna.
“Very,” echoed her husband.
“We do not like Mr Holloway, do we, Tomas?”
THIRTEEN
I left the Pivcevics to go to their room, and remained in the hotel reception area to talk to Anton. He was civil, but no more.
“Is Mr Holloway returned? I should like to talk to him most urgently.”
“He is not, I regret, doctor.”
“Is he with Eva, do you know?”
“I do not know. I have not seen Eva since this morning, as I believe I informed you earlier today.”
“Thank you, Anton. And if there is anything you ever wish to discuss, you should know that I am a friend, not an enemy.”
I made my way upstairs.
I had just sufficient time to wash and change before my visit to Francesca, which I was now even more determined to make. Slipped under the door to my bedroom was a telegram. The envelope was slit and resealed in the usual way. However, it contained little information for anyone interested in reading my private correspondence.
DEAR CONAN DOYLE.
MESSAGE RECEIVED AND UNDERSTOOD.
EVENTUALLY.
EXCELLENT GAME IN PROSPECT.
WILL FORWARD SCORECARD WHEN REQUESTED.
FLEMYNG.
This was encouraging, and Flemyng, if he maintained this positive opening, would very likely prove an intelligent and able ally. I folded the wire back into its envelope and laid it on my escritoire.
Ready to leave for my assignation with Francesca, I was almost out of my door when I had second thoughts. Why leave any message in my room? Of course, people had already read it. I did not know who these people were, but there was no reason why I should expose even the slightest clue that I had something up my sleeve to unnecessary further scrutiny, all the same. I committed the envelope to the grate and set light to it. I watched it burn alongside the remains of the pyre from my previous cipher calculations, gave the ashes a stir with my poker, and departed.
On the way to Francesca’s house, I concerned myself with exploring what it was, exactly, that drove me t
o meet her. I refused to admit that it was any form of attraction, and neither was I going there to receive more psychic insights. Curiosity, then. Pure and simple.
Although I could not conceive what it was that she was so eager to talk to me about, I resolved to put my case first. I wanted her to know how I viewed her practices, so that we both understood where we were in this particular business. I had decided that her performance, as the Pivcevics had put it, was flawed. It was my resolve to be honest about this at the outset.
There were further motivations which I barely ventured to investigate. Deeper, darker stirrings, which spoke of frustration, dismay and the overall unfairness of life. That I should have met such a woman and that we could never be more than mere acquaintances. I have heard of happily married gentlemen who have beautiful women as their best friends; however, I have always suspected their protestations of absolute innocence as being deficient. If one is not fulfilled in most aspects of human life by one’s soulmate, then there is something wrong with the relationship.
I could have kicked myself. So, it was attraction, too, then, after all?
My knock at her door was followed by a stage wait. When she appeared, she was warm and welcoming. A rich scent of coffee and baking – and mystery – flowed out from her home and drew me in. As I entered, she could not help but look briefly beyond my shoulder, to ensure that I was alone, or that we were not being observed. I could not be certain which. There was a hubbub from the bustle of the village. I had noted a number of passers-by as I arrived at the door, but I dared not risk looking around myself for fear of appearing furtive and thereby exciting further suspicion. She closed the door, took me gently by my forearm and brought me along the hall. The fragrance I remembered so well attended her as she preceded me into the living room. We sat and she offered me some freshly pressed, iced and sweetened lemonade. She promised coffee with Umbrian almond and honey cake later.