The Circle Code Conundrum Read online

  YOU LOO_ _A_I__IN_ IN _LU_ _UT I ______ YOU IN _LOO_ ___

  _AY __LLO N__T TI__ YOU A__ IN _O_N

  She stepped back and they both stared at the board.

  “We’re missing a vowel,” Joe said. “The letter ‘E’. Your father wrote that it was the most common letter used, but it wasn’t prevalent in the first two messages.”

  “But in this one, there is a recurring letter that was barely present in the last messages,” Irene said, then stepped forward and wrote on the board again.

  YOU LOO_ _A_I__IN_ IN _LUE _UT I __E_E_ YOU IN _LOO_ ___

  _AY _ELLO NE_T TI_E YOU A_E IN _O_N

  Beside her, Joe blinked rapidly. “My head is spinning, Irene.”

  He sat down at his desk, elbow bumping his typewriter. Irene kept staring at the board. There had to be more. She knew the answer was easy, but it was so late and her own head was starting to spin. Perhaps the messages would come clear in the morning, after a few hours of sleep.

  “Irene!” Joe said. He sat upright at his desk, staring at his typewriter. “The letter ‘Q’ is decoded to ‘A’ correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the letter ‘T’ forms ‘E’.”

  She strode to his desk. He pointed to each letter of the typewriter and she immediately caught the pattern and went back to the board.

  “Rhyme off those letters, Joe,” she said. He went down the rows of the typewriter and she wrote the translations as he spoke. When he was done, she had a column of letters decoded.

  Joe stood beside her, looking at the list.

  “Joe, we did it,” she said. “It translates perfectly.”

  She linked her arm through his and squeezed in tight.

  “Irene,” he said. She released him and followed his worried gaze to the board.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  “Translate these messages,” he said.

  She grabbed the chalk and started, scribbling each letter. Once done, she stepped back and read them:

  I FOUND YOU MY HETTIE

  YOU ARE MINE AND I WILL HAVE YOU

  YOU LOOK RAVISHING IN BLUE BUT I PREFER YOU IN BLOOD RED. SAY HELLO NEXT TIME YOU ARE IN TOWN

  Irene saw the shiver snake through Joe's spine as he stared at the messages.

  “I’d been so excited to solve this damn code,” he said. “But the results have left me feeling a little sick. What does ‘ravishing in blue’ mean?”

  “Henriette wore a periwinkle dress into town,” Irene said. “Whoever this is, resides in Finedon or is stalking her.”

  “But how does this connect with the car crash?” Joe wondered aloud. “If it even does.”

  “It must,” Irene said. “Mrs. Grouper goes to Petworth the very day of this horrific crash, then the next day returns happy as a lark? Perhaps she wronged the owner of the car, and he was so distraught he crashed. Human emotions can cause one to do such horrid things.”

  “What happens next?” Joe asked. “This person crawls out of the wreckage and vows to get revenge? With a code? Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

  “Of course,” Irene said. “But if it is the truth, than it is not at all odd.”

  “Either way, this woman is in trouble,” Joe said. “Shall I ring Mr. Grouper?”

  Irene shook her head. “Mr. Grouper has probably gone to sleep already. Besides, this shall just worry them, and they may do something foolish like try to find this stalker. I warned Mr. Grouper to secure his house and lock the door to his bedroom. We shall head out there at first light. Get some sleep, Joe. We need all our rest if we are going to confront a vengeful ruffian.”

  Chapter IV

  A Road Trip to the Country

  Joe’s alarm clock rang shrill and loud. He bolted upright in bed, then turned and smacked the off button on the clock. Sighing at the early hour, he slid out of bed, yawning. Opening his curtains made him grumble as the sun peeked over the horizon, trying its best to shine through the heavy clouds.

  He washed his face in the half bath adjoining his room, grateful every day for his luck finding this flat. Baker Street was quite an affluent street, as proven by the multiple pipes running throughout the flats, allowing for plumbing on every level, including into the sink in his half bath. He kept meaning to ask Irene when her father had installed the full bathroom in their flat, as he was sure it was an add-on after the house was built.

  As he dried his face, he wondered how he and Irene would get to Finedon. The train ride would be dull in this weather and a cab ride out there would ring up a steep fare. If he got the choice, he’d choose the train, but Irene probably already had some plan.

  He tucked in his short-sleeve button-up shirt, opting for a casual look, or so he hoped. If they were going out to the country to possibly confront someone dangerous, ease of mobility would be essential.

  A knock came from his door and before he could say enter, Irene popped her head in the room.

  “You ready to head out?” she asked.

  “You really must wait until I say enter,” he said. “I could’ve been in a state of undress.”

  She stared at him, not understanding his point. “You are fully clothed.”

  “But I could’ve been undressed...” He sighed, giving up. He’d work on that lesson with Irene later. “I am ready to go, yes.”

  “Excellent,” she said. “Oh, look Doctor, we match.”

  They both wore a cream coloured top with brown trousers and Irene had her brown fedora in her hands, similar to Joe’s own hat he was about to reach for. Irene gave him another once over, then fixed his left sleeve, setting it even with the right one.

  “Take caution with Miss Hudson,” she said. “She is in a foul mood.”

  Joe grabbed his hat. “She’s awake?”

  “Of course she is,” Irene said. “I roused her about ten minutes ago.”

  Joe followed her out of the room and down the stairs. “Why did you wake her?”

  “We’ve no food to take on our journey.” Irene pulled her rain jacket on, then tugged her fedora onto her head. Joe grabbed for his own jacket on the hook and let out a worried sigh.

  “You woke that poor woman just so she could pack us snacks?”

  Irene ducked under his outstretched arm and headed for the stairs. “Miss Hudson keeps all the food downstairs as neither you nor I are fond of going to the grocers. I’m off to hail a cab so collect our food and hurry on.”

  Joe pulled on his jacket. Sometimes ‘frustrating’ didn’t even begin to describe Irene.

  ✽✽✽

  The streets were practically empty as the cab drove along to Scotland Yard. A small lunch bag packed with food sat on Irene’s lap, next to her bag. Joe had apologized profusely to Miss Hudson when he’d collected the snacks and promised to keep the flat tidy for the next week. That calmed her, but she did swat Joe’s shoulder as he left, telling him to get going before she changed her mind.

  The cab stopped at the precinct and Irene handed Joe the folder with the police report.

  “I’d run in, but Eddy isn’t there,” she said. “I cause a scene on a good day, but this early, the last thing these constables want to see is my face.”

  The rain hadn’t quite started yet, but the air was heavy with moisture. Joe hurried into the buildingand straight to Lestrade's desk. He set the folder down, then hesitated. Compared to the other folders and papers, the returned police report looked a little worse for wear. He grabbed a note pad and scribbled an apology:

  Thanks for the report, sorry about the stains.

  P.S. There’s potato and pea pie leftovers at Baker Street.

  Once Joe was back in the cab, they carried on down the road. As they drove, Joe realized they were heading east, not north. Perhaps Irene wanted to make another stop? He was about to ask, when she spoke.

  “We’re going to see Mr. McKeever,” she said.

  “Who’s that?”

  “A mechanic.” She opened the lunch bag and rooted through its contents. “He has something
we’ll need for today. Shouldn’t be too long.”

  The automobile shop looked abandoned. A few older vehicles were parked in the lot, but the lights in the small building connected to the house were dark. Irene didn’t seem to care, as she strode up to the door and knocked loudly. Joe caught up to her.

  “Can you please tell me what we’re doing here?”

  She turned to him. “Gathering my automobile, of course.”

  “What automobile?” Joe said, eyeing the early morning sky. The rain would pour down shortly, and Irene had sent their cab off before Joe could stop her. “You have an automobile? Or are we borrowing one?”

  The door to the house opened and an older thin gentleman blinked sleepily at them, housecoat over one arm.

  “Good morning, Mr. McKeever,” Irene said. “I’ve come for the car.”

  It took Mr. McKeever a moment to process who they were, but as he tugged on his housecoat, his eyes widened and a smile fell across his face.

  “Irene!” He said, cockney accent guttural from the early morning. “I’ll be damned. You’re a lovely sight for these sore eyes. You finally here to collect Watson’s beauty?”

  Irene smiled at the man, but her lips were tight. “The Vauxhall, yes.”

  “Lemme fetch the keys for you,” he said. “I’ll get you ‘round back.”

  He hobbled away. Irene turned and hopped down the steps. Joe stared at her, incredulous, for a long second before hurrying behind her.

  “You have a car?” he asked.

  “It belonged to my uncle,” she said as they rounded the building. “I acquired it halfway through the war and Mr. McKeever has kept it safe for me. I figured we might use it in the next few weeks, so I told him to fill the tires and make sure the tank was full of petrol.”

  They reached the back of the building, stopping at a black Vauxhall with a thin red stripe down the side. The four-door car was newly washed and still kept it’s shine, even with all the rain. The front grill looked freshly polished, and the whitewall tires appeared new.

  The door from the shop banged open and Mr. McKeever came down the steps, keys jingling in his hand.

  “Just had her out a few days ago, I did,” he said. “Purrs like a cat in the sun.”

  He dropped the keys in Irene’s hand.

  “Thank you, Mr. McKeever,” Irene said.

  “Anything for you, love,” he said.“How’s your father doing? Still tucked away on that old farm tending to his sheep?”

  “Bee farm, actually,” she mumbled, gripping the keys tight in her palm. “Thank you, Mr. McKeever. Send any outstanding bills to the Baker Street address. You may go back to sleep now.”

  Mr. McKeever’s farewell was interrupted by a yawn, so he waved and hobbled back into the house.

  Irene stared at the car, distant look in her eyes. She reached out and gingerly touched the door handle, then wrapped her fingers around it, but didn’t pull. Joe felt a bit puzzled. Clearly, this car brought back some painful memories for her, so why retrieve the vehicle at all? He stayed far away from anything that might dredge up the past, but Irene actively sought her relics out.

  “Irene,” Joe said. “You alright?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  Joe studied the car again. “I haven’t driven in years.”

  “Good thing you’re not driving, then.”

  Any melancholy she felt was suddenly swept away, replaced by a smirk and a sparkle in her eye.

  ✽✽✽

  Irene was a good driver, albeit a tad fast for Joe’s liking, but she seemed confident enough as they headed out of London and off to Finedon. It was lovely to travel by car again. The interior smelled faintly of tobacco and leather polish, but everything was so meticulously clean and well-taken care of, the car looked right off the factory floor.

  “You’ve had this the whole time,” Joe said, tapping the glass of the speed dial. “We could’ve been driving around in this lovely automobile for the past two weeks instead of catching buses and paying for taxis.”

  “We didn’t need it until now,” Irene said.

  “Speak for yourself.” Joe leaned forward on the dashboard and looked up at the heavy sky. “You hardly venture far from Baker Street. What year is the car?”

  “Thirty-seven,” Irene said. “My uncle’s pride and joy. My father used to play a joke on him and whenever we’d reach our destination, he would hit the ceiling of the car with his cane, as if we were in an old Hansom cab. Drove my uncle crazy. One afternoon, on our way back from the city, my father hit the roof repeatedly. Over and over. Laughing as my poor uncle’s face reddened with each knock. Finally, at the end of the long road to the farm, my uncle swerved into the grass and evicted us both from the vehicle. The joke was on him, though. He had to unload the groceries himself while my father and I meandered down the road.”

  She laughed at the memory, letting emotion flood across her face. It was a rare moment when the happy thoughts consumed her and she almost resembled a completely different woman than the shrewd, observant person Joe was presented with most of the time. This Irene was soft, playful and lovely.

  “You remained with your father and uncle into your twenties?” he asked. “Most women would be eager to make their own life.”

  “I had no reason to leave,” she said. “I’d travel into the city and visit the Lestrade’s with my father and assist him with a few consultations that would be eagerly handed to him. Then back to the farm to tend to the bees.”

  “Why not stay out there during the war?” Joe asked. “Lestrade told me you were in London for most of the bombings.”

  The brash analytical consultant suddenly replaced the blissful, happy Irene. She furrowed her brow and looked at their surroundings.

  “When we pass through the main street of Finedon,” she said. “Keep sharp and observe.”

  ✽✽✽

  It was almost a two-hour drive from the heart of London to their winding small-town destination. Joe stretched his long body as best he could in the seat. They’d each eaten a sandwich Miss Hudson had packed, neither one of them bothered by the early hour. The rain had held off but threatened to fall any second as they passed the Finedon welcome sign.

  The main street was all old stone and brick, lichen growing in the cracks. They passed a bookshop, grocers, and as they came to the centre of town, Joe saw the butcher’s next to a pub. Corner Pub, as it was aptly named, boasted large windows and a welcoming entrance.

  “Keep your eyes sharp, Joe,” Irene said, manoeuvring the car down the narrow street.

  “I know,” he said. “Observe.”

  He did the best scouting he could but could only see a town that was having a late lie-in, avoiding the rain. As they drove closer to the pub, a man stood on the side of the road. Irene stopped to let him cross. He was the first, and seemingly only, person up and about at this hour. He was hunched, one arm tucked against his side. He limped slowly as he crossed the road and when he turned to wave a thank you at Irene, they got a good view of his face.

  Half was bubbled and sagging, the scar tissue deep. His one eye was practically hidden beneath the folds in his skin. A scar cut through his lower lip, but he looked happy nonetheless.

  “Oh my,” Joe said. “The war was not kind to him.”

  He stood on the walkway, waving at them, a big grin on his face. A woman came out of the butcher's behind him and spotted their car.

  Irene rolled down her window. The damp, humid air seeped into the car, instantly settling on Joe’s skin like a heavy blanket. The woman approached the vehicle and immediately apologized.

  “So sorry if he was blocking you,” she said.

  “Not a bother,” Irene said. “We’re looking for the Grouper estate.”

  The man pointed to the sky. “Gunna rain.”

  The woman turned to him. “Thank you, Mitchell. Best get inside then.”

  He hobbled up to the front steps and entered the building. The woman turned back to them, muttering another apology.
“Poor soul lost everything in the war. Spends his days cleaning the tables and gathering the dishes. As for the Grouper estate, just head out of town and take a right at Hopper’s Hill. You’ll come upon it soon enough.”

  “Thank you.” Irene rolled up the window as the rain came on. She slowly drove away as Joe watched the woman step inside the pub. The man, Mitchell, stood at the open door, waving at them, smiling through the scars.

  Chapter V

  Conversing with the Lady of the House

  Irene drove through the pouring rain, singular wiper swishing like mad. She almost missed the laneway for the house, turning at the last second. Joe mumbled a curse, hands grasping for something to hold on to. Irene didn't even want to imagine what the car looked like. The rain would keep most of the mud off, but she'd have to give it a good wash once they were back in London.

  She parked at the foot of the steps leading up to the double door and cut the engine.

  "Quarter to nine," Joe said. "Hopefully, they are awake."

  "They will be shortly," Irene said.

  Joe grabbed an umbrella, opening it as he stepped out of the car. He hurried around, holding the umbrella over Irene as she grabbed her bag and joined him.

  The manor was simple, the brick faded but sturdy. An overflowing fountain sat in the front garden, and half a dozen small trees lined the front walk, leaves drooping and dripping with rain. They approached the door and Irene turned the knob.

  Locked.

  She checked the frame, looking for nicks or other sorts of foul play.

  Nothing.

  She rang the bell, stepping back and looking at the windows lining the front of the house. They all appeared intact. She couldn't account for the back windows but hoped Mr. Grouper had done what she asked and secured every single way into the house.

  The door opened an inch and a woman's face peered out.

  "Name and business," she said, voice wavering.

  "Irene Holmes and her colleague, Joe Watson," she said. "We're here to see Mr. and Mrs. Grouper."

  "One moment." She went to shut the door, but Irene stuck her toe in the space, preventing it from closing.