The Circle Code Conundrum Read online

  "It is urgent," she said.

  The lady nodded and rushed away. Not a moment later the door swung open and Mr. Grouper met them. He was dressed, and in his left hand, he held a shotgun at his side.

  Irene stepped in, eyeing the gun.

  "You are armed," she said, looking around. "That is good."

  Mr. Grouper was not only armed but had been awake for hours, it seemed. The morning wrinkles had faded from his clothes, and though he had bags under his eyes, he wore the alertness of a man with a few cups of coffee in him.

  "Miss Holmes," Mr. Grouper stuttered. "I had no idea you were coming here."

  "As soon as we cracked the code," Irene said. "We knew we must come. Where is your wife?"

  The maid appeared, hands out, ready for Irene's coat and hat. She handed both over and took in the house. A large staircase went to the second floor, the window at the top covered in heavy rivulets of raindrops. The rest of the house was warm and welcoming. The Groupers had done a fine job turning this old family estate into a proper home for themselves.

  "Sorry to impose on you like this," Joe said to Mr. Grouper, handing his own coat and hat to the maid. Irene caught the maid noticing their matching outfits before scurrying off.

  "Your wife, Mr. Grouper?" Irene looked down the branches of hallways. A shadow fell upon the stairs and a woman stood at the top.

  "Why are you looking for me? Who are you?"

  Mrs. Henriette Grouper stood tall and confident and Irene liked her immediately. She stared down at them, keeping her distance, yet confronting them. Her arm casually hung by her side, no doubt concealing a small pistol.

  Mr. Grouper stumbled over his words as he tried to explained their sudden appearance.

  "They are my friends from the city," he said. "I will ask them to leave immediately."

  Irene raised her eyebrow at him, not even trying to hide the confusion on her face. After all the messages this man had given them, had he still not told his wife that Irene and Joe were investigating her life?

  "My name is Irene Holmes," she said, altogether forgoing any niceties. "This is my colleague Joe Watson. We're consulting detectives from London. We've figured out the messages that are troubling you, and want to help."

  Henriette tightened her grip on the banister, her eyes wide with shock, and for a moment Irene was sure she would flee. She took a deep breath, though, relaxed her hand, and descended the stairs

  "And how," she said, voice tight. "Do you know about my messages?"

  She came face to face with Irene and they stared at one another. Henriette looked as if she hadn't slept in days. Her hair was pulled back, and she wore casual clothes under her housecoat. They were wrinkled as if she'd worn them to bed. She had socks on her feet, as opposed to slippers.

  She was ready to run or fight at a moment's notice and lost a lot of sleep worrying about her stalker.

  "I assure you," Irene said. "We are not here to pry into any matter that does not concern the threats and harassment you've been receiving. Your husband came to us out of worry and fear for you. All we want to do is help you stop these messages so you can get back to your life with your family."

  Henriette turned her angry gaze to her husband, then to Joe. Both men averted their eyes and she looked back at Irene.

  "How much do you know?" She asked.

  "Almost everything," Irene said. "There are a few gaps which need explanation and then this matter could be over."

  Henriette looked down at the small pistol in her hands, then held it out to her husband.

  "I will have Miss Freeman put on some tea," she said. "Then you will tell me what you know about my life."

  ✽✽✽

  Soon after, they all sat in the grand living room, hot cups of tea in front of them. The room was decorated by previous generations. Portraits and china cabinets sat against every wall, and the furniture rested upon a luxurious carpet. Red flowers wove an intricate pattern on the rug that was pleasing to Irene. A desk sat in the corner, full of paper that looked as if it hadn't been touched in some time. The total stillness of the room gave away its lack of use.

  This was a room made for entertaining high profile guests, not for a new family to play with their infant child.

  A storm brewed outside, the lightning cracking across the sky every now and then. Irene and Joe sat across a shallow table from the Groupers. Poor Mr. Grouper looked so ashamed that he slumped down in the cushions, shoving biscuit after biscuit into his mouth. Henriette, however, was attentive as ever. Back straight, hands placed gently on her lap.

  Irene took out three pieces of paper, each with the decoded messages, and placed them on the table. Henriette's eyes widened, and her husband leaned forward, scanning them.

  "Are those the messages?" he snapped. "Someone's after my wife? Who is it? Who's threatening you?"

  He stood up and Irene followed suit.

  "Mr. Grouper," she snapped. "If you cannot contain yourself, I will ask you to leave."

  "Someone is threatening my wife," he said.

  "Yes," Irene said. "Yet she is behaving better than you are, and she's the one being threatened."

  Henriette stood and placed her hand gently on her husband's arm.

  "Perhaps it's better if you go have some breakfast," she said. "We have some things to discuss and I fear it will only anger you."

  He shook his head and Irene sighed. He would cause a problem if he stayed. Henriette would hold information back, and he would get upset at the narrative. Irene couldn't have that. He needed to go.

  "Do you want him here?" she asked. "If not, I can remove him."

  Henriette hesitated, giving Irene her answer.

  "I am not leaving," Mr. Grouper said. "This is my house."

  Henriette took her husband off to the side and spoke low and soft to him. After a moment of quietly arguing, she planted a kiss on his lips. He left the room and she returned to the couch.

  "What did you say to him?" Joe asked, failing to keep the surprise from his voice.

  Henriette gave a small laugh. "I simply told him that I love him and will explain it all to him once we are safe."

  "Your husband had good intentions," Irene said. "I did tell him to ask you what the messages meant, but he refused."

  "I admit," Henriette said. "Though the note shocked me, I dramatized my shock at the message to prevent anyone from prying, so I don't blame him for going to an outside source. I am impressed with you, Miss Holmes. That code is a tricky one, especially when you are only given three messages."

  Irene felt a little pop of pride inside her chest but pushed it aside. "Who else knows this code?"

  "Only one other person," Henriette said. "I suppose anyone could use this particular code, but no one else would write it in circle form. How much has my husband told you about me?"

  "You're from Petworth," Irene said. "You came to London to work at Bletchley, where you met him. He said that you recently moved here and had a child, but before the move, you returned to Petworth for a single night."

  Henriette took a deep breath, then peered down at the papers in her hand. She stayed silent for a long while. Joe looked to Irene and Irene shook her head. This is one of those rare times where patience would be crucial. Irene had learned, through different cases, that you can't rush women. Women often shut down when being pressed too hard, and then tend to get hysterical. Irene, herself, hated being rushed and often found herself merely walking away if someone tried to hurry her.

  Henriette would tell them what they wanted to know once she was done organizing her words.

  "My husband has told you a lot, then," she said. "Certainly enough to piece together most of the mystery."

  She looked at Joe then back to Irene, tears forming in her eyes. One fell down her cheek, but nothing else in her expression gave her emotions away. "You really wish to help me?"

  Joe fished a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. "It is our job."

  She dabbed her eyes then hand
ed the handkerchief back.

  "While I worked at Bletchley," she said. "I met a man from Petworth. Noah Brooks. He was a year above me in school, but I recognized him and we became fast friends. We spent many evenings working together and on our downtime, we created this silly way of speaking to each other. Unfortunately, he fell for me. I felt nothing but friendship for him, though. It was difficult for him to accept, as he never quite understood why I didn't want to marry him. He used to call me Hettie, as you see in the messages."

  "Why wouldn't you marry him?" Joe asked. "Sounds like you had common interests."

  "Common interests does not always equal love," she said. "I loved my work. To give that all up for marriage, in the middle of a war, didn't seem right to me."

  She met Irene's eyes, and Irene nodded at their mutual understanding. Irene knew exactly where Henriette's thoughts were in regards to her work, and she gained a little more respect for her.

  "What did you do at Bletchley?" Joe asked.

  "Oh, a little bit of this," she said. "And a bit of that. Nothing big, just whatever would help the war efforts."

  The answer was so practised and precise that Irene instantly knew it was a lie. The rumours that the employees of Bletchley Park were code breakers working on German messages seemed like something out of a fiction novel, but Irene knew they were true. Henriette, with her rehearsed answer, was one of those code-breakers.

  "You met Mr. Grouper during your time there," Irene said.

  A smile fell over Henriette's face as she sipped her tea. It was evident that her love had shifted from her work to her husband and the new life she'd created.

  "I did," she said. "He understood enough to know how much my work meant. Noah, however, was not pleased about my relationship with Robert. I had to tell him off several times, and eventually, he left his position at Bletchley and went back to Petworth. Robert and I loved each other so much that we decided, even though the war was coming to an end, we'd marry anyway. Soon after the war ended, we inherited this house and then I had Molly."

  She hesitated, pausing in her story.

  "What happened on March fourteenth?" Irene asked. Henriette sighed and twirled the wedding band on her finger, fidgeting, stalling.

  "To tell you that," she said. "I must tell you what happened only a few months prior in January. I had visited my parents in Petworth to see them before the baby came."

  "You must've been nearly nine months pregnant," Joe said.

  Henriette laughed. "Just because you can't see your feet, doesn't mean you must stay home. I knew I might not be able to travel when the baby came, and my mother doesn't do well on trains, and my father is in a wheelchair. So, I made the journey. Robert stayed here, as he had to settle matters with the estate. I wasn't two days at my parent's house when Noah came knocking. As soon as he saw me, he was furious. I stayed in my parent's house the entire day and that night, Noah came around again. He was so drunk you could smell him a block away. He..."

  Henriette looked toward the door, but her eyes flicked upward as if looking toward a baby's room. She took a calming breath, but when she looked back at Irene, her eyes were full of anger. Irene recognized it as the same anger that overtook her father and uncle when anyone tried to harm Irene.

  The fierce protection of a loving parent.

  "He threatened to cut the baby from me," she said, voice tight with the memory. "He said I shouldn't be with anyone but him and he called me horrid names. He said I belonged to him and that he'd worked hard, for all those years during the war, to earn me. To earn me, like I was some trophy. It was such a threat and made me so angry, I thought I would have the baby right there in my parent's house."

  She blew out a steady breath and Irene felt her own anger course through her. She'd been threatened before. She'd had men make offensive remarks to her. Usually, they ended up with a broken nose.

  "You returned home," Irene said. "Shortly after that?"

  "Yes." Henriette seemed calmer now, but she remained straight-backed. "I made sure my parents never knew where we were moving to, and when I had Molly, I kept us safe in the house until the move. While we took trips up here, moving and creating the nursery, I kept having recurring nightmares about Noah and the threats he'd made. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep if I didn't confront him. So, I went back to Petworth."

  "On March fourteenth," Joe said.

  Irene pulled the newspaper article from her folder and set it on the table. "Is this what caused you such elation when you returned here on March fifteenth?"

  Henriette picked up the article and skimmed the story, then set the paper back down. Irene noticed the slight tug at the corners of her mouth. She was pleased.

  "That is Noah's car," she said. "The brakes unfortunately failed."

  "Or were tampered with," Irene said.

  Henriette turned into that fierce parent again, staring at Irene.

  "He threatened my daughter," she said.

  "I understand," Irene said. "I do not say this very often, you can ask Joe here, but I will say it to you. I am impressed. We read the police report, and they couldn't find the car registered to anyone, and they ruled it an accident."

  They stared at each other, Irene willing Henriette to trust her.

  "I am not after you," Irene said. "I probably would've done far worse than cut the fluid lines had someone threatened the people I love. What you have here is a wonderful and successful life. I want to help preserve that. Tell me, did you flee the scene before or after the car caught on fire?"

  Henriette rolled her shoulders back. "I saw the car careen into the ditch and I went to make sure my job was done. There was so much blood, and everything was crushed. I could just make out Noah's body in the mess. I saw no movement, but I needed to make sure. A car was travelling down the road in the distance so I had very little time to secure his death. I'd acquired a stick of old fashioned dynamite from one of the boys in town for another plan I'd abandoned in favour of this one. I had it in my pocket, and I lit it and tossed it in the wreck."

  "Dynamite?" Joe said. "That would've caused a huge explosion, not the fire that actually occurred."

  "A dud," Irene said. "Either didn't blow, or someone snuffed it out, but not before it caught some oil or gasoline on fire. By the time the police arrived, the fire had started and the car burst into flame."

  "By that time I was gone," Henriette said. "No one could've survived that crash. So, I came home satisfied. Then, a week ago, I got the first message. 'I found you my Hettie.' It was like living a nightmare. Noah was supposed to be dead."

  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Grouper," Joe said. "But the police report stated that no body was found at the scene."

  "Impossible," she said. "The state of that car. The state of...him. It's not possible."

  "And yet," Irene said. "That is what's facing us right now. A man, whose body is lost, and codes that only he and you knew with very specific messages. Which is why we are here. To find him and stop him. Is there any way you could've overlooked him had he been in town?"

  "No," Henriette said. "I would know him anywhere."

  "He probably wouldn't look the same," Joe said. "If he was as damaged as you say he was, he would be horribly disfigured and-"

  Irene grabbed Joe's knee as the revelation hit her. A twisted, gnarled man, most-likely covered in scars.

  "That man who works at the pub," she said. "He had scarring all over his face, and his form was bent and broken."

  "Mitchell?" Henriette said. "That cannot be. Mitchell seems like such a sweet man. At least, he is to me the rare time I would speak to him."

  "How long has he been in town?" Irene said.

  "Not long," Henriette said. "He was just a wounded soldier looking for somewhere to live. It can't be him. The town has been so kind to him..."

  She looked away, fiddling with her wedding band again. One would be tempted to scoff at her for making such a mistake, but Irene knew the power of a disguise, whether purposeful or not. Her father was a maste
r at disguises and taught her how to conceal herself should she need to. Hiding in plain sight, when no one expected you to be there at all was often the best way.

  "Unless Noah recovered so miraculously from his wounds," Irene said. "And can camouflage as a tree or building, then Mitchell is our man."

  "Oh, damn." Henriette balled her fists. "The more I think about it, the more I realize that it wasn't his scars that gave me the occasional chill, it was that in my heart, I recognized him. Oh, I've been so foolish. He is here, in this town. He knows where I live."

  She stood up, fists still clenched, cheeks red with anger. Irene stood too, grabbing Henriette's wrists.

  "It is okay, Mrs. Grouper," she said. "He cannot get in here, you said so yourself. Also, we have seen him, he does not move very fast."

  "He does not speak that well either." Henriette sat back down but didn't relax a single muscle. "And yet he still manages these notes. He's been fooling everyone. We must confront him."

  "I respect your anger," Irene said. "But, he has drawn the sympathies of the town and us accusing him of harassment and threats, when he's made it a point to showcase that he cannot string together two sentences, will only get us arrested or run out of town."

  "Then what do we do?" she asked.

  "I need you to take a piece of paper from your own stationery," Irene said. "And write a note. Tell me, where is a spot where no one would be in the evening?"

  "Behind the butcher's," she said.

  "Order him to meet us there, at six o'clock," Irene said. "Send the stableboy to deliver this message to Noah at the pub at one pm sharp. We shall go there and observe his reaction."

  "What would his reaction tell us?" Henriette asked.

  "Whether or not he will come to this estate to act upon his vengeful plan," Irene said. Worry and fear fell over Henriette's face and Joe leaned forward.

  "Don't fret, Mrs. Grouper," he said, voice calm as if soothing a small child. "We will keep a close eye, and if he should flee, we will warn you and pursue him."

  Henriette nodded and stood. She went to the desk and pulled out stationery and a pen. As she wrote the note, she turned the paper in a circle.