“Were you able to uncover any clues that might prove important?” Bradshaw asked anxiously.
“None that would sway an official inquiry, if that is your question,” Joanna replied.
Bradshaw breathed a sigh of relief as the worry left his face. “Good, then. But if I can be of further assistance, you must let me know.”
“We shall.”
We bade farewell to Bradshaw and proceeded through the gates of Wormwood Scrubs, and onto Du Can Road where the car and driver that Lestrade had provided awaited us.
“Our vandal is very, very clever,” Joanna remarked.
“Even more than we originally thought?” I queried.
“Much more.”
“What led to this conclusion, might I ask?”
“The ingredients for glue in the workshop,” Joanna said and hurried for the car as a light rain began to fall.
15Two Vandals
On our return to 221b Baker Street we learned that the specimen sent to St. Bartholomew’s had tested positive for cholera and that Johnny had surely been afflicted with this dreadful disease, but he was now totally well and asymptomatic, which gave us great joy. With the full recovery of his body came the resurgence of his most inquisitive mind, causing him to ask one question after another in our absence regarding the case of the art vandal. Like his mother and grandfather before him, he was fascinated by crimes and those who committed them.
Yet, as he listened to Joanna expound upon our new discoveries, he made no comment nor raised any inquiries, only nodding at one clue and squinting his eyes at another.
“Now to the most striking finding,” she recounted, looking directly at my father and awaiting his reaction. “There was in fact an individual with severe dermatitis of the scalp and neck who was previously employed at Hawke and Evans, according to Simon Hawke.”
“How could this be?” my father asked, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Hawke was questioned about such a person and gave a negative response.”
“Then Lestrade either phrased the question incorrectly or Hawke misunderstood it,” Joanna said. “For the man with the skin condition is Harry Edmunds, who once worked at the gallery as a restorer.”
“Then we have our vandal,” declared my father.
“But here arises a problem, for we were earlier told that Edmunds was currently imprisoned at Wormwood Scrubs, having been convicted of art forgery.”
“Has he somehow managed to escape?”
“In a manner of speaking he did, for Harry Edmunds died in prison three weeks ago and is now reportedly buried in a potter’s field.”
“Then we have selected the wrong man to be our vandal.”
“I think not.” Joanna described in detail the explosion in the workshop that supposedly took the life of Harry Edmunds. She gave particular attention to the highly volatile solvent, the ingredients of which were being mixed at the moment the fire broke out. “It was said to be caused by someone nearby holding a lighted cigarette,” she concluded.
“But Edmunds was an experienced restorer who would be familiar with the dangers of mixing a solvent, would he not?” my father asked.
“Quite familiar,” Joanna replied.
“He would have never prepared his solvent in an area where people were smoking,” my father said with certainty.
“Excellent, Watson!” Joanna lauded. “For you have named the first clue that is telling us all is not what it appears to be. Edmunds would have demanded the preparation of the solvent be carried out in a safe area, but he did not and for good reason.”
“He intended the explosion to occur,” I deduced.
“He did indeed.” Joanna went on, “It would not surprise me if he had convinced his cellmate, Derrick Wilson, to perform the actual mixing while the idiot was smoking. With this scenario in mind, Edmunds would stand behind Wilson, so that the cellmate would absorb the flames and blast of the explosion. Allow me to draw your attention to the fact that the eyewitness did not see Edmunds on fire, but only an individual engulfed in flames, with that individual no doubt being Derrick Wilson.”
“But the eyewitness clearly stated that he saw Derrick Wilson later that day,” my father argued.
“Another contradiction which must be overcome,” I agreed.
“Which brings us to the ingredients for glue that I noted on a shelf in the workshop,” said Joanna. “Flour and salt, with a touch of vinegar, produces a sticky paste that can serve as glue, but it will not be a very strong adhesive and one that would never be used on furniture. So then, what purpose could it possibly have?”
Joanna waited for a response and when one was not forthcoming, she gave us another clue. “Please recall that Edmunds and Wilson were quite similar in size and frame. Also keep in mind that Wilson was a rough character from Scotland, who was a loner and spent most of his time away from others.”
Neither my father nor I could grasp the direction she was leading us in.
“What was the single, most distinguishing feature that Derrick Wilson possessed?” Joanna prompted.
“His thick beard and moustache,” I answered without thought, but then all the pieces of the puzzle came to me in a rush. “Harry Edmunds pasted on a beard and moustache, using the glue he made in the workshop!”
“Bravo, John,” Joanna praised, then continued on. “Wilson no doubt trimmed his beard in his cell, where Edmunds could have easily and slyly gathered and hid the clippings.”
“And in the disruption caused by the explosion, he could have hurried back to his cell and applied the clippings to his face unnoticed by anyone,” I added.
“The pasty glue made in the workshop would have been well suited for that purpose, and thus Edmunds could have taken on the appearance of Derrick Wilson who was soon to be discharged,” Joanna continued on. “You should also recall they were cellmates, so Edmunds knew all of Wilson’s mannerisms and ways, including
