“Thus, Harry Edmunds was able to take the place of Derrick Wilson and walk out of Wormwood Scrubs a free man,” my father concluded. “And conveniently left behind an unrecognizable charred body to be buried in a potter’s field. Of course all this needs to be proven beyond a doubt.”
“And so it will, Watson, for at this very moment Lestrade is soliciting the court for permission to exhume the body,” said Joanna. “I am confident examination of the corpse will back up the evidence we now have and will put a face on our vandal.”
“But will this new information lead to his apprehension?” asked my father.
“Let us hope so, for time is now very much against us,” Joanna replied. “You see, the vandal has narrowed down the list of paintings that could be hiding the masterpiece.”
“How did he manage that?”
“By examining the file that Simon Hawke keeps in his office.” Joanna described the folder containing the names of all the paintings restored over the past few years. On separate pages, the defects in each work of art was detailed and signed by the owner as well as the restorer. “The restoration performed during a given time period will hold the treasured masterpiece.”
“How did Edmunds gain access to the file?” my father asked.
“By entering Simon Hawke’s office during one of the break-ins,” Joanna replied. “I questioned the lockpick involved and he distinctly remembered the sound of pages being flipped while Edmunds was in the office.”
“The sound, you say?”
“The sound,” Joanna repeated. “I should mention that the lockpick is virtually blind and depends on his sharpened hearing and other senses to get around in his sightless world. He clearly recognized the noise made by flipping pages.”
“Were you able to obtain the titles of the listed restorations?” my father inquired.
“I thought it best not to do so in the presence of Simon Hawke.”
“Why so?”
“Because I am not convinced of his innocence.”
My father nodded, with a thin smile. “Like your father who believed that innocence must be proven before a suspect can be excluded.”
“Precisely,” Joanna concurred. “In addition, I have now concluded that it was the other restorer, and not Harry Edmunds, who discovered the hidden masterpiece and knows the painting which hides it.”
“Based on what?” asked I.
“A deduction I should have made earlier,” Joanna responded. “It is the simplest of deductions, based on the simplest of observations. You must remember that it is Harry Edmunds who travels from place to place, slashing up portraits of women, which informs us that he doesn’t know which painting conceals the masterpiece. Thus, he could not be the one who found the hidden masterpiece during a restoration, yet he knew of it. How could this be so? Obviously the other restorer told him of the fantastic find, and the other restorer had to be James Blackstone, with whom he worked and was no doubt close to. I suspect they were partners and planning to sell their ill-gotten gain on the black market, which they no doubt were familiar with. You will recall both were arrested and convicted of selling their forgeries in such a marketplace.”
“But why leave the masterpiece in its concealed location?” my father inquired. “Why not remove it and secure it somewhere away from the art gallery?”
“An excellent question, Watson, and one that I, too, pondered over,” said Joanna. “There are several possible explanations. First, the masterpiece may be too fragile to move and carry about. Remember, in its current location, the atmosphere is dry and away from light, which protects it from degrading. Exposing it to humid air and ultraviolet rays could damage it further and reduce its value substantially. Thus, finding another suitable place to conceal it is no easy task and carries risks. But it is the second reason for not moving the masterpiece that I favor. They were thieves and simply did not trust one another. In the art gallery, where it was hidden behind a restoration that could take months, both knew where their share of the projected fortune was located. Here, they could keep an eye on each other. But their plans fell apart when the two were arrested for forgery, with Edmunds going to prison and Blackstone reportedly fleeing to Australia.”
“Mother, he has not fled,” Johnny interrupted. “In all likelihood James Blackstone remains in London.”
“How did you reach that conclusion?” Joanna asked, but the pleased look on her face told me she had the very same thought.
“Why flee to Australia while on the run, when a once-in-a-lifetime fortune awaits you here in London?” Johnny explained. “Your partner is in prison and you are free, thus giving you the opportunity for sole ownership of a true masterpiece. So you see, Mother, he is still in London searching for the treasure, as any thief worth his salt would.”
“Are you suggesting we are dealing with two vandals rather than one?” I proposed.
“It is a distinct possibility,” Johnny answered.
“But James Blackstone would have no need to resort to vandalism, for he knows where the masterpiece is hidden, does he not?” my father countered.
“Perhaps it was subsequently moved,” Johnny suggested.
“By whom?” my father inquired. “Only the two restorers, Harry Edmunds and James Blackstone, know of the hidden treasure. If Edmunds had moved it, he would be aware of its location and would not be frantically slashing the other paintings. And if the transfer was done by Blackstone, he would know precisely where it was concealed and would have fetched it by now.”
We considered the matter further in silence, but could not explain why James Blackstone had not gone directly to the source and made off with the masterpiece. He could have done so easily, with his partner out of the picture and securely locked up in Wormwood Scrubs. “Of course all this conjecture is dependent on Johnny’s assumption that Blackstone remains in London and did not flee to Australia,” I said finally.
“An assumption I believe to be correct,” Joanna asserted. “The temptation of such a
