Joanna peered into the adjoining room where Harry Edmunds produced his forgeries. It was well stocked with canvases and stands and various pigments. Off to the side was a chair and next to it a large oven that Edmunds used to bake his paintings and give them the tiny cracks and creases that are associated with considerable aging.
“We know there are additional forgeries hidden away in this house,” Joanna cautioned. “For you to continue to conceal them makes you an accessory to the crime.”
Charlotte shrugged, emotionless. “I know of no others.”
“I wonder how a hard-nosed British jury would respond to that obviously false statement,” Joanna pressed.
“But it is the truth,” Charlotte said firmly.
“I can assure you that you will be singing a different tune before we leave here today, but by then your recanting will be of little value.”
“And let me assure you, Sherlock’s daughter,” Charlotte scoffed, “that I am not moved by your threats or those of Scotland Yard.”
“The last person to utter those words was a rather charming woman who killed her two children for their insurance money,” Joanna responded. “She is currently an inmate at Pentonville where she awaits a date with the hangman.”
“Last I heard being the wife of a forger is not a hanging offense,” said Charlotte.
“But being an accomplice to murder is,” Joanna countered. “You see, we know your husband planned and executed the death of Derrick Wilson as a means of escaping from Wormwood Scrubs. And he did the same to James Blackstone, for his share of the masterpiece.”
“I know of no such events,” Charlotte refuted calmly.
“We shall see,” Joanna said again.
The sergeant from Scotland Yard looked into the kitchen, saying, “Madam, Dr. Watson is here with the hound.”
“Excellent!” Joanna gleefully rubbed her hands together and turned back to the forger’s wife. “You are about to be undone by a dog’s nose.”
Before she could utter another word, Toby Two dashed into the kitchen and, ignoring Joanna, went directly to the chair that stood between a canvas and the oven. She pointed at it motionlessly, with her tail held back straight as an arrow. This type of behavior was most unusual for Toby Two, for she had a particular liking for Joanna and always went to her first where she would await a delightful scratching of her head. But on this occasion, the hound continued to point and Joanna allowed her to do so.
Toby Two was the granddaughter of the original Toby, a dog made famous by Sherlock Holmes who worked so brilliantly with her in The Sign of the Four. The current Toby was the product of a second-generation Toby and an amorous bloodhound, which endowed her with the keenest sense of smell imaginable. The dog’s mixed breed bestowed on her the features of a long-haired spaniel, but her floppy ears, sad eyes, and snout were those of a bloodhound.
Finally Joanna relented and came over to Toby Two to give the hound a pleasant scratch. “Picked up the scent of coal tar, have you?” she asked and reached in her purse for a lump of sugar which the dog eagerly accepted. Now that their bond was firmly reestablished, Joanna turned to my father. “I see you did exactly as I requested.”
“On our journey over, I allowed her a brief whiff of diluted coal tar which I must say was not to her liking,” my father reported. “Yet when I tossed the small vial out of the window, she became unhappy and simply laid about.”
“Because you traveled away from the scent and it eventually disappeared,” said Joanna.
“Precisely so,” my father agreed. “For as we drew nearer to the Brixton address the scent reappeared and, now understanding the game was afoot, Toby Two’s tail began to wag.”
“And she went directly to the chair because that is where Harry Edmunds sat to produce his forgeries and left the strong odor of coal tar behind,” I chimed in. “But is it not surprising that the scent stayed for such a long period of time? After all, Edmunds has not set foot in this house for months.”
“You must keep in mind that there are two noteworthy factors in play here,” Joanna explained. “First, one finds windows in most of the house, but not the kitchen and certainly not in the enclosed, adjoining room. Thus, there is no aeration and the scents will linger on and on. Secondly, dogs have a nose that is a thousand times more sensitive than those on humans. I can assure you that, to Toby Two, the aroma of coal tar in this room is overwhelming. Yet you will note she has no interest whatsoever in the pantry.”
“Is that of importance?” asked my father.
“Only that it proves Charlotte Edmunds is a liar,” Joanna replied, walking into the pantry to fetch a jar of marmalade and a tin of caviar, which she presented to Toby Two. The hound remained disinterested. “Harry Edmunds never touched these expensive items, yet his wife insists he was the one who purchased them.”
“I may have misspoken,” Charlotte said defensively.
“Let us see where else your memory has failed.” Joanna reached for Toby Two’s leash and led the way to the staircase. “We will have a look in the bedroom which often provides the best of hiding places.”
We all ascended the stairs and entered a cramped bedroom, with barely enough space for a bed and vanity chest. Toby Two sniffed about the bed and pillows, but appeared uninterested. However, when Joanna released Toby Two’s leash, the hound quickly bounded over to the brick fireplace which seemed too large for the room. She ignored the cold ashes and stood on her hind legs, so that
