“Hello!” Joanna exclaimed and, pulling Toby Two away, began to inspect the bricks which appeared to be mortared in place. She carefully pressed on them, one by one, until a few gave way, then did others, which allowed the stones to be removed. Joanna reached into a hidden space and extracted a thick stack of five-pound notes. Leaning down, she allowed Toby Two to smell the fresh banknotes. The dog’s tail wagged furiously.
“How quaint,” Joanna said, and looked over to the forger’s wife. “Saving for a rainy day, were you?”
Charlotte Edmunds had no control over the noticeable hardening of her expression.
“All this money,” Joanna went on, “and Harry Edmunds could not lay a finger on it. You see, Scotland Yard has had this house under surveillance since the moment Edmunds was arrested for dealing on the black market with his forgeries. Even when he was imprisoned, they continued watching the house and his wife, waiting for her to resume their shady business.”
“Was Scotland Yard that obvious?” I asked.
“Not intentionally,” Joanna answered. “But in this neighborhood, the presence of the police would be quickly noticed and the word would spread. You can rest assured that both the now freed Edmunds and his wife knew their house was being watched.” She turned to Charlotte and asked with a thin smile, “Didn’t you, dear?”
“They tried to be so clever,” Charlotte said bitterly.
“Which worked to their advantage, for it kept your husband poor and forced him to go about his business on the cheap which led to mistakes. Like with his last Renoir, he is now making clumsy errors.”
“You will never catch my Harry,” Charlotte blurted out.
“To the contrary, he will spend his Christmas at Wormwood Scrubs,” Joanna predicted, then pulled on Toby Two’s leash. “Come on, girl. Let us see what other mischief you can stir up.”
Down the stairs and out the back door we went, and entered a small, flowerless garden. To the rear was a wooden shed that had a thatched roof and a locked door. If there was anything of significance in the shed, Toby Two gave no indication of it. However, when the door was opened, the dog dashed in and sniffed at a wheelbarrow and tools with only a modicum of interest. I noticed there were no items that a restorer or forger would use, and no cabinets that might hold paints, brushes, or canvases. In a far corner was a dirty pine chest which Joanna opened and found empty. She tried to drag the chest aside, but she was met with resistance which required her to pull with even more force. As the chest finally moved, it produced the scraping sound of wood rubbing against wood. Toby Two instantly dashed over and began digging at the newly exposed ground. It took less than a minute for the hound to uncover a hidden, locked trapdoor that measured three-by-three feet and had atop it the carved initials HE. Charlotte was asked to open it, but refused, saying she had no key and did not know if one existed. Joanna gave her a look of disbelief, then gestured to a jimmy bar on a nearby shelf. Without permission, the sergeant from Scotland Yard grabbed the bar and used it to pry open the trapdoor. With care he extracted a large, square object that was wrapped in thick tarpaulin.
“Shall I open it, ma’am?” the sergeant asked.
“Please,” said Joanna.
The sergeant slowly removed the double wrapping and held up the concealed item. It was a magnificent painting by Renoir, with his name clearly signed into it. The portrait showed two lovely girls, one a teenager, the other much younger, sitting on a terrace that was festooned with flowers. The red and blue colors were so stunning they literally dazzled the viewer.
“I wonder what Renoir called it?” I asked.
“Two Sisters on the Terrace,” the sergeant answered.
Joanna spun around to the Scotland Yard officer. “Are you a Renoir aficionado?”
“No, ma’am, but my wife is, and we have a reproduction of this very work hanging in our parlor.”
“You may wish to mention this sighting to her, for it must so resemble the original.”
“I shall, ma’am.”
“And now, Sergeant,” Joanna said, refocusing her attention, “please recheck the space beneath the trapdoor and see if anything remains.”
The sergeant reached in to the length of his arm and retrieved a much smaller item that was wrapped in heavy sackcloth. Within were letters that had been well protected from the elements. The letters were addressed to Charlotte Edmunds and each carried a distinct postmark.
“You have no business reading my personal mail,” Charlotte cried out.
“Then I shall make it my business,” Joanna said as she carefully studied the postmarks. “Two of the letters were mailed weeks before your husband’s escape from Wormwood Scrubs and the third following his departure. Let us see what they have to say.”
I peered over Joanna’s shoulder while she read from the first letter. The handwriting was neat and obviously masculine in nature.
My dearest wife,
I have become aware of an early release program which I plan to take advantage of. Once executed I shall be free in every regard and we can spend the rest of our days in great comfort which will be provided by the wealth to come.
Eternally yours,
Harry
“Ah!” Joanna exclaimed. “He writes in code which is quite easy to decipher. The letter was sent two weeks prior to Harry Edmunds’s escape that he refers to as an early release program. Then he writes that once the plan is executed, he will be free in every regard. That is code for burning Derrick Wilson to an unrecognizable crisp so that dear Harry can take his place and be discharged from prison while everyone believes he lies dead cold in the ground. And finally he speaks of wealth to come which no doubt will be derived from the hidden masterpiece.”
“So his wife knew of
