“No, madam. There was no need, for they remained pristine and unscarred.”
“Ah, so you had mentioned,” Joanna said, as if reminding herself. “Well then, we won’t intrude further on your valuable time. But I would suggest, Mr. Hawke, that you change the lock on the door in the alleyway to a newer and perhaps improved model.”
Hawke’s brow wrinkled with concern. “Do you expect the vandal to return here yet again?”
“I do.”
“Based on what?”
“The singular fact that he was interrupted while here last,” Joanna replied. “I am afraid our vandal has unfinished work at Hawke and Evans.”
“Then we shall prepare for him with surprises even he could not anticipate,” Hawke vowed.
“Do not underestimate this vandal, for he is most clever,” Joanna cautioned.
“May I remind you, madam, that there are only two entrances into this gallery and I can assure you both will be closely guarded.”
“And I assure you, sir, that our vandal will be much aware of this very same fact.”
Joanna’s warning gave little comfort to Simon Hawke, but it was the truth and the owner needed to be forewarned. It was clear to all that a rapid resolution was not to be had in this case, and on that rather pessimistic note we departed the gallery.
Outside, we gathered in a circle and pulled up our collars against the chilled wind and falling snow. Christmas shoppers were now out in force, entering and leaving the shops up and down the fashionable avenue. But none even approached Hawke and Evans, and none would until this dreadful case was solved.
We held our silence as a group of carolers, all splendidly dressed in Victorian attire, passed by us on the footpath singing the sweet “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.” More than a few of the shoppers, with wrapped gifts in hand, gathered around the young carolers and happily joined in the most pleasant Christmas song. Their merriment did little to raise my spirits, for I feared we remained in the dark as to the who and why of the baffling case before us. Inspector Lestrade seemed to share my opinion.
“I am afraid we have come up empty,” he said, shivering against the cold. “I saw no new clues.”
“There are a few which could prove helpful,” Joanna suggested.
“Such as, madam?”
“The lockpick.”
“But there are hundreds of lockpicks in London,” Lestrade countered. “And most of them are quite good.”
“But not good enough to penetrate a Chubb detector lock,” Joanna went on. “Such a feat would require a master lockpick who towers above the others. How many can fit into that category, Inspector? I will wager very few.”
Lestrade gave the matter thought as he tapped a finger against his chin. He then considered the question further, now moving his lips while he counted. “Three come to mind, madam. There is Samuel Marr who we can eliminate, for he is currently serving a sentence at Pentonville.”
“But he was caught!” Joanna challenged.
“Only because one of his crew ratted on him,” Lestrade explained. “The other two worthy of consideration are Joseph Blevins and Archie Griffin, both sharp as a knife and always one step ahead of Scotland Yard.”
“Who is the more needy of the two?”
“Blevins, for he is said to be going blind.”
And thus he would be the less costly of the pair, I thought to myself, remembering that our vandal was a man of limited means. But would a blind man still be picking locks? Of course he would. Picking a lock depends on feel and not sight.
“Then it is he who you must start with,” Joanna said.
“Neither will confess, madam, for it is not in their best interest to do so,” Lestrade pointed out. “A confession would send them to prison and both know it. There is no getting around that.”
“Oh, but there is, Inspector,” said Joanna. “Bring the pair in for questioning that is to be done at Scotland Yard, which will emphasize the gravity of the situation. Place each in a separate room and tell them you know of their involvement in the crime at Hawke and Evans, mentioning an eyewitness who will remain nameless. If they describe the man who hired them, they will be set free with a warning. If they refuse, they will be charged and can expect the worst.”
Lestrade nodded slowly. “They would certainly have no allegiance to the vandal, and would wish only to save their own skin.”
“Precisely,” Joanna agreed, clearly warming to the plan. “You might also inform each that failure to identify the vandal will add significantly to their sentences.”
“You do of course realize that in all likelihood they will not know the vandal’s true name.”
“But they will know his face and that is what we require at this point in time.”
“Let us hope one of these fish bite.”
“Use the correct bait and he will.”
We hurried to the warmth of our waiting four-wheeler and remained silent as we rode back to 221b Baker Street where we hoped to indulge in one of Miss Hudson’s sumptuous brunches. The snow was falling heavily now and a very white Christmas seemed assured, but the joy of the season would certainly not visit the art galleries in the West End. My mind returned to the Hawke and Evans gallery where so little was learned. I could think of nothing that would lead us in one direction or another, and attempting to track down the vandal via the lockpick he hired seemed a long shot indeed.
“What bothers you so, John?” Joanna asked, breaking into my thoughts. “And before you inquire, I determined you are bothered because of the tightening of your jaw and the stern expression on your face. You appear to be a man trying to solve an unsolvable riddle.”
“I see so few clues in this case. All we have at our disposal are slashed paintings and a picked lock, which leaves us quite in the dark.”
“Ah, but there is more.”
“Such as?”
“The backings of the five slashed paintings.”
“You consider them to be important?”
“Exceedingly so.”
“Is there any point to
