Chapter 12: Holmes

The detective watched as more than twenty maids, ten night porters, and the ground floor butler lined up before him in the office of the Savoy Hotel’s evening manager. He looked down the two orderly lines and deduced a love affair between a porter and a maid, the butler’s overweening fondness for beer, and various other details, none of which suggested immediate relevance to the case at hand. Some of the faces were guilty, some calm, others annoyed at being called from work. Unfortunately for the detective’s purposes, a guilty look could mean a myriad of things that had nothing whatsoever to do with lawlessness, let alone a particular offence.

“Do you find this satisfactory, Mr Holmes?” asked the manager nervously. Contrary to Holmes’s expectation, he had not found it at all difficult to gain admittance to the man’s office. By nature, he was obviously a friendly, gregarious individual, but the description of the gravity of the situation had dampened the high spirits with which he had initially greeted the detective.

“Perfectly so,” Holmes answered, noting that the manager’s cheeks were flushed and that his red hair clung to his forehead with the slight dampness of perspiration. The man’s every action was intensely professional, but Holmes could see that he was unraveling at the edges.

With, seemingly, all the authority his thirty or so years could muster, the man cleared his throat and began to speak loudly over the hum of the voices of the gathering staff. “You have all been called to help give information about a serious matter,” he said. “The police are not involved at present, but they may very well become so if anyone chooses to be uncooperative. Now, Mr Holmes, I’ll let you speak.”

As Holmes was about to open his mouth, the office door opened once again, and The Woman stepped inside. Her presence was welcome, because it would allow him to separate the staff into groups and question them more quickly. He trusted her to single out potential witnesses for his further examination. She took her place by his side, appearing assured and calm in spite of the attention of a room full of people.

“Thank you for assembling,” said the detective. “I am here to enquire about the disappearance, this evening, of a newly-employed porter by the name of Billy.” He could see, as he spoke, that the news was known to some but a shock to others. He noted those who looked excessively surprised, since their reaction proved that they were either uninvolved or trying hard to appear so. “I will now walk around and tap some of you on the shoulder. When I do, I would like you to follow Miss Adler into the office across the hall, where she will hear your stories.” With that, he went through the two lines and selected each of the shocked individuals. As Irene made her way for the door, he brushed past her and whispered uninvolved or extremely guilty, having faith that she would understand his shorthand. If Holmes had had his way, he would have liked to question each person individually, but he was ever conscious of the infuriating fact that each moment that passed might mean the difference between life and death for his faithful page.

The group that remained in the manager’s inner office was smaller than Irene’s. He had kept it for himself because of its potential ambiguity. These were the members of the staff who had shown no discernable reaction or had displayed signs of already having heard about the disappearance. The detective took his seat behind the manager’s desk, wishing to create an impression of distance and authority. Left to his jurisdiction were seven maids, the floor butler, and six porters. It made sense, of course, for a larger proportion of porters to have already known about the event since Billy had worked with them.

“Do any of you wish to make a statement?” asked Holmes. No one moved, and he looked towards the back of the office, where the anxious manager paced behind his employees. “Mr Evans, would you be so good as to send word to the kitchen and ask if anyone might have information they wish to add?” Obviously glad to have been given an errand, the man left immediately with a determined tread. The detective didn’t expect to receive much, if any, information, but he wished to ensure the manager’s absence while he interviewed the staff.

“Now,” said Holmes, “you may feel free to speak. As I understand it, Billy was working as a porter until about two hours ago. Is this true?” The detective noted that five of the porters looked pointedly towards one of the others, who appeared to be the oldest. He stepped forward.

“Yes, he had been here since morning. He was helping guests from the front lobby up to their rooms as we all do. About an hour and three quarters or two hours ago, I noticed that he had not returned for an inordinate amount of time. I asked, and no one had seen him. He might have disappeared before that. I haven’t seen him for at least two hours. I had originally assumed he was with a party of guests.” The man stepped back.

“Has anyone seen him since that time?” asked Holmes.

One of the maids hesitantly came half a step towards the desk. She was young, no more than sixteen to the detective’s eyes. “I - saw him with a man and a woman. It weren’t more than two hours ago.”

At this, Holmes felt his heartbeat quicken. “Yes?” he said, forcing gentleness into his voice, since the girl looked like she might go silent at any moment. “Exactly what did you see?”

The girl blinked a few times. “He were - carrying two suitcases and taking them up to their floor. I don’t know which one.”

“What did these people look like?” asked Holmes.

The girl looked more confident. “Very rich! And she had on a beautiful ermine fur.”

The detective breathed deeply. “How old were they?”

“Young,” she answered vaguely.

“Thank you,” said Holmes, feeling like he had exhausted his resource. “Did anyone else see this?”

No one came forward, but the detective used the moment to scan the faces before him to see if any of them showed flickers of recognition that they refused to share. He mentally singled out two of the porters and a maid who looked as if they might be hiding something. The butler, a distinguished-looking man of high middle age, appeared exceedingly bored by the whole thing.

“What is your name?” Holmes asked the maid who had spoken.

“Hattie Aldridge,” she answered quietly.

“Very well, Miss Aldridge,” he said. “You may be required to give a statement to the police.” Her large, blue eyes filled with sudden fearful tears. The detective had hoped things would proceed in this manner. He had mentioned the police on purpose in order to try to engender sympathy in any members of the group who were fond of the young maid. She was comely enough, in a mousy sort of way, and he had seen some of the porters’ eyes drift towards her several times.

To the detective’s surprise, the butler suddenly snapped to attention as if he had been poked. “That won’t be necessary,” he said quickly. “If I may, I wish to speak with you privately.”

“Certainly,” said Holmes. “The rest of you may go into the outer office. Do not leave until I give the word.” The others shuffled out as a group, but Hattie was the last to go. She gave a poignant look to the old butler before finally taking her leave.

“Now,” said the detective, “what do you wish to tell me?”

“I also saw the couple in question,” said the butler, “and I know the identity of the young lady in the ermine fur. It is not my habit to gossip about guests, but I suppose there is no help for it in the current predicament.”

“Quite so,” said Holmes. “Who was she?”

Speaking very low and bringing his head closer to the detective’s, the butler finally uttered, “Lady Helen Dabney, daughter of the earl.”

“Thank you. Do you know the identity of the man she was with?”

“He was American,” said the butler, “no more than thirty, I wouldn’t think. He seemed - like a gentleman, though I have little to say about a man who brings the unmarried daughter of an earl to a hotel, exposing her to public scorn. He spoke with an accent I have heard described as southern in origin.”

“This has been very helpful,” said Holmes, meaning it. “You’ve most likely saved Miss Aldridge from having to provide a statement.” He could not resist saying this, as an attempt to better understand the obvious connection between the butler and the maid.

“I’m sure she will be relieved,” said the man, his manner entirely professional. With that, Holmes rose and went into the outer office, where the rest of the group stood about in uncomfortable silence.

“You are all free to go,” said Holmes, “but you may be called upon in the future.” From there, he went into the office across the hall, which was smaller and less opulent than the manager’s.

As soon as he opened the door, he saw relief come over The Woman’s face. She was standing, and she looked agitated, as if she had just been speaking in an animated manner. The maids and porters were clustered around her, crowded together miserably.

“I now have the identity of the final guests Billy served before he disappeared,” he said, without preamble. “Miss Adler, do you wish to question any of these people further?” he asked.

“Not at present,” she said calmly, and Holmes repeated the speech he had given the others, assuring them that their statements might still be requested. Once the others had cleared out, he stood opposite Irene.

“The lasts guests Billy saw were an American with a southern accent and the daughter of an earl.”

Irene’s eyebrows shot up. “That seems extremely suggestive. I don’t like to think through the full implication.”

“Nor I,” Holmes admitted, “but it largely rules out the question of whether he was abducted by guests or by someone who worked at the hotel. It would be a heavy coincidence indeed for the American to have nothing to do with it under the present circumstances.”

“This is a mistake,” The Woman suddenly observed.

“What do you mean?” Holmes asked.

“You have always said,” she answered, “that even the most intelligent criminals make a mistake some time. By being brazen enough to walk into the hotel as guests, they have given away a vital part of their anonymity.”

“Exactly so,” said Holmes. “They mistakenly relied on the confusion that attends the constant influx of guests to protect them. As it is, on my side, at least, I could only come up with one maid and the butler who would profess to seeing them. Fortunately, he was able to identify the girl.”

“No one I interviewed would admit to anything,” said Irene, but there was one porter I did not completely trust. His name is Charles Ealey, and I would not put it past him to have been an informer of some kind, helping the kidnappers know the best time and place to carry out their work. The rest of the group seemed genuinely shocked by the event, but he was not a good enough actor to carry it off. He clearly knew about it, but took pains to look as if he did not. I would have encouraged you to interview him when you first came in, but since you already know the identity of the probable kidnappers, I thought it might be unnecessary. I also did not want him to know that I suspected anything, for fear that he would become even more tight-lipped when you spoke to him.”

“Quite right,” said Holmes. “I made that statement for show, because I assumed that you would have the sense to say no, and I wanted to give anyone you suspected the impression that I would not be pursuing them further at this time.”

Just then, the harried manager joined Holmes and Irene. “I’m afraid no one else saw anything,” he said breathlessly. “I’ve asked every other member of staff who was on duty and received nothing helpful.”

“It is no matter,” said the detective. “I have received helpful information.”

“Does this mean you won’t be engaging the police?” asked the man hopefully.

“Not at the moment,” said Holmes, “but you must be aware that there is a chance the man’s body will be found. If that happens, the police will comb every inch of the hotel for clues, you may be sure.”

The manager was aghast, but the detective considered the warning to be analogous to splashing cold water on the face - unpleasantly bracing, perhaps, but helpful. He hoped that the prospect of having Scotland Yard on the premises to frighten and disturb the guests would permeate the hotel and encourage the divulgence of any information heretofore concealed.

“We will - aid you in whatever way we can,” the man finally choked out.

“Excellent,” said Holmes. “The hotel keeps records of the room numbers of guests, I assume.”

“Yes, of course,” answered the manager.

“I must see them.”

***

For all his nervousness, the manager was extremely efficient, and it was clear that his word was absolute law in the Savoy at night. Without delay, he roused up sleepy office workers and produced a book with names and room numbers for each guest. While he perused them, Holmes spoke to the desk workers and was informed that several Americans had arrived that evening and that no one was able to match the particular American in question with a particular room. If, they said, he might have the gentleman’s name, they could help him. Even using the name of the lady was unhelpful.

The detective was inclined to believe them, just as he had believed the butler. Even as night wore on, the hotel was active, and the staff was encouraged to studiously take no notice of the rich patrons. It was in the Savoy’s interest to treat each guest as if he or she were the reigning monarch of England, all the while taking no notice whatsoever of whether or not he or she might actually be. The employees were paid for their ability to be discreet, and they had turned it into a creed. That was immensely useful for the purposes of the hotel, but it was maddening for the purposes of detection.

There is nothing more to be said or to be done tonight, so hand me over my violin and let us try to forget for half an hour the miserable weather and the still more miserable ways of our fellowmen.

- The Five Orange Pips