Justice Hall - Laurie R. King [86]
“The thread I chose, to fill the time until Wednesday’s meeting in London with the heir apparent, was that of Gabriel Hughenfort.” Holmes paused to set a match to his pipe, then settled back into his chair.
“I began my search for your nephew’s war record, logically enough, at the War Records Offices.”
“Under what name?” Iris asked.
The question rather confused me—how would she know that Holmes had been in disguise?—but Holmes shot her a sharp glance.
“Ah,” he said. “You knew.”
“That Gabriel had enlisted under a pseudonym? He told me, yes.”
Holmes looked at Marsh. “But you did not know this?”
“I had no idea. Why would he use a false name?”
“Because he wanted to be a soldier,” Iris told him simply. “Not a Hughenfort.”
Marsh nodded, understanding. “When I wrote him, I sent the letters through my brother,” he explained. “My knowledge of his whereabouts was likely to be out of date. They never mentioned it. What name did he use, then?”
“Gabriel Hewetson,” Holmes answered.
“Hewetson?” I repeated. “As in Christopher? Irish sculptor, eighteenth century?”
“You saw the Hewetson bust of the third Duke in the Hall?” Iris asked. “It was one of Gabriel’s favourites, looked a bit like him. He may have chosen the name because it hits the ear rather like ‘Hughenfort.’ ”
“It might even appear like ‘Hughenfort’ on an envelope at the Front,” Holmes said, and added, “You’d have saved me half a night of pawing through filing cabinets, had you known. Still, it can’t be helped.
“There is a clerk in the Records Offices for whom I once performed a discreet service, and who in return is happy to expedite any enquiries I might have concerning those who have worn a uniform. That Gabriel Hughenfort’s was not a public record was apparent immediately I heard that members of the man’s own family were unaware of his fate. A shameful end for a prominent name—records are sealed for much less than that. However, I had not expected that they might be removed entirely.
“All started well enough. I arrived in London, I found my man, arrangements were made for an after-hours rendez-vous when we might read our files undisturbed, and I passed the intervening time in an afternoon concert. I am pleased to report that the cultural life of the great city is quite recovered from the losses during the War. However, you are not interested in my pleasures.
“I presented myself at the appointed hour, allowed myself to be escorted surreptitiously through a side-door, and gave my clerk the information I required. It was not with the general records, which was no surprise, but we pressed on.
“Eventually, we found a file with the name we sought, but as a soldier’s service record, it left a great deal to be desired. His family history consisted of Justice Hall, Berks, full stop. There were medical records from his enlistment, height, weight, and childhood illnesses, but those contained nothing after October. The service record itself covered training and made note of where he was being sent, then that too stopped.”
“So his records from the Front were either lost or separated?” I suggested.
“So I’d have thought,” he said, “except that his file also contained the standard typed notification of Gabriel Hughenfort’s death.”
That, we all had to agree, was difficult to explain.
“My clerk was well and truly stymied. He’d never seen anything like it, he said—and then he corrected himself. He had, perhaps, once or twice, when he’d chanced upon the ill-concealed record of government agents. Spies, if you will.”
Holmes puffed his pipe and watched our reactions. Alistair and Iris sat up sharply; Marsh tried to, and grunted. Even I was startled—and here I’d thought I was joking when I speculated about the future Phillida’s two children might find in the family espionage business.
Holmes was nodding. “My ears pricked, as you can imagine. And then