Kitty.”
“He did indeed. He made it clear to me that every single sheet of paper was vitally important. But he was shaking so badly as he held then out to me: just like in Sir Chisholm’s study that night before I was hypnotized, the papers fell all over the floor. White shapes. And Percy was struggling to breathe, it was so horrible to hear, and I could hear bangs and crashes from outside the cabin, and the lights kept dimming and flickering. Under those flickering lights in the cabin, the papers looked like ghosts. I kept trying to gather them up, I was so scared, so frantic. But in the end, I managed to gather up every single sheet. Then, I knew we had to get out of that cabin. The first time I tried to open the door, I was so scared and confused, I pushed against it. Silly me – I knew, of course, that all the passenger cabin doors on the Titanic opened inwards. So then I pulled the door, and somehow I got Percy out of the room. And to keep them safe I put all the papers down inside my chemise, next to my skin. I kept them safe there, all through the escape from the Titanic, and on the lifeboat, and then when we were rescued by the Carpathia.
When we got to New York, I collapsed at Chelsea Piers. I was taken to the Harlem Hospital in Manhattan. I don’t remember being taken to the hospital – but I do remember waking up there. I struggled to speak, but eventually I explained to the nurses about the papers. And they said they’d look after the papers for me, and keep them there safely.”
Axelson looks at me. “Another of your telegrams, Miss Agnes.”
“Yes, Professor. That was my second telegram from the Olympic. From what Kitty had said under hypnosis, it seemed clear to me that Spence wanted to entrust Kitty with important papers. She had survived the Titanic, and she was in the Harlem Hospital. There was a chance that she had taken the papers there with her. So, I asked the hospital to confirm that a Miss Kitty Murray had been nursed by them last year, and my telegram also asked about an unlikely hope I had. I asked if by any chance the hospital was looking after a set of papers for this Kitty Murray.
The Harlem Hospital received my message, and I was in luck. In fact, as I requested, someone at the hospital kindly transcribed all the figures on those papers into a telegram, and telegraphed the numbers both to Lord Buttermere aboard the Olympic, and to Buttermere’s deputy Arthur Compton at his office in Whitehall. The latter acted very swiftly: Lord Buttermere had briefed Compton what to do if Spence’s information finally arrived. Because, of course, Lord Buttermere had been expecting to get that information, from Jimmy Nolan.
So, by the time the Olympic docked in Southampton, every double agent had already been arrested. From something Lord Buttermere said when he thanked me – which he did very graciously, by the way – I think the traitors number nearly one hundred, and many of them held key positions.”
Kitty asks a question. “So were they all people like Sir Chisholm? How could there be so many of them?”
The professor explains. “There are many admirers of Germany, you know, among England’s educated classes. The British Secret Intelligence Bureau is largely staffed by idealistic, university-educated men who have been shocked by the British Empire’s shameful behavior in Ireland and South Africa. Men like Chisholm. They look at Germany and see a progressive nation. But unlike me, most of these men have never actually lived in Germany. They do not realize that despite all its science and education, Germany is in effect a police state, and that the Kaiser is a war-obsessed despot. And these men seem blissfully unaware of the worst of all the horrors of our modern age – the systematic atrocities committed by the German Army against the native people of South-West Africa. Did you know that entire tribes have been secretly murdered, in the sands of the Namib Desert? The Kaiser’s ‘place in the sun’ is built on a foundation of human blood.”
Kitty’s face has changed; yes, she finally understands Chisholm’s thinking. That a man who is decent in some ways can, in other ways, behave like a monster. “So – Sir Chisholm and his network – they did indeed control much of British Secret Intelligence?”
“They did. They were in a position to totally confuse and misinform every military decision, in the event of war. The information that Spence had gathered, when it finally came through, confirmed Lord Buttermere’s worst fears. If the British Empire were to have gone to war with Germany in March or early April this year, Britain would have been utterly defeated. Right now, a German flag would be flying above London.”
The professor smiles. “And so, you have indeed saved us all, Agnes, from being ruled by a pan-European tyrant. Freedom and democracy would have died.”
“You forget, professor. Kitty and I are women. You speak of the ‘death’ of democracy. But for Kitty and I, democracy has not yet been born.”
“But it will be born, Miss Agnes. Changes, good changes, are coming in America – and they will come all across Europe, too – if we can stop the Kaiser in his tracks. But there is more than that.” The professor looks thoughtful.
“What, Professor?”
“It’s minor, in the great scheme of things. But I think that I myself have changed. Over the course of this case, I have learnt a lot. I greatly respect the courage and intelligence of both of you.” He looks across at Kitty and me – and I think: yes, he has changed. Over the last two months, the superior, patronizing manner that the professor had at that first hypnosis session with Kitty has, little by little, disappeared.
The pointed roof of Glenlui Castle’s highest tower is now plainly visible above the pinewoods that loom darkly ahead of us: we have maybe a mile to go along Loch Lui before our landfall. We’ve been silent for a moment, enjoying the sunshine and the scenery. But the professor bring up one last topic of conversation.
“There is one final thing you have not told us, Miss Agnes. How you concluded that Chisholm was indeed the murderer of Percy Spence – and, how he managed to carry out the murder.”
“Well, this is how, I think, he did it. On the evening before the Titanic sank, after dinner, Chisholm and I played chess. So, I was his alibi. Such a clear alibi that, of all the people aboard the ship, Chisholm was the one person that no-one suspected.
Now, how do you leave an occupied room without being noticed, and enter another room, also occupied, and again without being noticed? Professor, I recall you saying it was impossible, and that’s why you had ruled me out from your list of suspects. But in fact it can be done very easily, if you have two things. Perfect timing, and an accomplice.
As soon as Carver reported to Chisholm that he had overheard a conversation between Percy Spence and Calvin Gilmour, Chisholm knew that he would have the opportunity to kill Spence. Because, Carver told Chisholm that he had heard Spence and Calvin Gilmour talk about two things. The first thing was that Spence did not know what Carver looked like. The second thing was that Gilmour had offered his personal bodyguard to act as a security guard for Spence.
So, Chisholm set his plans in motion. He instructed Carver to pretend to be Gilmour’s bodyguard. Carver approach Spence, saying that his boss Gilmour had told him that Spence was in danger. Carver promised Spence that, as an experienced security guard, he would keep his eyes and ears open for signs of risk. Spence believed him: why shouldn’t he? With that one conversation, everything was set up for the murder.
Now Blanche suffered from headaches, as we know, and she liked to lie down in the evening after dinner. Chisholm knew that this would happen on at least one evening on the voyage. On the night of the 14th April, the headache duly happened, so Blanche was lying down on the four-poster bed, dozing, with the bed-drapes drawn. Chisholm told Kitty that she could have the evening off. So Chisholm and I were left in our cabin, playing chess.
Chisholm knew that at some point in the evening, I would need to use the bathroom. Indeed, thinking back, he kept plying me with water from the carafe. To speak crudely, he was putting pressure on my bladder. But though I drank lots of water, neither he nor I touched the carafe of wine. He knew that I don’t drink it. I prefer water, or Coca-Cola, although I’ve recently acquired
a taste for brandy.”
The professor guffaws to himself at my little joke. He’s recalling the brandy flask back in the woods at Watkins Glen, but I carry on with my story.
“As soon as I went into our cabin’s bathroom, Chisholm opened our cabin door onto the corridor. The opening of the door was a pre-arranged signal to Carver, who had been waiting outside in the corridor all evening. In case the opening of the door was overheard by me or Blanche, Chisholm then had a brief mock conversation with Carver, to the effect that Carver had come to our door, but was looking for the wrong cabin.
Of course, to complete the sound effects, Chisholm himself should have knocked on our cabin door before he opened it. But he forgot, or he didn’t think of it. Do you remember, Professor, that long ago I said to you – ‘I went to open the front door once, when no-one had knocked. I had no idea why I did that. But it was funny – there was actually someone there, just about to knock.’”
“I do remember that, indeed. Your neighbor Mrs Rosenblum, I recall.”
“This time, too, there was someone there, waiting outside but not knocking. Daniel Carver. But of course, there isn’t really a supernatural intuition which makes us go to the door before