Garden of Secrets Past

THIRTY


In his study, Kingston got The Oxford Book of English Verse off a shelf. Even though it was only a couple of minutes since Mrs. Tripp’s stroke of serendipity, he now had a good idea what “thirty to six” in the riddle meant: They were seven lines of the poem, the thirtieth to the thirty-sixth. Studying the Elegy, he saw that it was constructed of thirty-two stanzas, each of four lines. Kingston found the eighth stanza, which started with line twenty-nine. Lines thirty to thirty-six were:

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;

Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,

The short and simple annals of the poor.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,

And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave,

Await alike the inevitable hour;

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

So this was it, he said to himself. Exposing the long-dormant dark secret of Sturminster could be close at hand. All that was necessary now was to solve the code hidden in the seven lines of Gray’s Elegy: the seven lines of the second ciphertext on the envelope, under the arrow. Problem was, solving it wasn’t going to be anywhere as easy as the first code. It wasn’t so much a question of it being beyond his knowledge of cryptography as his ability to remember the process essential to decrypting a cipher embedded in the lines of a book or a poem. He had a vague recollection that it required a separate shift for each letter, as opposed to just the one shift in the codes that he’d demonstrated to Andrew, but that was about all. He leaned back, pondering this new dilemma.

Kingston read the spare and powerfully moving lines several times, even knowing it would be of no help in solving the riddle within. He opened his file cabinet and pulled out the Sturminster file, quickly finding a copy of the Winterborne code. He started to transfer the characters in the Winterborne ciphertext underneath each character in the seven lines of the poem. He had every expectation that both the poem and the key would have the same number of characters, which they did. The first two lines completed—no punctuation and no spacing—he studied them to make sure he’d made no errors.

THEIRHOMELYJOYSANDDESTINYOBSCURE





HMFCZBTZUXDCINGFGXLJVIURSGWMKNLF





NORGRANDEURHEARWITHADISDAINFULSMILE





BSKAWTHERZFBYPTIXILJIMAEOMGGIUZAXNQ





Satisfied so far, he continued until the seven lines were completed. He then went to work, putting his memory and perseverance to the test, buoyed by an unfounded sense of optimism that, by plugging away at it assiduously, the methodology would come back to him and he would succeed in unlocking the code. After an hour and a half, he put his pencil down and, with great reluctance and humility, admitted defeat.

After thinking for a minute or so, he decided that if he were to seek expert advice, the best place to look for it would be GCHQ. Though he preferred not to, that would mean calling the chap Morley had mentioned. He would surely be able to offer advice. Kingston riffled through the Sturminster file and found the copy of the report that Harry Tennant had submitted to Lord Morley. He then reached for the phone and called Directory Enquiries for the number.

Kingston’s call was transferred to Tennant’s office. Miracle of miracles for a government department, Tennant was on the line in seconds. Kingston introduced himself, mentioning his brief stint with intelligence in Ashford and further explaining that he was conducting an inquiry into the Sturminster murders on Lord Morley’s behalf.

“Morley told me that some time ago you examined what was suspected as being part of a coded message,” said Kingston.

“Right. Have you found the other half?”

“No. Somehow I don’t think we will, either. I’m calling about another matter, this time it really is a cipher.”

“You sound sure of that.”

“I am certain of it. The problem is, it’s hidden in the lines of a famous poem and I’ve completely forgotten the method of deciphering it. It’s been so long since I’ve done that sort of thing. I have the ciphertext, of course.”

“Be happy to help. Do you want to e-mail me the information?”

“If it’s not asking too much, I’d prefer that you walk me through the methodology on the phone. The information contained in the decoded message could be of a personal nature and extremely sensitive and I don’t want to put you in what could be a vulnerable position.”

“I understand. That’s usually why codes are necessary: to protect critical information.”

For the next ten minutes, with Kingston writing notes, Tennant went through the steps enabling Kingston to decipher the second part of the Winterborne code. Satisfied that he could now do it, Kingston thanked Harry—as he’d asked to be called—and they chatted for another minute or so.

“I have one more request, Harry, if that’s all right?”

“Of course.”

“Two, actually. For several reasons it’s extremely important to the investigation that nobody learns of our conversation. The second is equally imperative. If anyone should happen to inquire about decoding ciphers related to the Sturminster case—no matter whom it might be—I would ask that you find a way to decline such a request. It’s a lot to ask, I know, particularly for someone in your position. All I can say is that the code in question could very well be crucial to solving the recent crimes committed at Sturminster and perhaps some from the past. If the information falls into the wrong hands, it could have nasty repercussions, even endangering more lives.”

Tennant paused. “I’ll take your word for it, Lawrence,” he said. “And you have mine. I wish you luck and you must promise to tell me about it, if and when it’s solved.”

Kingston put down the phone and immediately picked it up again to call Andrew with the good news, but the line was engaged. After closing the door, to silence the drone of Mrs. Tripp’s vacuum, he returned to his desk and, with Harry’s instructions next to him, started anew trying to solve the message concealed in the lines from Gray’s Elegy.

Five minutes later, still struggling with the code, there was a knock on the door. He got up and opened it to see Mrs. Tripp. “Mr. Andrew is here to see you, Doctor,” she said. “He’s in the living room.”

“Tell him to come in, if you would, please.” He left the door open and returned to his desk.

“I called you a few minutes ago,” said Andrew, entering the study. “Your line was busy.”

Kingston spun his chair around. “I was talking to a code expert,” he said.

“I was on my way out, so I thought I’d stop by. A code expert? Anything happening? You look like the cat that just swallowed the canary.”

“Happening? Might be an understatement.” Kingston pulled on his earlobe. “Pull up that chair and sit down. Mrs. Tripp and I just solved the Winterborne riddle.”

Andrew frowned. “Mrs. Tripp? ”

“That’s right. Turns out she’s a Thomas Gray aficionado. She can practically recite the entire Elegy.”

“Really. Gray’s Elegy?”

Kingston went on to explain how it had all happened just a few minutes earlier and of his conversation with Harry Tennant.

Andrew looked wide-eyed. “Are you close to solving it?”

“I’m not sure. It sounded easy when Tennant described the methodology, and I wrote it all down, but it’s not as easy as I’d hoped. Instead of a simple shift of the alphabet, like the one I showed you, this involves a shift for each individual letter.”

“I see.”

“Are you in a hurry to go somewhere?”

“No. I was going to the bank and the post office.”

“Then you might want to stay, because this could be a moment you’ll remember for a long time. If you want some coffee or tea, go ask Mrs. Tripp.”

With Tennant’s instructions beside him, and Andrew sitting alongside, Kingston went back to work on the code, focusing on only the first two lines of the ciphertext:

HMFCZBTZUXDCINGFGXLJVIURSGWMKNLF





BSKAWTHERZFBYPTIXILJIMAEOMGGIUZAXNQ





For the next ten minutes, assiduously matching the cipher characters against those of the poem and double-checking to make sure there were no transposition errors, a coherent message began to unfold. Kingston knew that he’d succeeded in breaking the code. When the two lines were completed, he and Andrew read the decrypted lines, below, in awestruck silence, soon broken by boisterous high fives.

THEIRHOMELYJOYSANDDESTINYOBSCURE





NEATHTEMPLESTONESTHECOLDTRUTHSTA





NORGRANDEURHEARWITHADISDAINFULSMILE





NDSTESTAMENTTOBLOODIEDHANDSANIGNOBL





With the technique now down pat, Kingston went back to work feverishly, and in another ten minutes they were looking at an eight-line printout of the decrypted message that was hidden in the seven lines of Gray’s Elegy:

Neath temple stones the cold truth stands

Testament to bloodied hands

An ignoble life of sin and lies

Moulders in shame from worldly eyes

Five north of centre oer column tall

The epilogue is writ upon the wall

Auriga awaits a judgment day

His four spoked wheel points the way

“The ‘temple’ must be the Athenian Temple monument at Sturminster,” Kingston muttered. “And all the time I was focused on the Arcadian monument.”

“It’s another damned riddle. And who or what is Auriga?” Andrew asked, frowning.

“It’s a riddle, all right, but it also gives directions, tells how to solve it. Auriga, as I recall, is one of the constellations in the Milky Way. It’s the Latin word for charioteer.”

Andrew was shaking his head. “So what does it all mean?”

“Give me a moment, Andrew,” Kingston replied impatiently. “I need to think about it.”

Kingston studied the eight enigmatic lines for a minute or so, reading the words carefully, eventually looking up toward the ceiling. The ‘stones’ must be those on the floor of the temple,” he said, staring into space. “I only saw them from a distance, but they appeared quite large. We need to determine the center point of the floor, which is simple. Then, in a northerly direction, count off five stones. That should position us next to, or near, one of the inner columns. ‘O’er column tall’ suggests that above the column, in all probability on the bas-relief frieze—most Greek temples have them—there should be a chariot or the figure of a charioteer. Most likely it will be the former because the ‘judgment day’—or revelation, if you will—is to be found in the wheel of the chariot.”

“Something hidden behind the wheel?”

“No. My guess is that the chariot wheel itself conceals a device that activates a mechanism of some kind that raises one of the stones.”

“Under which we’ll find the answer to all of our questions—the secret of Sturminster?”

“I’m sure of it, Andrew. It leaves little doubt. There’s a problem, though.”

“What do you mean? I thought you just said we’d solved it?”

Kingston was pulling on his earlobe. “A different kind of problem. We obviously can’t go barging around the temple during the daytime, with all those visitors and staff people around. They can get as many as two thousand visitors on a good day.” He paused, looking aside, then said, “We must go in at nighttime.”

Andrew looked startled. “You’re not serious, surely?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you suggesting that we break into Sturminster’s grounds in the middle of the night and start chiseling away at their temple? We’d probably be arrested before we got past the gates. You must hand this over to the police.”

“We’re not going through the gates. They’ll all be closed anyway. And this is far too complicated to involve the police at this point. Before we do that, before anything, we must find out if we’re right about the riddle.”

Andrew looked anything but convinced. “Surely they must have a security system.”

“They do. Crawford told me.”

“How do you plan to deal with that?”

“He also said that it was impossible for them to monitor every inch of their fifteen hundred acres twenty-four/seven.”

Andrew shook his head. “Count me out,” he said.

“I thought you insisted on accompanying me from now on,” said Kingston.

“Not if it means breaking the law.”

“Come on, Andrew. We’re this close to what could be a huge discovery. Why do you think someone went to all the trouble of devising such complex codes and riddles? The only possible explanation is that what he was hiding was either—as Veitch was convinced—to cover up a crime of historical proportions or to conceal something of incalculable value…”

“Or both.”

“Possibly.”

“Forget the crime part, Lawrence. We both know it’s all about the loot.”

Kingston didn’t hear Andrew’s last comment. He’d gone to the window and was staring out at the square, chin cradled on his clenched fist, deep in thought. Suddenly, he turned and came back to face Andrew. “We must drive to Sturminster tonight,” he said with underlying urgency.

“You must drive to Sturminster tonight,” retorted Andrew, starting to get up.

“I need to think more about their security. How far do you think it is from the main gate to the Athenian Temple?”

“Lawrence, you know damned well I’ve never been there. What’s got into you?”

“Sit down,” said Kingston. It was more a command than a polite invitation.

Andrew slumped in the chair, grudgingly, facing Kingston. In situations like this, he knew better than to argue and remained silent, glaring at his friend.

“If I were to guess, there could be two or three layers of security at Sturminster. Figuratively speaking, let’s call them circles of increasing diameter, like ripples caused by a pebble thrown into a pond. The first circle embraces the house and the adjacent garden—not a large area. The next covers all the land surrounding the eight monuments—a substantially larger area.” He paused and closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to recall the topography. “Last, there’s the open land, with no structures, stretching to the outer perimeter, by far the biggest part of the estate.” He paused and looked at Andrew. “Are you following me?”

Andrew nodded petulantly. “Go on,” he muttered.

“It stands to reason that the innermost circle around the house and its immediate surroundings would be monitored with more vigilance, probably by a combination of nighttime patrols, closed-circuit cameras, and perhaps other electronic devices. This doesn’t concern us, though. It’s the next two circles that we must deal with. Of the two, the inner one will present the bigger problem. That’s where the Athenian Temple stands. As for the parkland to the outer perimeter, my guess is that surveillance there is minimal or there’s none at all. It’s all open land with nothing to steal or vandalize. Besides, the perimeter is huge. You must get it into your head, Andrew: Sturminster is about five times the size of Kew Gardens.”

“Okay. But you’re not suggesting we hike in, are you?”

Kingston shook his head. “For heaven’s sake, can’t you come up with something more constructive?”

“I’m simply trying to find a way of going in there without ending up in jail.”

“What do you think I’m trying to fathom?” Kingston shot back, with a hint of impatience. “We must get a map, get to know the lay of the land, find out what other roads access the property—such as tradesmen’s entrances, and we need to establish the exact location of the temple and the section of the perimeter that’s closest.” He raised a pointed finger, wagging it. “And—let’s not forget to check the phase of the moon.”

Andrew’s sigh of resignation was self-evident as he shook his head. “And our horoscopes, while we’re at it,” he muttered.

“I’ll ignore that.”

“Let me make sure I understand what you’re suggesting. All we are doing is a reconnaissance, nothing more. Right?”

Kingston nodded, holding up his hand. “However, if all goes well, and providing we’re not interrupted, we could test our theory—to see if I’m right—that there’s a mechanism in the frieze that raises a stone in the floor, revealing what’s underneath.”

Andrew sighed. “I still don’t see why we can’t just turn this over to Lord Morley and the police. Isn’t that what you were hired to do? Your assignment is completed. Let them do the heavy lifting and mopping up. Besides, what you’re suggesting is patently asking for trouble. It could be dangerous, Lawrence. Dangerous.”

Kingston drew himself up to full height, commanding Andrew’s attention. “Look, Andrew,” he said forcefully. “This is my last attempt to convince you why we must do this at night—that there’s no other way. First, we will have the place all to ourselves. Second, if we’re successful in finding out what’s under the floor of the temple, it could—and I say could—also lead to solving the murders. Why don’t we go to Lord Morley and the police, you ask? I’ll tell you why. Because I’ve reached the point in this investigation where I don’t trust anybody, least of all any of the Morley family, with all their damned secrets. I keep asking myself why I’ve been shadowed and threatened, but more important, by whom. As far as I’m concerned, everyone’s suspect now.” He drew a breath, looked around the room, then continued. “If we tell Morley that we’ve solved the riddle and tell him everything we know, what’s to prevent him and his people from going in alone, finding what’s under the floor of the temple, and then denying the presence of anything, covering the whole thing up? As for Wheatley and the police, Morley could quite easily dissuade them from investigating the temple. He could simply remove all evidence, saying that he’d gone over it already and had come up empty-handed. Don’t forget it’s on private property, and unless Wheatley were to suspect that the temple contained evidence concerning the murders, he might take Morley’s word for it that nothing out of the ordinary was found. If push came to shove, Morley could easily show them to prove it. No. I’ve come this far, Andrew, and I’m damned well going to finish it, with you or without you.”

“All right, Lawrence. I somehow didn’t expect you to change your mind.” He got up and walked toward the door. “I’ll call you in the morning,” he said, holding it ajar. “Maybe thinking about it overnight will make you see reason,” he added, closing the door quietly behind him.