Hidden In Smoke

The grandfather clock had just started to chime through the silence of 3 AM, when hidden in smoke we find the source of the sound. At first glance, this appears to be the typical turn of the century clock. 

It’s only when we take a closer look that we can discover the true uniqueness of the object. Throughout the city, you could find similar shaped wooden grandfather clocks, carefully crafted by hand. However, the shape would be the only way in which you could compare this particular object.

Through tubes of clear glass, colourful liquids flow in a circular formation, rushing towards the centre. Following their path, we arrive at a cast-iron figure, shaped to the tip of a teapot. 

An arm holding out a cup pokes through the smoke towards the machine as he places it underneath the now glowingly hot tip and we lose him in the smoke again. We take a closer look at the clock-face to discover little candles rotating on a conveyor belt, behind the neat handwriting on flipping, pieces of paper. 

From the machine, the steam whistles as the water flows from the glowing cast iron figure, tip of a teapot. A commotion from the front door at this hour could lead to an interesting evening or a troublesome mess, as a crescendo of knocks joins the chiming.

Lieutenant Hayes, being his usual impatient self, came bursting through the door to find a smoke-filled room. Through the smoke, we can make out his handlebar moustache, which was quite fashionable here, near the start of 1901 in Johannesburg, South Africa.

Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to cover his mouth he slowly proceeds through the room, clearly looking for someone. He is wearing a military uniform, with his medals sparkling like new. He takes pride in them as he polishes them every night, before going to bed. A cough comes from the corner of the room where a barely dressed man pops up like a meerkat through the smoke.

“Hayes, is that you?” 

The man asks with squinting, bloodshot, baby blue eyes, trying to get a better look. He picks up a strikingly red gown from the floor and covers himself, just before he starts coughing again.

“Dear God Evans, what is this?” 

Hayes, still covering his mouth with one hand lets out a deep cough and uses the other to try and waft the smoke, hoping it would dissipate. 

“Purely an experiment dear Lieutenant, one with quite the unexpected side effect, rejuvenating yes, but still unexpected. I would however suggest that you keep your mouth covered, as you are still on the job it would seem.”

Hayes pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and proceeds to read it out loud, his words muffled by the handkerchief tightly covering his mouth. 

“Ernest Evans, your services are needed. Lord Chamberlain.” 

Hayes stuffs the paper back in his pocket knowing that this request would do nothing to assist in Ernest Evans learning some humility. As the smoke starts to dissipate we can finally see this big, blue-eyed, bearded, man who is now brimming with pride. He reaches out back to the machine and retrieves his cup, takes a sip looking at Lieutenant Hayes with an expression of excitement.

“I shall meet you downstairs in three minutes.” 

Ernest vanishes in the smoke again.

A man in uniform is standing underneath a candlelit streetlight. From his pocket he pulls his smoking pipe, with an already dirty thumb he presses the previously lit tobacco down and puffs away at the light of a matchstick. His smoke is a thick cloud covering the road, through which the sound of footsteps can be heard.

“Ah, the familiar scent of my Lord Chamberberlain.” 

Covered in smugness Ernest comes walking through the smoke, with Hayes short on his trail.

“Good evening, Major Smith. A codeword at this time of night, it could not wait till first light?” 

Ernest’s face shows his pure curiosity.

“Lower your voice Evans, we have a problem that needs taken care of immediately.” 

His hands tremble as he tries to pack another pipe, trembling so intensely that the matches won’t light. Ernest pulls a lighter from his pocket and assists the trembling Smith.

“Do you know Colonel Milner?”

“I believe he is the man in charge of the armoury here in the city.” 

“He’s dead. Found with his throat cut outside a nearby tavern. I need you to take a look.”

Ernest looks confused, 

“This matter sounds simple enough for the Lieutenant to take care of. Therefore you must be holding out on me my dear Smith, there’s something you’ve left out.”

“His keys are missing Evans, the keys to the armoury. By the time this was brought to our attention the armoury had already been cleaned out. Everything’s gone, including a recent dynamite shipment for the mines, three tons of the stuff. That’s enough to level part of the city. There’s one more thing, Turner has been sighted in the city.”

Now Ernest understands why Smith seems so terrified. Timothy Turner was like a brother to Ernest. Then, about four months ago, rumours of a turned British Lieutenant had spread like wildfire. After which, Turner disappeared, without a trace. Documents and certain prohibited items were discovered in his living quarters and he was declared to be a traitor. 

This is something Ernest found difficult to accept. He spent a lot of time with Turner and never thought him capable of becoming a traitor. It was with Turner that he built that unique clock, tea-making contraption. A hefty bounty is waiting for collection to whoever can apprehend him, dead or alive. The bounty is however not the main source of motivation for Ernest, he just wants answers. Also, should the dynamite fall into the wrong hands, the British occupation of Southern Africa could be in serious jeopardy.

“Lieutenant Hayes will take you to the body. Evans, we need you at your best!”

“I’m always at my best my dear Smith.” 

At this Ernest and Hayes take their leave through the mist that is starting to cover the city streets.

Hayes is first to break silence on their walk to the tavern, “I’ve never seen Smith like that. So you know this traitor Turner?”

“Well, I thought I knew him, but as it turns out I don’t. He has a brilliant mind, so we should be careful. As for Smith well, fear does strange things to us all.”

“But Evans, you hardly seem worried?”

“To worry is to suffer twice, and I’m not about to let anyone suffer even once.” 

Hayes smiles at this, 

“Be careful Evans, it almost sounds like you care about more than just yourself.”

The tavern looks like just another building that is filled with workers of some kind during the day. There is no signage welcoming its customers and this level of discretion would definitely suggest that this establishment caters to more than just thirst, lust is also on the menu. 

The main entrance is nicely hidden at the back of an alley, guarded by another uniformed man, nervously puffing away at his hand-rolled cigarette. Ernest and Hayes appear like saviours through the mist.

“Lieutenant, thank God, I was starting to think I’d be alone here all night.” 

“You might well be Cadet, we’re just passing through to take a-“

“We really don’t have time for tea right now, maybe next time.”

Ernest pushes past the Cadet making his way down the lantern-lit alley. Colonel Marshal Milner’s body is lying face down in a pool of his own blood. Ernest grabs a lantern and pulls Hayes closer, 

“Make yourself useful and hold this.” 

As Hayes holds the lantern, Ernest flips the body over. Eyes wide open, the look of panic permanently etched onto his face through the rigor mortis that has started setting in. The Colonel’s uniform is covered in a mud like substance resulting from the mixture of dirt and blood. 

Examining his hands, the palms and fingers are covered in blood, but no bruises, broken bones or nails. The belt running around his sizeable waist was undone, presumably when the killer removed the keys. Ernest checks the Colonel’s pockets to find a rather substantial stack of one pound notes and his pistol still holstered. Finally, he takes a look at the Colonel’s neck, it’s a very clean cut, clean and deep.

Ernest stands up and takes a step back from the body,

“Well then, off to the armoury shall we?” 

“The armoury? But we just got here, there is no way you found anything useful yet.”

Ernest just smiles at Hayes for a second or two before taking a deep breath, 

“Rigor mortis would suggest he was killed around 1100 hours, no defensive wounds and a holstered weapon tells us he knew his would be killer, which is how the killer could get close enough to open his neck completely. 

We know he was on his way to the tavern and not on his way back from the tavern because of the stack of pounds he hasn’t spent yet, the presence of this and his weapon would also suggest that he was killed for his keys and only his keys.” 

Hayes stares at Ernest in complete disbelieve. 

“The blood on the palms of his hands tells us that he tried to stop the bleeding, but the depth of the clean cut also tells us that he stood no chance of survival. This cut was made quickly and without hesitation, by a singularly motivated killer, whose motive can only be discovered by a trip to the armoury.”

Ernest holds out his arm showing the way out of the alley, “Shall we?”

The armoury is located in the Johannesburg Fort, quite the sight to behold. The Fort’s construction was completed in 1899 by the South African Republic’s President Kruger, to protect them from the British. As you may have surmised by now, the fort was not theirs for very long. Less than a year ago, on 31 May 1900, Johannesburg fell to the overwhelming British forces, who now occupy the stronghold.

The soldiers line the perimeter, surrounding the fort. One starts to wonder how three tons of dynamite, boxes of ammunition, and rifles could possibly be slipped past them unnoticed.

The armoury is a free-standing structure very near the centre of the fort, which again raises the question of how did no-one see anything. Ernest and Hayes reach the entrance of the armoury as Ernest pauses and takes a look at the fort from this vantage point. The armoury is visible to two guard towers and three of the thirty-foot walls, where soldiers are constantly patrolling.

They enter the armoury and arrive in a corridor down which they proceed to the very end. With every step, the wooden floors creak. The gate is wide open and there in the keyhole, we see the Colonel’s keys. I’m not sure what Ernest was expecting when entering the main room where all the weapons, ammunition and dynamite was kept, but his face surely gave away his confusion.

All the boxes in which the ammunition came, neatly stacked up against the wall, empty. Against the opposite wall the empty crates in which the dynamite arrived, stacked just as neatly. Same thing for the boxes in which the rifles were kept, all neatly stacked, but empty. 

The look on Hayes’s face was even more forthcoming as he dumbfoundedly said, 

“What the hell is this? There’s nothing left, how did all of this just get past all the soldiers out there?”

“Now that is the question, Hayes.” 

Ernest takes a few steps forward on the creaking floor when he stops and takes a few steps back and does it again. A slight pitch change in the creaking wooden floors has caught his attention as he bends down to take a closer look. 

“Hand me your knife.” 

Hayes removes his knife from its sleeve and hands it to Ernest who uses it to lift one of the floorboards. 

“That’s how they did it.” 

Underneath the floorboard, there’s a hole that seems to lead somewhere. Excited by this discovery Ernest grabs a lantern from the wall and proceeds down the hole before Hayes can even object. “Hayes, are you coming?” 

He seems to be frustrated with Ernest, 

“Well, I don’t really have a choice now do I?” 

He grabs another lantern and proceeds down the hole. Beneath the room, they discover a tunnel, in which they find a conveyor belt. Ernest stands frozen in complete disbelief. He knows this design, from the tea making clock contraption, except it has been scaled up to accommodate much heavier objects. This is how everything was moved unnoticed. There is only one other person alive that could have possibly upscaled the design, Turner. Ernest inspects the walls of the tunnel, it’s smooth and definitely not new. 

“This tunnel could have been used by President Kruger to move the gold, the so-called ‘Kruger Millions’ that went missing after we took Johannesburg.” 

Hayes stands looking at the conveyor belt, 

“Well, this belt thing would have made their job much easier.” 

It seems that Ernest partially takes offensive to this, 

“This belt thing is of my own design, and clearly not as old as this tunnel. It must have been put together sometime in the last few months since we designed it only six months ago.”

“So it is Turner then?”

“It has to be.”

A sound comes from down the tunnel that startles them, but they give chase nonetheless. Further, into the tunnel, they discover another familiar design. A big squarish object, from which long tubes of clear glass stretch in a circular pattern, and at the centre of this squarish object, the unmistakable red wrapping of sticks of dynamite. 

Evans stands once again frozen in place, but Hayes bravely takes a step towards the object when suddenly through the tubes of clear glass, colourful liquids flow in a circular formation, rushing towards the centre. Ernest reacts immediately,

“We need to run.”

He grabs Hayes by the arm as they run for their lives straight past the object, down the tunnel, where they find an open door, through which they jump without hesitation.

A big explosion rocks the ground, as the force from the blast violently slams the door shut behind them. They just lie there covered in dust, but they know how lucky they are that they found a way out of the tunnel, at just the right time. 

“Another one of your designs I assume.”

“That was not what I intended when I first drew up the design. Where are we?” 

During the commotion both the lanterns they had with them were left behind somewhere, now they find themselves in complete darkness. Ernest can feel the shape of what can only be stairs, as he follows their path he reaches the top. A slither of light is coming from underneath what could be a door. As he pushes the door, it opens. They find themselves in an old warehouse, somewhere near the outskirts of the city. 

In front of them are three big carriages loaded with all the ammunition, rifles, and the dynamite. An armed man comes running into the warehouse, but before he could point his gun, Hayes swiftly pulls his Mauser C96 pistol from its holster and gets off a headshot. The man falls like a sack of potatoes.

“Who is this? Could he be behind this elaborate plot?”

Ernest takes a closer look at the man as his mind is flooded with thoughts. The man appears to be a commando of the South African Republic, well that is what his clothing and choice of weapon would suggest, how could he get close enough to a Colonel of the British army to cleanly cut his throat. Did Turner give him the designs? He could not possibly have done this on his own, building the conveyor belt and the explosive device.

All of these thoughts were rushing through Ernest’s head when he felt the cold touch of a pistol against the back of his head.

“Hayes, you work with Turner?”

 Ernest turns around to face Hayes. 

The facade evaporates as the real Hayes comes to the surface. “On point as always Evans, except for the fact that I killed Turner months ago.”

“What? Why?”

“Well once the rumours of the turned soldier started Turner started to suspect me, he followed me one night and let’s just say he followed me into a-”

Ernest lunges at Hayes and stabs him straight in his heart with the knife he used to lift the floorboards, which he never gave back.

Hayes drops the pistol, as the blood starts coming from his mouth. Ernest is still keeping pressure on the knife when he leans in to whisper in Hayes’s ear.

“Thank you for finally telling me the truth. I’ve got a secret too, I knew it was you. I got my final confirmation the moment you ‘bravely’ approached the explosive device. That wasn’t brave, it was idiotic.

The Colonel knew you of course, and he never saw the blade coming for his throat, that’s where you got the key, which you never even needed since you used the tunnels to clear out the armoury even before getting your hands on the key, which you took just to send everyone on a wild goose chase. 

But you were prepared for the possibility of someone finding the tunnels, where you used the designs you must have stolen from Turner’s living quarters when you were planting false evidence. Along the way trying to convince me that Turner was a traitor. With only one problem, I never believed you.”

Ernest twists the blade as Hayes takes his final breath.