“We’re going to the Cartwright place,” Meg Woolitzer said as we’d started out. “It’s pretty far out but the old man told me he has lots of scrap metal for us.”
Annabel wanted to check in at the Ark first, to see how a sick parrot was doing, but promised to meet us at the Cartwright house in an hour. “Don’t worry,” she assured me. “I won’t miss the debut of Unlock Homes.” I growled something in return, still wondering how I’d been talked into a stunt like this.
There was a small panel truck in the Cartwright driveway when we arrived, with a sign on its door that read Gardenware Sales. It was the time of year when the traveling salesmen made their rounds and I knew old Cartwright prided himself on his garden. He was probably a regular customer of theirs. The house itself resembled something out of Nathaniel Hawthorne, with three floors and a great gabled roof. It could have used a coat of paint, but otherwise seemed in good shape.
“Has he ever shown you the secret passage?” Meg asked as we walked up the front steps.
I shook my head. “He’s never been a patient of mine, claims he doesn’t believe in doctors. Except for his hearing, he’s been healthy for nearly eighty years so I can’t argue with that.”
“I did a story on his garden last summer and he showed me around outside. He’s a nice old man.”
“That he is,” I agreed as the front door swung open in response to our ring. Cartwright’s one employee was a middle-aged man I knew only as George, who lived there with him and assumed the combined duties of butler, cook, and gardener.
“Come right in,” he told us. “Mr. Cartwright is expecting you.”
I’d donned the deerstalker and cape in the car, but if he thought my costume was odd, he said nothing. Perhaps he believed I was only trying to keep warm, though it certainly wasn’t chilly inside the oak-paneled foyer. We followed him into the library, Meg lugging her bulky Speed Graphic because she had no budget for a photographer. “I’ll have to train Penny to do this,” she said.
Aaron Cartwright, whose hearing was now so bad that he used an ear trumpet, sat in an overstuffed chair against a wall of books. His visitor, a balding man in a gray suit, was brandishing a molded clay object about nine inches high that looked for all the world like a birdbath for crickets. “This is our Empire model. Notice the intricate design around the base.”
“Come in, come in!” Cartwright said, putting down the ear trumpet so he could offer both hands to Meg Woolitzer. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Meg. Sit right down!”
“I hope we’re not interrupting anything.”
“Of course not! Mr. Snyder here was just leaving.”
Snyder put down the miniature birdbath and took an order pad from his briefcase. “Should I put you down for two of our Empire models, Mr. Cartwright?”
“Certainly, certainly!”
“What will you do with birdbaths that small?” Meg asked him.
Cartwright put the trumpet to his ear. “Speak louder, dear,” he requested, and she repeated her question. He laughed. “No, no! This is only a miniature that the salesmen carry with them as samples. The ones I’m buying will be full-sized.”
“You’ll have delivery in about three weeks,” Snyder promised, reaching for his sample.
But Aaron Cartwright was faster, batting away his hand with the ear trumpet. “Let me keep it for now, while I plan the rest of my garden. You can pick it up next time.”
The salesman agreed but looked unhappy. Obviously the old man was a good customer. “When I return, I’ll have a full selection of annuals and shrubs for you, too,” he promised. “Will you be going away this summer?”
Cartwright laughed. “Where would I go? Over to fight the Nazis? I’ll be right here with George.”
The servant showed him out and I picked up the miniature birdbath to admire it, surprised by its weight. “This must weigh three or four pounds.”
“That’s natural-deposit Ohio clay; they use authentic molds from early in the century.”
“His garden is a thing of beauty,” Meg told me.
“Who are you, fella?” Cartwright asked, glaring at me. Though we’d met before, he didn’t recognize me in my costume.
Meg answered for me. “This is Dr. Sam Hawthorne.”
“Doctors! Don’t have anything to do with doctors! My health is fine.”
She smiled. “He’s not here about your health. I’m going to use him in a photograph for the newspaper. You’ve heard of Sherlock Holmes?”
“Used to read about him all the time.”
“Well, Sam here is Unlock Homes. He’s going to uncover scrap metal to help the war effort. You told me on the phone you had some old radiators and other things. I want to run a picture of Sam, dressed as Sherlock Holmes, uncovering these things.”
Aaron Cartwright snorted. “Nothing to uncover. It’s all back in the barn. George can show you. But wouldn’t you rather take a picture of my secret passage? That’s the sort of thing Holmes would find.”
“He’s right about that,” I agreed.
“Well, we can take a look at it,” Meg said with some hesitation.
Cartwright grinned, showing off a row of yellow teeth. “My father had it put in when he built the place, back in ’ninety-seven,” he told us, rising from the chair with some difficulty. “My wife was still alive then, and I didn’t move here till she died twenty years ago. I hated to see this place just standing empty. That’s when I put in forced-air heating and took out the radiators and bought the old Hamish farm to add to my acreage.”
“Where is this secret passage?” I asked.
“Right in front of you.”
“The bookcases?” I knew that English mansions sometimes covered doors with bookshelves, but I hadn’t encountered anything like that in Northmont until now. He gripped one of the bookcases and swung it out from the wall, revealing a dark staircase leading up.
He turned a switch just inside the passage and a light went on above us. “This is neat!” Meg decided. “Sam, take out your magnifying glass and I’ll get a picture.”
I kept telling myself I was doing it for the war effort as I assumed the pose at her direction. She lifted the Speed Graphic and the flashbulb momentarily blinded me. “Where does it lead?” I asked Cartwright.
“Up to my bedroom. I keep the other end locked so no one can sneak in on me at night. Combination lock that only I can open. My father was a poor sleeper and he liked the idea of coming down here to work or read without disturbing the household. Come along and I’ll show you.” We followed him to the top where a plain metal door without even a knob blocked our passage. “You see? My bedroom is on the other side.” We went back down the stairs and found George waiting at the bottom. “But it’s the barn you want to see. George, show them our scrap metal and make any arrangements Miss Woolitzer wishes. I’m pleased to be rid of it.”
“You’re not joining us?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Can’t take the cold air anymore. Bad for my lungs.”
We followed George out the back door and across the damp grass to the old barn, probably unused for decades. “How long have you been with Mr. Cartwright?” I asked, making conversation. He was a familiar figure in Northmont, but I didn’t even know his last name.
“Ten years now. I’m his nephew, George Chabber. You’ve probably seen me around town.”
“Glad to meet you formally,” I said, half turning to shake hands. “Your uncle is doing pretty well for his age.”
“He gets by. I’m a light sleeper and if he needs me I’m right there.”
We heard a horn honking behind us and turned to see Annabel pulling up behind Meg’s vehicle in the driveway. “I see I’m just in time,” she called out, hurrying to catch up.