I frowned, still unconvinced.
‘What of the North Entrance?’ I questioned.
‘It can only mean our visitor wishes to remain incognito. The sighting of a rara avis on my bee-farm indeed. It’s equally likely our visitor will prove to be a rare bird too. That particular entrance leads us to the Regent’s Canal which we cross by a bridge and straight away take the tunnel under the Outer Circle. Surely that can only be to avoid photographers who spend their days lying in wait at the Main Entrance for visitors of high importance.
‘Incidentally,’ he added, ‘the suggestion of an opus on the meadow-flower in Mesolithic honey cultures may be a notable example of your pawky wit but one well worth my consideration.’
We Meet The Mysterious Ornithologist
We paid off the carriage at the North Entrance to the Zoo. The pair of dappled greys clopped away. A polite young man greeted us. He led us past the Winter Cranes House and the Kangaroo Paddock and across the canal bridge. The tunnel took us under the Outer Circle. A light wind gusted between the cages as we approached the Stork & Ostrich House, where our guide left us.
Inside the building a zoo keeper was addressing a group of children. He singled out a stork.
‘The Abdim’s Stork is also known as the White-bellied Stork,’ he told them. ‘The name commemorates the Turkish Governor of Wadi Halfa in Sudan, Bey El-Arnaut Abdim. Note the grey legs and bill and red knees and feet. At 29 inches it’s the smallest species of stork, and weighs just over 2lbs.’
‘Just like that boy Howie,’ one of the girls whispered loudly. The other girls tittered.
The guide continued.
‘The White-bellied Stork is distributed in open habitats from Ethiopia south to South Africa. It prefers locusts, caterpillars and other large insects although the bird will also eat small reptiles, amphibians, mice, crabs and eggs. By contrast with another stork, the Shoebill, this species is welcomed and protected by local African belief as a harbinger of rain and good luck. In the breeding season it develops red facial skin in front of the eye and blue skin near the bill.’
Another schoolgirl whispered ‘Just like Jimmy Webster’ and again the gaggle tittered.
My impatience was growing. It was my intention to spend just the half-hour and then to leave Holmes and the mysterious visitor to discuss matters ornithological while I wended my way to the Army & Navy stores to purchase my tropical outfit and a new camera. For the latter I had arranged for a demonstration of the Lizars 1/4 Plate Challenge Model E.
My plan to get to the Army & Navy stores before closing-time was in jeopardy. I was consulting my watch ostentatiously for Holmes’s benefit when a man in his mid-forties entered the Stork & Ostrich House. He wore a grey mackintosh buttoned to the neck, grey gloves and a fawn-coloured fedora with a light blue band around the crown. I judged the hat had been made by Teresio Borsalini. The front of the brim was snapped down as though to ward off the sharper rays of the sun.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, removing a glove and offering a hand, ‘my apologies for keeping you waiting.’
He gazed at Holmes.
‘We have not met before, sir, but I am conversant with your appearance from the society pages. I am very grateful to you for coming such a long way. And to you too, Dr. Watson.’
‘For my part,’ I returned, ‘I am now on my way. I merely came...’
Before I could mention my destination and reason for visiting the Army & Navy Stores, Holmes intervened.
‘Don’t dream of going, Watson. I very much prefer having a witness, if only as a check to my memory.’
He turned to our visitor with an odd stare.
‘I understand you are compiling a work of ornithology, sir, hence your interest in a certain bird spotted on my bee-farm.’
‘Exactly so,’ our visitor nodded, with an evasive smile. ‘My interest in birds is long standing.’
‘The title of your book?’ I asked politely.
‘The publisher suggests The Charm of Birds, though I ask you to be patient. It may not make an appearance in the book-shops for some years yet.’
Holmes gestured towards the inmates in the cages.
‘Storks and ostriches are not especially mellifluous songsters. And on names, sir, you clearly intend to maintain your advantage over...’
As he spoke these words, my comrade gave a start of recognition.
‘Why, of course! Sir Edward! Shall we dispense with the pretence of the search for the wayward marsh tit. Could you explain precisely why you inveigled me here?’
I threw Holmes a startled look. Why was he calling our visitor ‘Sir Edward’?
The man’s response was immediate. He reached up to undo the top buttons of his coat. A black lounge jacket peeped through the open neck, followed by an edge of black waistcoat. The folds of a black cambric cravat were held together by a silver stick pin with a plain jet centre.
‘Mr. Holmes, you must forgive the charade,’ he replied. ‘Yes, you are the rara avis I had in mind. I asked to meet here inside the Zoological Gardens because I adjudged the location the least likely for anyone from the newspapers to catch sight of us together and only half-an-hour by carriage from where I am myself caged. I shall come to the point at once. Mr. Holmes, you and Dr. Watson...’ and here he offered me a courteous inclination of his head, ‘...could be pivotal in investigating a matter which could cause cataclysms right across Europe and raise great difficulties for our overseas Empire too.’
He halted, giving Holmes an enquiring, almost comical look. ‘May I ask how you divined my identity?’
‘My dear sir,’ Holmes replied, ‘you seem well-acquainted with my methods. I’m sure you can answer your own query.’
‘I cannot. You made a deduction, but how?’
‘The very palpable effort to cover something up,’ came the breezy response. ‘It was not so much the mackintosh itself but the fact it was buttoned up. We are experiencing remarkable warmth so early in summer. It was my supposition you might be determined to hide some particular fact or condition behind your outer garb which made me look for a clue elsewhere.’
‘Elsewhere?’ our confederate exclaimed, squinting down at his half-boots. ‘This footwear doesn’t seem exceptional for a stroll around the Zoological Gardens.’
‘Not downwards, Sir Edward. Upwards,’ Holmes responded, smiling. ‘The first clue was revealed by the very hat you thought would help hide your identity.’
Overcome with curiosity I intervened, ‘What of the fedora? It’s a very fine...’
‘Not so much the fedora, Watson.’
‘Then?’
‘The petersham band around the crown.’
Holmes motioned at the light blue ribbon.
‘It’s been placed hastily. See how it doesn’t sit right. Also there’s a slight difference in the nap of the crown resulting from an earlier presence, a tight band about two inches in width attached by those remaining black threads. Only the deepest mourning would call for such a wide crape band. Then when Sir Edward unbuttoned his coat it was confirmed the period of mourning has not yet ended.’
‘Of course!’ I burst out. ‘Sir Edward Grey, the Foreign Secretary!’
‘Precisely,’ Holmes affirmed. ‘Not wishing to be identified on his way here, almost certainly Sir Edward scrummaged around in the House of Commons and came across a boater belonging to a Cambridge graduate from which he filched the band, intending to replace it on the fedora with the black crape on his return to the House.’