The Revenge of Moriarty (10 page)

‘I know about Paget,' said Crow dryly. ‘There seem now to be two others besides. Two I cannot yet put names to. Also there is little doubt that Johnny Chinaman, Ember and Spear were all with our man, at one time or another, in America.'

‘Well,' Holmes regarded the detective with an expression of gravity. ‘I have it on good authority that Ember, at least, is back in London. On the night before last he was seen in several places where you and I might well have to fight for our lives. I have somewhat more irregular methods of keeping an eye on such places. Ha-ha.' His laugh had little genuine humour to it.

‘So.'

‘It has been my experience that wherever members of the so-called Praetorian Guard go, the Professor soon follows.'

Crow could do nothing but agree with him, his frustration seeming even more pronounced, for Holmes had made no comment regarding the American adventure and it seemed plain that it had been of little use. However, Angus Crow left Baker Street light of heart. Perhaps their quarry was nearer now than he had dreamed. Tomorrow he would put a bold front on things when he reported to Scotland Yard. As for now, his heart descended rapidly, he must return to King Street and the social pretensions of his wife. He would have to be most canny if that little problem was to be solved without too much friction.

The days which followed were ones of intense activity at Albert Square. The task of rebuilding the Professor's criminal family was a slow and careful business, but not a day passed without some progress being made or some old follower discovered and brought back into the fold. It was all accomplished with much stealth and, as often as not, without the name of Professor James Moriarty being mentioned aloud.

During this crucial time, Moriarty left the daily arrangements in the competent hands of his lieutenants – now much assisted by the muscular power of Terremant and his punishers – while he spent the time issuing orders and seeing to his finances: visiting fences and creating new bank accounts in hitherto unheard-of names. He played the piano a little each evening, read the newspapers, cursed the politicians as imbeciles, and occasionally indulged in his only other hobby, the art of conjuring.

Each night he would sit for a good hour in front of a mirror, a copy of Professor Hoffman's famous work,
Modern Magic
, open on his lap and a pack of cards in his hands. He considered that his progress was fair, having mastered most of the sleights described. He could make the
pass
in five different manners, change cards, force them and palm cards with reasonable dexterity. When Sally Hodges spent the night at Albert Square she now became used to acting as a guinea-pig for new tricks with the cards before getting down to old tricks between the sheets.
*

As the financial side of Moriarty's plans progressed, he dealt with several urgent and pressing matters and Sal Hodges figured prominently in these. Two more houses were purchased in the West End and, by the second week in October, Sally was herself supervising lavish decorations and a staff of elegant, enthusiastic young women. By the end of the year those investments would, the Professor was certain, be showing a profit.

Moriarty also spent long hours poring over the notes he had to hand on the four continentals, and on Crow and Holmes. The lurkers had tracked down Irene Adler quite quickly, discovering through their foreign counterparts that she was living alone, and frugally, in a small
pension
on the shores of Lake Annecy. The Professor appeared well pleased that she was short of money and within a day of the discovery ordered that a man be found who could be trusted and would pass easily as either English or French. Though he was to be used first on business uncompleted with the Adler woman.

Within twenty-four hours, Spear brought in just such a person: a former schoolteacher who had fallen on bad times and even served a stretch in the Model for theft. His name was Harry Allen, and the other members of the Albert Square household were surprised to find that the Professor insisted on his being moved into the house without delay. He was a young and personable fellow who soon made himself useful around the place and seemed to take a great liking to Polly Pearson.

On one or two occasions, Spear attempted to discover Harry Allen's purpose within his leader's overall plan – for the man had little to do, except be ready to talk for long periods with the Professor behind closed doors. However, when his lieutenant broached the subject, Moriarty would only smile knowingly and say that in the fullness of time all would be revealed.

It soon became plain that, among the European leaders, Grisombre, Sanzionare and Segorbe were snug in their own cities. There were reports that Sanzionare had visited Paris for a week or so during the summer and had been seen with Grisombre, but Moriarty's grand design for a European criminal society appeared to have come to naught.

Schleifstein, the German, however, was not in his native Berlin. The lurkers eventually located him, living with a handful of dubious villains of mixed nationality, in a quiet villa in Edmonton, not far from the
Angel
. A watch was set on this establishment and it was soon apparent that the German was casting about for a really large and impressive crib ripe for cracking.

Moriarty was already piecing together intelligence regarding one particularly lucrative possibility in the City – a bait for the avaricious villain to swallow whole.

So the last leaves on the trees of Albert Square crinkled and fell like pieces of burned paper; the winds became bone-chilling, and the days shorter. Greatcoats and mufflers, discarded during the summer, were taken out again, and in the drab back streets frequented by the underworld's rank and file, people appeared to be bracing themselves for the onslaught of winter.

Each day the fogs and mists crept earlier up the river to mingle with the soot and grime from factories and private chimneys, and an autumnal dampness pervaded the city. In the last week of October there were three days during which man was all but cut off from his fellows as a thick London ‘particular' shrouded main thoroughfares, alleys and byways alike. Naphtha flares sprouted flame at corners, people carried lanterns and torches, familiar landmarks vanished in the murk only to loom up unexpectedly, like ships off course. The incidence of robberies rose, pickpockets and mug-hunters did a roaring trade, and death stalked among the sopping slums nearest to the river, where the elderly and those with chronic chest complaints went down like flies. On the fourth day a mild breeze shifted the pea-souper and the sun, weak and as though strained through a fine muslin, lit up the great metropolis once more. But those who were familiar with the city weather predicted a long and hard winter.

On the evening of Thursday, 29 October, Moriarty had a visitor. He came off the boat train at Victoria Station, a tall skeleton of a man, wrapped in a long black overcoat which had seen better days. On his head a wide-brimmed, clerical-looking hat covered an untidy clump of wispy fine grey hair, and his beard gave one the impression that it had been gnawed by rats. He carried a large portmanteau and spoke English with a rough French accent.

Coming out of the station, he took an omnibus to Notting Hill and walked the rest of the way to Albert Square. His name was Pierre Labrosse. He had travelled from Paris in answer to the Professor's letter, and at his coming Moriarty's revenge was afoot.

*
The true name has been altered and it should not be confused with any existing Albert Square.

*
A mythical peerage jocularly bestowed on persons dressed or behaving in a manner above their natural status.

*
A great deal more will be heard of this lady. It is well to recall, however, that she is famous for her great brush with Sherlock Holmes as recounted by Dr Watson in
A Scandal in Bohemia
, to which further reference will be made. On Dr Watson's word we have it that ‘To Sherlock Holmes she is always
the
woman.'

*
Which newspaper this was is not recorded. It was certainly either old or slow with the gathering of news. Gladstone's Liverpool speech – incidentally his last – took place on the 24th. During the previous month Armenian revolutionaries had attacked the Ottoman Bank in Constantinople: an action which provoked a three-day massacre.

*
Those who have read the earlier chronicle will recall that Moriarty was much taken with a stage magician he saw performing at the Alhambra Theatre and it seems that from this time onwards, the Professor took a keen interest in the art of prestidigitation.

LONDON:

Thursday, 29 October – Monday, 16 November 1896

(The art of robbery)

‘Of course I am able to do it. Who else? There is nobody in the whole of Europe who could make a copy as well as I. Why would you send for me if this were not so?'

Pierre Labrosse had a wild macabre look about him, like a scarecrow marionette worked by an unseen drunken puppeteer. He lolled in a chair opposite Moriarty, a glass of absinth – which seemed to be his staple diet – in one hand, the other skinny arm gesticulating in a grandiose manner.

They had dined in private and now Moriarty had cause to question whether or not he had made a wise choice in sending for Labrosse. There were many other artists in Europe who could have done the copy equally as well, if not better. Reginald Leftly, constantly insolvent portrait painter and aspiring academician, to name but one within easy reach.

The Professor had chosen Labrosse only after much thought, having met him but once, during his period in the European wilderness following the Reichenbach business. On that occasion he had acknowledged the man's instability, at the same time recognizing his great gifts. Labrosse was, in plain truth, a self-styled genius who, had he applied himself to original creation, could possibly have made a great name for himself. As it was. the only name he had made was with the Sûreté.

The letter which the Professor had written to him on returning to London had been carefully worded, giving little hint of what he required, yet containing enough to bring the painter to England. In particular there had been guarded references to the man's great skill and reputation, and a hint of riches to be earned. Yet now that he had Labrosse safe in Albert Square, Moriarty could not help having second thoughts regarding his choice. In the time which had elapsed since their last meeting, Labrosse's instability was even more pronounced, the delusions of grandeur even more marked, as though the poison of the absinth was daily biting more deeply into his brain.

‘You see, my friend,' Labrosse continued, ‘my talent is unique.'

‘I would not have sent for you if that were not so,' remarked Moriarty quietly. Lying in his teeth.

‘It is truly a gift from God.' Labrosse fingered the flamboyant silk cravat at his throat. You did not have to be a detective to tell that the man was an artist. ‘A gift from God,' he repeated. ‘If God had been a painter, then he would have given the world his truth through me. I would surely have been Christ the artist.'

‘I'm certain you are right.'

‘My gift is that when I copy a painting I do it with the greatest attention to detail. It is as though the original artist had painted two at the same moment. This is something I find difficult to explain, for to me it is as though I become the original artist. If I copy a Titian, then I am Titian; if I do a Vermeer, I think in Dutch. Only a few weeks ago I did a remarkable modern canvas. The Impressionist Van Gogh. My ear hurt the whole time. This power is frightening.'

‘I can see that you are in awe of yourself. Yet you are not above performing this great work for money.'

‘Man cannot live by bread alone.'

Moriarty frowned, trying hard to follow the Frenchman's reasoning.

‘How much did you say you would pay for a copy of
La Joconde?'

‘We did not speak of money, but now that you ask, I will provide you with food, a man to assist you during the work, and a final sum of five hundred pounds.'

Labrosse made a noise like a cat whose tail had been trodden upon. ‘I need no assistant. Five hundred pounds? I would not copy a Turner for five hundred pounds. We are talking of a Leonardo.'

‘You will have the assistant. He will cook for you and report to me on the progress. Five hundred pounds. And for this I demand quality. You understand that this is for an elaborate hoax. It must be convincing.'

‘My work is always convincing. If I do
La Joconde
, then it will be
La Joconde
. The experts will not be able to tell the difference.'

‘In this case, they will,' said Moriarty firmly. There will be a hidden flaw.'

‘Never. And never for a paltry five hundred pounds.'

‘Then I must go elsewhere.'

It was doubtful whether Labrosse took heed of the icy edge which had entered into the Professor's tone.

‘At least one thousand pounds.'

Moriarty rose and walked to the bell pull. ‘I shall ring for the maid who will bring one of my more muscular male servants. They will then eject you, bag and baggage. It is a cold night, Monsieur Labrosse.'

‘Maybe I would do it for eight hundred pounds. Maybe.'

‘Then I'll have no more of it.' He tugged at the bell pull.

‘You drive a hard bargain. Five hundred.'

‘Five hundred and the few little extras. Including the scratching of a word on the wood – I have a piece of old poplar which I have acquired for the purpose. One word will be scratched before you begin, in the right hand bottom corner.'

‘Only one thing I will not agree. I must be alone. No assistant.'

‘No assistant, no money. No commission.'

The Frenchman shrugged. ‘It will take a long time. To produce the exact cracks there has to be much baking during the painting.'

‘It will take no more than six weeks.'

This time Labrosse caught the menace, even through the mist of his delusions. Polly Pearson was at the door and Moriarty ordered her to send up William Jacobs and then seek out Harry Allen and have him come to the drawing-room. Polly, already filling out with the food and regular, though hard, hours of work, blushed crimson at Allen's name.