The Revenge of Moriarty (11 page)

Jacobs took Labrosse off to his guest room, with firm instructions to see that the artist did not wander or walk in his sleep. Presently, Harry Allen came to the drawing-room and there behind a locked door, the Professor gave him instructions regarding his forthcoming sojourn with the French artist in Paris.

‘When it is all done, Professor, will there be other work for me?' asked the former schoolteacher as he took his leave.

‘If the job is done well, then you will be regarded as one of the household, one of the family. Bert Spear always has work for likely lads such as you.'

Ten minutes later, Moriarty went downstairs to the study and took the piece of aged poplar from a locked drawer in his desk, turning it over in his hands and smiling. Within a few weeks this simple piece of wood was to be transformed into the ageless and priceless
Mona Lisa
. The bait would then be prepared for the Frenchman, Grisombre. In the meantime, Spear and Ember were about the business which would trip the arrogant Wilhelm Schleifstein.

Spear was with Ember and two of Terremant's men in the City. They crouched, in silence, in a darkened ground-floor room looking out onto the junction of roads which made up Cornhill and Bishopsgate Street, their attention focused upon the corner building, a jeweller's establishment, which appeared to be in darkness except for two tiny slits of light at eye level in the window facing Cornhill, and one similar slit in the Bishopsgate window.

‘Here he comes again,' whispered Ember. ‘Up Bishopsgate.'

‘A good timekeeper,' smiled Spear in the darkness. ‘Regular as a Swiss horizontal. He never alters it?'

‘No. Every fifteen minutes. I've had it watched over three weeks,' Ember hissed. ‘His sergeant joins him at ten, then again at one. Sometimes at five in the morning as well, though not always. Falls in step with him and walks the beat in the same way.'

They fell silent as the uniformed policeman clumped steadily towards the junction from Bishopsgate, pausing to try the handles on each door, like a drill sergeant going through some parade ground review, his bullseye lantern throwing out a dull glow from where it was clipped on his belt.

He arrived at the corner, paused and peered through the slit in the window on the Bishopsgate side, tested the door in the shuttering and paced around the corner into Cornhill where he began to go through the same procedure. There was a rattle and sound of hooves from the direction of Leadenhall Street and a lone hansom came clattering past, heading towards Cheapside.

The policeman hardly paused, squinting in through both slits on the Cornhill side, trying the other door-handle and then continuing on his way, his footsteps echoing in the empty street, dying off until silence again fell over the area.

‘I'll go over and have a peep,' said Spear, more confident; louder now the uniformed figure had gone.

The room from which they had been watching smelled musty as though inhabited by rats, and the bare floorboards creaked as Spear stepped towards the door, avoiding the workmen's rubble which littered the place. It had in fact become vacant only a month before, the lease snapped up quickly by Moriarty under an assumed name. Like the shop across the street, it too had been a jeweller's – as were many of the premises along Cornhill – and it was now undergoing ‘Complete Refurbishing', as witnessed by the board fastened to the outer door.

Spear paused in the empty street, ears pricked to catch the slightest sound. It was strange, he thought crossing the road, how this could be such a busy and crowded place during the day, yet so deserted at night. Few shopkeepers lived on their premises, preferring to reside in cosy terraced houses an hour or so away by train or omnibus. Mr Freeland, whose name appeared, coupled to that of his son, in white square lettering above the windows in both Cornhill and Bishopsgate, had what they called a bijou residence in St John's Wood. Spear smiled to himself. These people never seemed to learn. One robbery would make them all wary for a while. They would have new locks fitted, perhaps even employ special nightwatchmen. But in a year or two the fear would pass and they would return to their old ways. The safe-makers even designed new safes, but the old ones were still used all over the City.

Spear reached the Cornhill front of John Freeland & Son. No sound, not a soul in sight, the road sparkling in the lamplight as though dusted with frost. The whole angled frontage of the shop was encased in iron shutters, blanketing the windows, apart from the slits which were cut some five and a half feet from the pavement: nine inches long and two inches deep. Spear pressed his eyes to the first slit. Inside, the shop was bright with light, for the gas mantles were lit and turned up full: the counter and the empty glass display cases in the outer shop all clearly visible. The real object of these peep holes, however, was not this first room where customers daily purchased rings and watches, necklaces and brooches, or ordered stones to be set in baubles of intricate design, but the rear shop in which the real craftsmanship was carried out.

A wall separated the two rooms, access between them being maintained through a wide arch, and the squint holes being particularly designed so that a watcher could see directly through this opening, and so clearly view the one object of importance – a large iron safe, painted white, standing in the middle of the second shop floor.

Spear moved to his right and peered through the second slit. Again the main view was of the white safe, this time from a slightly different angle, but clear as day. Still with ears cocked for the first sound of the beatman's boots on the pavement, Spear rounded the corner and squinted again. The viewing slit in Bishopsgate gave yet another picture of the safe, this time ingeniously assisted by a mirror set cunningly at an angle. He nodded to himself and began to retrace his way towards the empty shop across the road. If Ember's intelligence was correct, then he would not mind being on this screwing himself, for there would be a king's ransom of booty in it.

‘You are sure about the way in from the rear?' he asked Ember, back in the empty shop again.

‘Certain sure. The only ones they bother about are the doors through the iron shutters; and the three locks on the safe. Why should they?' Ember gave his thin ratty grin. ‘They reckon you couldn't do much even if you did get in, what with the blue boy pacing by every fifteen minutes getting his free peepshow.'

‘And the dates are true?'

‘True as you'll ever get. He's here …'

The beat policeman was once more pounding his sedate way up Bishopsgate.

There was a lot of whispering on the attic landing at the Albert Square house that night for Polly was canoodling with Harry Allen in the small hours.

When she finally crept back to the bed she shared with her sister, her eyes were damp and she sniffed so much that it woke Martha.

‘Poll, you shouldn't, you'll get us both in trouble with Mrs Spear if you're caught. And Harry will be in the Professor's bad books. Just when we've got a good place.'

‘You need not worry,' Polly sniffed loudly. ‘There'll be no trouble for a long time. Harry's been sent away.'

‘What? Got the boot?'

‘No. Oh, Martha, I shall miss him so. He's off to France with that strange gentleman that came tonight.'

‘What, old skin and bones? What larks, off to France.'

‘For weeks. Not be back before Christmas he says.'

‘Well, good riddance, I say,' snapped Martha who was sincerely concerned for her sister. ‘That Harry's a bad influence on you, my girl. Any more of it and he'd be getting you in trouble. Then where would we be.'

‘Harry's not like that …'

‘Show me a man what isn't.'

‘He says that he'll bring me fine things back from Paris.'

‘You're getting ideas beyond your station, Poll. Don't you forget that we was cold, in rags and grubbing for food a few weeks ago. Getting this place was a miracle and I'm not having the likes of Harry Allen spoil it for us.'

‘He's a gentleman …'

‘A good for nothing I would say.'

Polly lapsed into her tears. ‘Well, you'll be rid of him tomorrow,' a great bawl of frustration, ‘and you don't care what happens to me.'

‘For Christ's sake, shut your row, Poll. You'll wake the whole bleedin' square.'

Harry Allen carried the piece of poplar wood in his valise when he left the following morning, with Labrosse. He also carried a pistol.

During the day Polly Pearson dissolved into tears when anyone spoke sharply to her, a situation which so aggravated Bridget Spear that she eventually threatened the luckless girl with a sound birching if she did not pull herself together.

‘You see what you've done,' hissed Martha to her sister in the scullery. ‘You'll get us both birched and I don't fancy that.'

Polly's eyes streamed again. ‘I can bear it,' she blubbered, ‘if it is for him.' She had much to learn about the ways of men.

At noon Ember and Spear were closeted in the study with the Professor, and instructions were given to the Jacobs brothers that they were not to be disturbed. Even Sal Hodges, who came to the house a little after one o'clock, was told that she would have to wait.

‘And you're sure of the stuff?'

Moriarty sat behind his desk, papers piled neatly in front of him, a pen uncapped near his right hand. Spear and Ember had pulled two of the easy chairs near to the desk and sat, upright, not lounging, facing their leader. All three had about them the air of businessmen gravely tackling a problem of great importance to their company: Ember thrusting his ferrety little face forward, as though sniffing at a scent; Spear unsmiling, the light from the windows falling across the left side of his face, making the jagged scar show in stark relief.

‘Dead sure as we'll ever be,' Ember snapped.

‘The workman you got it from?'

‘Boasting to one of our people – Bob the Nob – in a sluicery on payday. Showing off about what valuable stuff they handle. Our fellow left it a week, then went back for more. Said to him, ‘I suppose you've got the Queen's diamonds coming in for a polish.' ‘Not the Queen's,' the workman said, ‘but some very fancy stuff from Lady Scobie and the Duchess of Esher.' Our bloke bought him a few more jars and got a glim of the work-note. ‘I've a copy.' The paper appeared from some fold in his clothing and was passed over to the Professor.

Moriarty glanced down the list and began to read, half aloud, his voice falling often to a murmur, then rising again so that odd words came out loud, as though stressing value.

‘To be brought in Monday, 16 November and be called for Monday, 23rd. Work must be completed by closing Friday, 20th.'

‘There's nobody there of a Saturday,' said Spear. ‘It'll all be in the safe, with his usual stock, from the Friday night to opening Monday.'

Moriarty nodded and continued to read. ‘Duchess of Esher: one diamond tiara: cleaning and polishing, also test settings. One pair diamond earrings: repair hooks and make good. Diamond pendant, gold chain: repair slightly damaged link in chain, fit new ring. Pearl necklace for rethreading. Five rings. One, gold with diamond cluster of five and one: clean and secure settings of two smaller stones. Two, gold, large emerald: reset. Three, white gold with six sapphires: reset to specification and design. Four, one gold with three large diamonds: clean. Five, gold signet: clean and re-engrave.'

‘They want them before the Christmas balls and parties. They're both to be guests at some grand functions.'

Moriarty did not seem to have heard. ‘Lady Scobie,' he continued to read. ‘Tiara, white gold with eighty-five diamonds: clean and check settings. One ruby and emerald necklace (the Scobie Inheritance): new links between third and fourth stones, repair clasp. Ruby earrings: new hooks. One diamond ring, gold with large diamond and ten smaller stones (the Scobie Diamond): clean and tighten setting for large stone. There's a fortune here if it's true.'

‘It's true enough.' Ember licked his lips as though savouring a mouthful of whelks.

‘And there's his stock besides,' Spear chanted softly. ‘Watches, rings and everything. About three thousand pounds worth. The whole lot in the safe all over the weekend.'

‘And the safe?'

‘Big one. Chubb triple lock. Anchored to the floor and secured on an iron bed. An old one,' he added with a smirk.

‘Then wood?'

‘The ordinary floor.'

‘How much do you see through the peep holes?' The questions came fast, like a courtroom barrister.

‘Just the safe. Hardly any of the floor.'

‘And what's below?'

‘Cellar. There's no problem there.'

‘No bells or any of those newfangled contraptions?'

‘There may be, but you only have to cut the wires once you've found the batteries. They'll have plenty of time.'

‘Has Schleifstein got a good screwsman?' This to Ember.

‘Not good enough for this. All his lads are brute force and ignorance. I'd have to sell him the whole thing with a screwsman.'

‘You've had plenty of experience, Ember. Could you do it?'

‘I could,' from Spear.

Moriarty's head moved dangerously, the reptile aggressive and ready to strike. ‘I was asking Ember. Schleifstein does not know Ember.'

Spear nodded, unabashed by the sharpness of Moriarty's tone. Inside his mind, the Professor had a picture of a dog worrying a rat, then the logical process and the questioning. Could they tempt the German? Could the wretched man pull it off without getting caught – that was until he, Moriarty, was ready for him to get caught?

‘Besides,' he continued to Spear, ‘I shall need you for the blues. Could you do it, Ember?'

‘It would take all possible time. Couldn't work by day. Go in Friday night and cut the floor, then out again and pray nobody goes in on the Saturday. In again on the Saturday night, jack the safe on the hinge side. Ten minutes working time out of every fifteen, that'd make it more difficult once we got the door off.'