The Revenge of Moriarty (2 page)

The great detective paused for a second, as though waiting for Crow to reveal a great passion for the subject, but, as no such revelation was forthcoming, Holmes sighed and started to speak in a grave tone.

‘It was only this afternoon that I became acquainted with this terrible Sandringham business.'

At this, Crow was startled, for, to his own knowledge, Holmes' name was not among those authorized to see the file.

‘It is highly confidential. I trust …'

Holmes gestured impatiently with his right hand.

‘Your sergeant spotted me leaving the Foreign Office this afternoon. I had been visiting my brother, Mycroft. His Royal Highness had consulted him on the matter. Mycroft in turn promised to speak with me. I was shocked and more distressed than I can tell you, or, I suspect, even admit to myself. I recall that at our last meeting I told you my feud with James Moriarty ended at the Reichenbach Falls. Well, Crow, that is what the world must believe – at least for many years to come. But this monstrous act of anarchy puts a new complexion on the matter. He paused, as if on the brink of some momentous statement. ‘I have no intention of being publicly associated with any investigations concerning the despicable Moriarty, but I will now give you what help I can in a private and confidential capacity. And help you will surely need, Crow.'

Angus McCready Crow nodded, scarcely able to believe his ears.

‘However, I have to warn you,' Holmes continued, ‘that you must not divulge the source of your intelligence. There are personal reasons for this, which, no doubt, in the fullness of time shall be revealed. But at this juncture I shall need your solemn oath that you will keep counsel and disclose to no living soul that you have access to my eyes, ears and mind.'

‘You have my word, Holmes. Of course you have my most sacred word.'

Crow was so amazed at Holmes' unexpected change of heart that he had to suppress a wild desire to bombard the man with a volley of queries. But, rightly, he held himself in check, knowing this was not the way.

‘Strange as it may seem,' Holmes continued to transfix Crow with a steady eye, ‘I find myself somewhat on the horns of the proverbial dilemma. There are certain people whom I have to protect. Yet I must also do my duty as an Englishman – beggin' your pardon as one who comes from North of the border.' He chuckled for a second at his own little quip. In a flash the laughter was gone and Holmes was all seriousness again. ‘This outrage against a royal personage leaves me scant margin for manoeuvre. I have little time for the official detective force, as you must well know. However, good Crow, my observations tell me that you are possibly the best of a bad bunch, so I have no option but to turn to you.'

There was the mildest pause, during which Crow opened his mouth as if to object to Sherlock Holmes' opprobrious remarks. Yet, before he could translate thoughts to speech, the great detective was talking again in a most animated fashion.

‘Now, to work. There are two questions I must put to you. First, have you had any of the bank accounts examined? Second, have you been to the Berkshire house?'

Crow was flummoxed. ‘I know of no bank accounts, and have never heard of the Berkshire house.'

Holmes smiled. ‘I thought not. Well, listen carefully.'

It transpired that Holmes was a mine of information regarding Moriarty and his habits (‘You think I do not know of his lurkers, the Praetorian Guard, his punishers, demanders, and the control he has over the family people?' he asked at one point). The Berkshire house, as he called it, was a large country dwelling, built in the early years of the previous century, known as Steventon Hall, and situated roughly half-way between the market towns of Faringdon and Wallingford, a few miles outside the hamlet of Steventon. According to Holmes, the house had been purchased by Moriarty some years before, and the great detective had deduced that its sole purpose was that of a bolt-hole in time of need.

‘I would arrange some kind of raiding party if I were in your boots,' said Holmes without a hint of humour. ‘Though I should imagine the birds have long since flown these shores.'

The bank accounts were another matter, and Holmes explained them at length. For some years he had been aware of a number of accounts, in various names, run by Moriarty in England. Also some fourteen or fifteen more abroad, mainly with the
Deutsche Bank and Crédit Lyonnais
. He had gone as far as noting the details of all these upon a sheet of notepaper bearing the letterhead of ‘The Great Northern Hotel' at King's Cross. This paper he handed over to Crow who accepted it gratefully.

‘Do not hesitate to seek me out when you require further assistance,' Holmes told him. ‘But I pray that you will use your discretion.'

Later, as the Scotland Yard man was taking his leave, Holmes looked at him gravely.

‘Bring the blackguard to book, Crow. That is my dearest wish. Would that I could do it myself. Bring him to book.'

Angus McCready Crow, a radical policeman, warmed heartily to the attitude and brilliance of the great detective. This one meeting with Holmes strengthened his resolve regarding the Professor, and, from this time forth, the two men worked in secret harmony towards Moriarty's downfall.

Though distracted by his impending marriage, Crow wasted no time. That very night he set about arrangements regarding the bank accounts, and was also quickly in touch with the local constabulary in Berkshire.

Within two days he led a force of detectives, together with a large party of constables, in a raid upon Steventon Hall. But, as Sherlock Holmes had predicted, they were too late. There was no evidence that the Professor himself had recently been in the house, but after examination of the buildings, and some intense questioning of the local populace, there was little doubt that at least some of Moriarty's henchmen had, until a short time before, inhabited the place.

Indeed, they had been almost flagrant about it; making no secret of their presence, with many comings and goings of rough-looking men from London.

In all, Crow deduced that at least five persons had been permanently quartered at Steventon Hall. Two of these had even gone through a form of marriage, quite openly, giving their names as Albert George Spear and Bridget Mary Coyle, the ceremony being conducted with all the religious and legal requirements in the local parish church. There was also a pair of men described variously as ‘big and brawny'; ‘smartly dressed but with a rough quality to them'; and ‘like a brace of brothers. Very burly in their physique'. The fifth person was Chinese, and so much noticed in this little pocket of countryside, where people remarked upon his polite manners and cheerful countenance.

Crow had little difficulty in identifying the Chinese – a man called Lee Chow already known to him. Albert Spear was no problem either – a big man with a broken nose and a jagged scar running down the right-hand side of his face, narrowly missing the eye but connecting with the corner of his mouth. Both of these men, the detective knew, were close to Moriarty, being part of the quartet the Professor liked to speak of as his ‘Praetorian Guard'. As to the other members of this elite bodyguard – the large Pip Paget and whippet-like Ember – there was no sign. Crow reflected that Paget had probably gone to ground after the rout of Moriarty's organization in April, but the whereabouts of Ember worried him.

The burly pair were another matter, as they could well have been any of the dozens of mobsmen employed by the Professor before his last desperate escape from Crow's clutches.

The larder of Steventon Hall was well-stocked, a fact which led Crow to believe this oddly-assorted quintet had left in haste. There was little else of note, except for a fragment of paper upon which the sailing times of the Dover packet to France had been scrawled. Further enquiries made it plain that the Chinese man, at least, had been seen on the packet during its crossing only three days before the police raid upon the Berkshire house.

As for Moriarty's bank accounts in England, all but one had been closed and funds removed, within two weeks of the Professor's disappearance. The one account that remained was in the name of Bridgeman at the City and National Bank. The total amount on deposit was £3 2s 9¾d.

‘It would seem that the Steventon Hall crew have departed for France,' Holmes said when Crow next consulted him. ‘I'd wager they've joined their leader there. They will all be snug with Grisombre by now.'

Crow raised his eyebrows and Holmes chuckled with pleasure.

‘There is little that escapes my notice. I know about the meeting between Moriarty and his continental friends. I presume you have all the names?'

‘Well,' Crow shifted his feet uneasily.

He had imagined this piece of intelligence was the sole prerogative of Scotland Yard, for the men of whom Holmes spoke included Jean Grisombre, the Paris-based captain of French crime; Wilhelm Schleifstein, the Führer of the Berlin underworld; Luigi Sanzionare, the most dangerous man in Italy, and Esteban Bernado Segorbe, the shadow of Spain.

‘It would seem likely that they are with Grisombre,' Crow agreed unhappily. ‘I only wish that we knew the purpose of so many major continental criminals meeting in London.'

‘An unholy alliance of some kind, I have little doubt.' Holmes appeared grave. ‘That meeting is but a portent of evil things to come. I have the feeling that we have already seen the first result with the Sandringham business.'

Crow felt instinctively that Holmes was right. As indeed he was. But, if the Scotland Yard man wished to catch up with Moriarty now, he would have to travel to Paris, and there was no method of obtaining permission for this. His nuptials would soon be upon him, and the Commissioner, sensing that for some time there would be little work from the newly-wed Crow, was pressing hard regarding the many other cases to which he was assigned. There was much for Crow to do, both in his office and out of it, and even when he returned home to the house which he already shared with his former landlady and future bride, the nubile Mrs Sylvia Cowles, at 63 King Street, he found himself whirled around with the wedding preparations.

The Commissioner, Crow rightly reasoned, would no more listen to requests for a special warrant to visit Paris in search of the Professor, than he would grant leave for an audience with the Pope of Rome himself.

For a few days, Crow worried at the problem like the tenacious Scot he was; but at last, one afternoon when London was laced with an unseasonable drizzle accompanied by a chill gusting wind, he came to a conclusion. Making an excuse to his sergeant, young Tanner, Crow took a cab to the offices of Messrs Cook & Son of Ludgate Circus where he spent the best part of an hour making arrangements.

The result of this visit to the tourist agent was not immediately made apparent. When it was revealed, the person most affected turned out to be Mrs Sylvia Cowles, and by that time she had become Mrs Angus McCready Crow.

In spite of the fact that many of their friends knew Angus Crow had lodged with Sylvia Cowles for some considerable time, few were coarse enough to openly suggest that the couple had ever engaged themselves in any premarital larks. True there were many who thought it, and, indeed, were correct in their deductions. But, whether they thought it or not, friends, colleagues and a goodly number of relations gathered together at two o'clock in the afternoon of Friday, 15 June, at St Paul's Church, Covent Garden, to see, as one waggish police officer put it, ‘Angus and Sylvia turned off.'

For the sake of propriety, Crow had moved out of the King Street house two weeks previously to spend his last bachelor nights at the Terminus Hotel, London Bridge. But it was to the King Street house that the couple returned for the wedding breakfast, leaving again in the early evening to spend their first night of married bliss at the comfortable Western Counties Hotel at Paddington. On the Saturday morning, the new Mrs Crow imagined, they would travel to Cornwall, by train, for an idyllic honeymoon.

Until well into the evening, Crow allowed his bride to go on thinking that the honeymoon would be in the West Country. After they had dined, Crow lingered over a glass of port while the bride bathed and prepared herself for the rigours of the night ahead; and when at last the detective arrived in the bridal chamber he found his Sylvia sitting up in bed, clad in an exquisite nightdress much trimmed and fussed with lace.

In spite of the fact that neither of them were strangers to one another in the bedchamber, Crow found himself blushing a deep scarlet.

‘You set a man all in a tremble, my dear Sylvia,' his own voice demonstrating the quaver of desire.

‘Well, darling Angus, come and tremble upon me,' she retorted coquettishly.

Crow held up a hand to silence her. ‘I have a surprise for you, my hen.'

‘It is no surprise, Angus, unless you have taken it to the surgeon since last we met between the sheets.'

Crow found himself both put out and put on by his new partner's flagrant bawdiness.

‘Now hold, woman,' he almost snapped. ‘This is important.'

‘But Angus, this is our wedding night, I …'

‘And this concerns our honeymoon. It is a happy surprise.'

‘Our cavortings on the Cornish seaside?'

‘It is not to be the Cornish seaside, Sylvia.'

‘Not …?'

He smiled, inwardly praying that she would be pleased. ‘We do not go to Cornwall, Sylvia. Tomorrow we are off to Paris.'

The brand new Mrs Crow was not amused. She had taken great pains with the arrangements for her wedding, and, to be honest, had called the tune concerning most of the plans, including the choice of venue for their honeymoon. Cornwall was a county to which she had an immense sentimental attachment, having, as a child, been taken to several watering places along the coast. She had specifically chosen it now as their hideaway – even selecting the rented house near Newquay – because of those happy associations. Now, suddenly, on the brink of what should have been the happiest night of her life, her will and desires had been opposed.