The Revenge of Moriarty (20 page)

Lee Chow spoke before him. ‘You wish I go St John's Wood, chop-chop?'

Again Moriarty weighed the matter before speaking. ‘No. You come with me to Bermondsey first. I do not like going abroad in the present climate without at least one of my Guard with me. When you have seen me safe there, you will go and settle matters in St John's Wood.'

It was a bumpy, cramped and uncomfortable ride in the police van out to Bermondsey. For one thing there were only six compartments for the prisoners, which meant keeping Ember out in the narrow passage with the punishers. There was little enough room anyway, and the vehicle swayed perilously, creaking with the unaccustomed weight.

Nobody challenged them, but it was with intense relief that they finally turned into the yard behind the store house and offices.

Six rooms and the large hallway had been made presentable. Tables and chairs were set in the hall, and meagre cots in the rooms, which had their windows securely barred. While these windows had been safe when the place was bought, the doors were only equipped with cheap locks, so during the previous week the Jacobs brothers had seen to it that strong mortice locks were added, together with iron plates and Judas' squints. The whole of this section of the building had been cleaned and whitewashed so that Schleifstein and his followers might well have been forgiven for thinking that they had been brought to some official centre.

They were all reasonably docile now, though anger was visible on each face, together with truculence in the case of Franz who had been told throughout the journey that he would be for Jack Ketch's apple tree – all of them being witness to his shooting the man on the steps at Edmonton.

Spear stayed hidden until the prisoners were all divided up, searched for a second time, and locked away. He took the news of Pug Parsons' death badly – not only because Parsons was an old comrade, but also for the fact that it had been necessary to leave his body in plain view at Edmonton. He agreed, however, that there had been no other course of action open to them.

A watch was set on the street, and Spear took charge of the canvas bag. Presently Harkness drove Moriarty's personal cab into the yard.

There was an audible intake of breath, from punishers and members of the Praetorian Guard alike, when the Professor entered the building, for this was the first time since arriving from America, that Moriarty had appeared in the guise of his famous brother.

It was one of the legends which James Moriarty had created – his ability to flit in and out of two personas. With his own particular sense of drama, he stood in the doorway for a moment, allowing his followers to take in the transformation to the full. The tall thin figure with stooped shoulders, the gaunt face, hollow eyes and thin lips: it was a truly masterly and complete disguise, and to be sure, Moriarty himself was well aware of this change each time he made it: for had he not disposed of his academic brother with his own hands in order to step neatly into his character, together with the aura of respect which surrounded it?

‘Is all done?' he asked. Even his voice appeared to have altered slightly, becoming older and more in keeping with the body he occupied.

Spear stepped forward. ‘They're all safe here. As is the booty.'

Moriarty nodded. ‘No difficulties?'

Spear recounted the manner in which Parsons had died and the Professor sighed, taking the news, it appeared philosophically.

‘Bring in the Berliner then,' he said at last.

The Jacobs brothers disappeared into the room where Schleifstein was lodged, and a second or two later brought the two great underworld leaders face to face.

The shock to Schleifstein's system was apparent from the moment the German set eyes on the Professor, his leathery skin suddenly drained and taking on the brittle yellow grain of old notepaper. His hands shook, and for a moment it looked as though he would be smitten with a seizure.

‘What is this game?' he croaked out at last, reaching forward to lean on the table in order to remain standing.

‘Good day, my dear Wilhelm,' the Professor spoke softly, his eyes never leaving Schleifstein's face for a second. ‘Did you not expect me?' The voice rising a fraction. ‘Did you really think I would allow you to put up a big screwing in my own garden? Would you have allowed me the same privilege in Berlin, even if I had asked pardon – which
you
did not?'

‘You were …' Schleifstein's voice trailed away. He said something else but it was too indistinct to be heard by those present.

‘Away? Abroad? In America? I was an absent tenant. Is that what you thought? When the cat's away? But I was forgetting, you and your cronies in France, Italy and Spain gave backword to all that we agreed, did you not?'

‘My dear Professor,' the German appeared to have recovered a shade. ‘You were under siege, your empire was being assaulted by the law.'

‘So you decided that you would also assault it from within. Instead of standing together, you decided to divide. To drop me overboard like a bagful of rats. And you call yourself a leader; you think you cracked a fine crib, did you? Well, as you can see, you could not have sniffed near it but for me. How do you think it was really done? By one of my own, Wilhelm. How do you think the place was watched and the coppers taken care of, eh?'

‘What do you want?'

‘What do you think?'

‘The loot.'

Moriarty's laugh was a howl of derision. ‘The loot. No, sir, I have that already. What I want is the respect due to me. The acknowledgement that I am the natural leader of all our agencies here and on the continent. I wish to re-establish the alliance so that it may be run properly and not in this haphazard manner in which it founders at the moment – this come and do as you please confusion, which is worse than the chaos of established society.'

Schleifstein spread his hands. ‘I will talk with the others, I will …'

‘You'll talk to no person but me. The others will be dealt with in turn. There'll be no shirksters and they must all see for themselves that, in matters concerning family people, I am their master and the natural leader. Do you affirm that, Wilhelm Schleifstein?'

Schleifstein's face twisted in a contortion of anger. ‘In Berlin I would have you squashed like a beetle.'

‘But we are in London, Wilhelm,' the Professor soothed. ‘With you here at my mercy, I should not wonder I could gain power among your people in Berlin. Maybe I should do that.'

There was a long pause, Schleifstein's eyes shifting from side to side, like a beast trapped and looking for a clear way.

Moriarty laughed, a deep cackle. ‘Wilhelm, you put up for an admirable screwing, only it was I who was really managing the affair – my people, my plan. If I spread the word …?' He allowed the sentence to hang, unfinished in the air.

All eyes were turned to the German.

‘I could have been harder. I could still be utterly ruthless,' Moriarty did not smile. ‘I merely ask for you to accept me as the natural leader. Come, I have proved it – and will do so to the others.'

The silence seemed endless, then Schleifstein shuddered, a long-drawn sigh, half anger and half capitulation. ‘I know when I am bested,' he spoke low and tremulous. ‘I have never given in easily, Moriarty, but you have me baulked – I believe that is the expression. I could go on fighting you, but where's the point?' In his attempt to remain dignified in defeat, the German succeeded only in looking even more of a beaten man. ‘I always thought your grand design for the denizens of crime in Europe was sound enough. It was your failure at Sandringham and the rout of your family people that made me wonder.'

‘You need wonder no more, then. I am back. Things will be as they were.'

‘Then you have proved me a little your inferior. I will assist you in convincing others.'

‘I will convince them myself while you rot here a while. My aim is as it always was. To control the underworld of Europe, and to that end I spin webs which are invisible to the naked eye. You are proof of that.'

Angus McCready Crow had gone through one of the most difficult days of his career, and he knew that the night would possibly be even worse: though in a different manner. To his lasting surprise, the Commissioner had accepted Sylvia's injudicious invitation to dine on the night of Saturday, 21 November, and in some ways, Crow had reasoned, this was an honour. He had been most firm with Sylvia, demanding, nay ordering, her to see to the preparation of the meal with her own hands. There had been some argument at first, Sylvia claiming that you did not keep a dog and bark yourself. Angus Crow retaliated, saying that you barked d - - - d loudly if the dog was an untrained bitch, and so finally won the skirmish.

But he had not bargained for what the day would bring. It began quietly enough, in his office at Scotland Yard, when Tanner came in with news of a large and audacious jewel robbery in the City.

‘Thousands of pounds, I understand. Their local beat man trussed like a chicken, and the safe door jacked off. Freeland & Son. The City boys will be running about like scalded cats. I'm glad we are not implicated.'

Crow pricked up his ears at the news of a robbery of some magnitude. Since hearing old Boltpon's story, he had been on the
qui vive
for matters such as this. It could well be the one. He questioned Tanner closely, but all his sergeant could add was that someone had mentioned the villains leaving their tools behind.

Crow still regarded the telephone as a new-fangled invention of the devil – a strange attitude in one of such a radical persuasion – but on this occasion there was need to use it. He immediately got in touch with one of his few friends in the City Police – an inspector named John Clowes, a neat, bearded and reserved man, most shrewd in his dealings with the criminal fraternity.

Clowes, he soon discovered, was touchy over the question of the robbery, as well he might be, for his force had been made to look red-faced by the affair. However, he finally admitted to Crow that they had a set of burglary tools, dropped when the thieves fled from Bishopsgate.

‘I wonder if you'd do me the honour of letting me have a wee look at them?' Crow asked. ‘I have my reasons. I may well be able to identify them, and if I can do that I shall be able to name the rogue who last had his hands on the things.'

Grudgingly, Clowes said he would seek permission for his colleague to come over and examine the evidence.

One look told Crow that the brief bag, and various articles, were those which he had seen many times at old Tom Bolton's place in St John's Wood.

‘You'll be looking for a fellow that's probably on your books,' he said dourly. ‘He's certainly on ours. Nick Ember, a nasty little piece of work who used to be in the employ of one James Moriarty – of whom you have no doubt heard.'

‘Ah-ha, the omnivorous Professor,' Clowes, seated behind his desk, placed the tips of the fingers of both hands together and appeared to be counting them off, separating each pair in turn and rejoining them. ‘We all know of your involvement with the Professor, Angus. I know of Ember also, though I'm surprised he's turned cracksman. These tools are old and of extremely good quality.'

Crow indicated with a wink and a knowing look, that there was more to the tools than met the eye.

‘I'll pass it on to the right quarter then, Angus.' Clowes rose and paced towards the door. ‘You will doubtless inform us if you pull him first. We might like a word.'

‘Anything to oblige,' beamed Crow. There was an unspoken rivalry between the two forces. ‘In the meantime I'll make more enquiries concerning the tools. Good day, John, and my best wishes to your good lady.'

Crow felt unduly smug during the omnibus journey back to Scotland Yard. But there it ended, for there had been an affray in Edmonton and the Commissioner was shouting blue murder for him.

Tanner was already at the site when Crow got out to Edmonton, and the local station people were milling around, taking statements and examining the ground.

As to the dead man, it was a puzzling business.

‘I've been in touch with the City,' Tanner told him. ‘They have no constable of that number, so it appears we have a dead policeman who was never a copper.'

Crow listened to the story as it unfolded – of a police raid, in plain view of passers-by; of one policeman being shot and of several men taken away in a police van. The number varied with the witnesses, for some said six or seven, others put the number as low as three, and in many cases as high as ten.

The neighbours were unhelpful. ‘They kept themselves to themselves next door,' the lady of the adjoining house told Crow. ‘Mind you, I was glad of it. A rough crowd they seemed to be. Foreigners mostly.'

‘What do you mean, mostly?'

‘Well,' she was uncertain about it. ‘I did hear them speaking English, but it was mainly a foreign lingo. German, I think my hubby said it was.'

Crow tramped through the house with Tanner at his heels. There were signs of a fight downstairs, while a table had been overturned in the first floor front bedroom. Crow made notes and returned to the Yard, worried, with several ideas, strands in the wind, which would not take formal shape. The Commissioner wanted to see him almost as soon as he was back in his office. Crow found him unsympathetic and bullying.

‘People masquerading as police officers, Crow. It's the thin end of the wedge, even though they were in City plumage. You'll get to the bottom of it, or I'll have you back on the beat.'

It was an affront to Crow's pride, particularly as the man was dining with him this very evening. He blushed scarlet.

‘What leads have you?' fired off the Commissioner. ‘What clues?'

‘Only one or two possible ideas. These things take a little time, sir, as you well know.'

‘There'll be a public outcry. I've already told the newspapers that you are in command and I shouldn't be surprised if they are howling for your blood in the late editions.
The Times
will no doubt be carrying correspondence on the matter by Monday.'