The Revenge of Moriarty (40 page)

‘Friends from England. Our names would mean nothing to her.'

The proprietor gave a short somewhat curt nod, and slammed the hatch close. Some three minutes later he reappeared.

‘Madam Norton is about to go out, but she will spare you a few moments. You are to wait in the parlour.' He indicated a door on the far side of the hall.

The Nob thanked him, and the two men crossed to the door. It was a large airy room strewn, almost haphazardly, with armchairs and occasional tables upon which books and magazines had been placed for the convenience of guests – who, at that moment, were notable for their absence.

Ember sank into one of the armchairs while the Nob walked over to the large window and gazed out at the glassy waters of the lake.

A few moments passed before the door opened to reveal a woman dressed for the street: a cream skirt and blouse showing beneath an open cloak of similar hue. A matching bonnet graced her head, under which dark tresses were clearly visible.

Ember gauged her to be in her mid-thirties, but still handsome with a pair of eyes that might well tantalize any red-blooded male.

‘You wish to see me?' She looked with some hesitation at the men, taking in each of them with a long stare, as though memorizing their features.

‘If you are Mrs Irene Norton,' the Nob replied with a gracious gesture.

‘I am.' The voice sweet and melodious, yet a hint of alarm in her eyes.

‘Mrs Irene Norton whose maiden name was Irene Adler?'

‘That was my name before marriage, yes.'

Both the Nob and Ember caught the slight American inflection in her voice.

‘Who are you, and what do you require with me?' the lady asked.

‘We come as emissaries.' The Nob crossed to stand in front of her. ‘There is a gentleman who has been seeking you for some considerable time.'

‘Well, he has found me. Whoever he is.'

‘I think this will explain, Ma'am.'

The Nob drew out the envelope entrusted to them by Moriarty, placing it in the woman's hands, in the manner of a summons server.

She turned it over, seeing that the seal was intact, looking almost reluctant about opening it.

‘How did anyone find me?' Her voice dropping to a whisper. ‘It has been put about that I am dead.'

‘Read the letter,' said Ember.

Her eyebrows lifted for a second before she plied her dainty fingers to the envelope, slitting it open and drawing out the heavy sheet of paper.

Both men could glimpse the letterhead which signified that the paper had come from 221
B
Baker Street, London.

‘Sherlock Holmes,' Irene Adler gasped. ‘After all these years he has sought me out?' She raised her head to look at the Nob. ‘He asks me to return to London with you.'

‘That is so. We are instructed to give you our utmost attention, and guard you with our lives.'

But she was reading though the letter a second time, her lips moving silently.

Dear Lady –
the script ran –
I can only trust that you remember me from the business in which we both figured some years ago, and in which, I cannot deny, you bested me. Some time ago it came to my notice that your husband, Mr Godfrey Norton, had been killed in an avalanche near Chamonix, and that you were also feared dead. It was, therefore, with great joy that I stumbled upon the fact that you still live, even in the somewhat reduced circumstances in which I have now found you
.

It may not have escaped your notice, from the public jottings of my friend and companion, Dr John Watson, that I have, from our first meeting, held you in the greatest regard. I only wish to help, dear, dear lady, and offer what assistance I can. If it is not too forward of me, I ask you to accompany the two gentlemen whom I have sent with this letter. They will bring you back to London where I have prepared a small villa for your use in Maida Vale. I ask nothing more than to be of service to you, and see that you are looked after in the manner to which you were formerly accustomed
.

Your dearest friend, who has nothing but admiration for you – Sherlock Holmes
.

‘Is this true?' she asked in bewilderment, ‘or can it be some trick?'

‘There is no trick, Ma'am. We have money and the facilities for travelling back to London.'

‘I am overwhelmed. Since my husband's death, which left me in a state both of despair and pecuniary disadvantage, I have not wished to face the world again. But Sherlock Holmes of all people …'

‘You will come?' the Nob asked in a kindly tone.

‘Well, it certainly gives me new heart. I am approaching a time of life when a woman feels …'

‘You cannot be much over thirty years.' Ember bowed with considerable gallantry.

‘You flatter me, sir. Yet I must admit that Mr Holmes' letter has set me aflutter like a young girl again.'

‘You will come?' repeated the Nob.

‘Yes.' Her face lit up in the most pleasing of smiles. ‘Yes, of course I will come. What woman would not for Mr Sherlock Holmes?'

*
Terrorist bombings, spread over a long period, were quite frequent during the last three decades of the 19th century. The bombing of Clerkenwell Prison, in 1867, is but one example of bombs both large and small. An attempt to blow up the Mansion House, in March 1881, almost succeeded. Two years later the Local Government Office, Charles Street, Whitehall, was the target: this time the bomb exploded. In the same year there were at least two more explosions – in an Underground tunnel between Charing Cross and Westminster, and a more serious explosion on 30 October, strangely at the Praed Street Underground station, seriously injuring 62 people. Bomb scares during the late eighties seem to have been as rife as those recently experienced in contemporary London; and in February, 1884, an explosion wrecked a cloakroom at Victoria (Underground) station. On 30 May, in the same year, part of Scotland Yard's Detective Department was damaged, and a nearby public house demolished. It is possible that two bombs were used here, the public house being the second target. Following what must now seem to us an almost traditional pattern, the terror tactics were changed, and the Junior Carlton Club and Sir Watkyn Williams Wynn's neighbouring house were damaged. On the same day – 30 May – a more serious tragedy was averted when sixteen sticks of dynamite were defused at the base of Nelson's Column. Other targets in that same year, happily discovered before detonation, were London Bridge, the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Hall and the Tower of London. In 1893 a postal worker was killed by a parcel bomb and a year later another similar device exploded in New Cross Post Office. A quick summary would not, of course, be complete without reference to the unfortunate anarchist Martial Bourdin who died when the explosives he was carrying were denonated prematurely in Greenwich Park on 15 February 1894. This last incident was, of course, used as a basis for Mr Joseph Conrad's novel
The Secret Agent
.

*
Moriarty is referring, of course, to Kensal Green Cemetery.

LONDON AND PARIS:

Tuesday, 4 May – Friday, 14 May 1897

(Vice-versa)

‘Allow me to regale you with a tale which may already be familiar to some of you.' Moriarty faced those who were most privy to his thoughts.

They sat in the largest chamber of the Bermondsey buildings: Ember, Lee Chow, Bert Spear, Harry Allen, the Jacobs brothers and the Professor himself.

‘After the tale,' continued Moriarty, ‘I shall show you a small miracle. You will recall that, soon after my return to London – following our American episode – I asked for intelligence concerning a woman, by the name of Irene Adler. Well, as Ember will tell you, Miss Adler is now in London; suitably set up in a pleasant little villa in that most respectable suburb of Maida Vale.'

Ember nodded, his foxy face reflecting the complacency of one who is party to a great leader's innermost schemes.

Moriarty's voice took on that well-known mesmeristic lilt. ‘Now, Irene Adler is a lady with a past, if you follow my meaning. At one time she was a most fashionable contralto. Concerts everywhere. She even appeared at La Scala, and was for some time prima donna of the Imperial Opera of Warsaw. She was also an adventuress.' He gave a short laugh. ‘Indeed, it would not have taken much to push her into our camp. She would have made an admirable family woman.'

He paused for effect. ‘Let me tell you here and now that I have the greatest respect for this lady. For she shares one great dignity with myself. Some eight or nine years ago she got the better of Mr Sherlock Holmes. Indeed, Mr Holmes, who is noted for his somewhat reserved attitude to the fair sex, also holds her in high esteem. At the time of this clash, Miss Adler married. A love match it seems, the gentlman being a solicitor, by the name of Godfrey Norton.
*
They were married in some haste and left the country almost immediately, living in Switzerland and France for the three or four years of their marriage. Then tragedy befell the lovebirds. While out walking on the lower slopes of Mont Blanc, the pair were overtaken by an avalanche, Mr Norton losing his life and his wife hovering near death for several months. She was, however, spared. Yet so distressed was she that a story went about which claimed that she too had perished.'

He allowed the facts to sink home. ‘Unhappily, Mr Norton died leaving very little provision for his widow, while she, in despair, was reluctant to face the world again. She has been living, these last years, in great and frugal simplicity: her singing voice gone, and her spirit almost broken.'

Moriarty beamed at his audience. ‘You will be pleased to hear, gentlemen, that all this has been changed; by that paragon of virtue, the dedicated and coldly analytical Sherlock Holmes.'

Ember smiled knowledgeably, the others looked puzzled.

‘If you will bear with me,' Moriarty continued happily. ‘I would like to introduce you to a visitor who has done us the honour of agreeing to come to our simple retreat. I shall go and fetch him, though it will take twenty or thirty minutes. You would do well to charge your glasses. Be patient.' Bowing like an actor, the Professor retired, heading for the quarters which he now often used in the refurbished building.

The members of the Praetorian Guard talked among themselves, replenished their glasses, and probed Ember for more details of the Professor's devious story. But the foxy man would not be drawn.

Some five and twenty minutes later, they were called to silence by the Professor's voice behind the door.

‘Gentlemen,' he said loudly. ‘I have the honour to present to you, Mr Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street.' The door opened and Holmes stepped into the room.

All but one of the assembled villains looked aghast, for it was in truth James Moriarty's deadly enemy: the tall lean figure, the sharp piercing eyes, alert and shining above the hawk-like nose and prominent square jaw. The delicate hands moved in a precise gesture as Holmes took in the scene.

‘Well, gentlemen, we meet face to face. I see you have been enjoying the pleasures of your native food, Lee Chow. And, you, Spear – if that is your real name – did you enjoy your walk by the river this morning? As for our good friends the Jacobs brothers, it would appear they have recently been playing billiards.'

Bertram Jacobs took a pace forward, as though about to perpetrate an act of aggression, when Holmes' voice changed.

‘No, Bertram, you are safe,' said James Moriarty.

Sherlock Holmes' head oscillated slightly, and the laugh which broke from his lips was the laugh of their leader, the Professor. ‘Is this not my greatest triumph in disguise?' he said proudly.

Irene Adler was enchanted by the house in Maida Vale. In truth it was a small place, but neat, tidy and cosy, furnished with consummate taste, and containing everything for which a woman could wish, including the services of an excellent young maidservant, by name of Harriet.

On her arrival there was another letter from Mr Holmes, couched in the most affectionate of terms. Flowers were set fresh in the vases and a small carriage was at her disposal, day or night.

At the end of his note, Holmes had written –
I am much entangled in a matter of some importance at the moment, but will call upon you as soon as it is humanly possible
.

It was, however, three days before the great detective put in an appearance at the villa.

He arrived in the late afternoon while Irene Adler was changing, prior to taking a drive in her newly acquired carriage. Harriet, all agog, came with the news that he was waiting for her in the parlour.

She came down to greet her benefactor some fifteen minutes later, dressed in a simple grey afternoon gown, her face radiant and looking nowhere near her nine and thirty years.

‘Mr Holmes, I know not how to thank you. I am overcome with your kindness. Would it be presumptuous of me to offer a kiss?'

‘Dear lady,' his tall frame towered above her, the firm features composing themselves into a smile of intense pleasure as he took her in his arms. ‘I have waited long for this moment. I am only happy that you have seen fit to take advantage of my offer.'

She hugged him close. ‘Mr Holmes, I can still hardly believe it, your reputation is that you would go a hundred miles rather than be found in any position of compromise with a mere woman.'

‘True.' He gave her an affectionate squeeze. ‘True, I have been presented as such, but you so softened my heart all those years ago when we met – under most dubious circumstances – that I have longed to be of assistance to you. I have never understood why, if you were alive and in such difficult financial straits, you did not return to your chosen profession in the theatre.'

She sighed, took his arm and led him to the couch which stood near to the window, seating herself and patting the velvet to indicate that he should take his place beside her.

‘My voice is gone, Mr Holmes. The shock of that terrible avalanche, and the death of my husband, of Godfrey.' Her eyes filled up and she was forced to turn her face away.