The Revenge of Moriarty (6 page)

‘It used to be said that an acre around Liverpool Docks could bring in ten times as much as a hundred acres of the best farming land in Wiltshire.'

‘I can believe it. There's many a straight furrow ploughed down here.'

‘And other things,' Moriarty mused.

A few minutes later they passed into the broad and imposing Lime Street, coming to rest outside the Saint George's Hotel where porters and pages made much fuss of the arriving guest. Moriarty signed in using his fictitious name and giving his home address as some obscure academic institution in middle America.

For their leader the Jacobs brothers had reserved a large suite of rooms, comprising a drawing-room, a large bedroom and a private bathroom – the best in the hotel, tastefully decorated and nicely appointed with windows looking down onto the busy and constantly engaging street below.

The porters deposited the luggage in the bedroom and departed, pulling their forelocks as Moriarty ran the palm of his hand over the leather trunk as though it was in itself an object of great beauty.

‘I have a small surprise for you, Professor,' Bertram grinned once the porters had gone. ‘If you'll pardon me for a moment.'

Moriarty nodded and set to uncorking the bottle of fine Hennessy's brandy which had been brought up with the baggage. He felt tired and out of sorts, the result, he presumed, of the strain and the sea voyage.

His old spirits returned quickly, when Bertram opened the door and ushered Sally Hodges into the room.

‘It is good to see you back.' Sal Hodges held out her hands and moved towards the Professor, taking his hands in hers and kissing him tenderly on both cheeks.

Sally Hodges held a special place in Moriarty's society, for she had been an important member of his staff – his whore mistress in charge of street women and brothels – including the famous Sal Hodges House in the West End; also a provider of young women for his personal use; and, at not infrequent intervals, his favourite mistress.

Now, in her middle thirties, she was a striking woman with hair of a flame copper and a superbly proportioned figure which she always set off to the best advantage, as indeed she did at this moment in the blue velvet gown which graced her body in a manner which, while modest, gave more than a hint of the lascivious pleasures which lay beneath.

Moriarty stepped back, as though examining her, a brief smile playing on his lips.

‘Well, Sal, so you have been faithful to me.'

‘It has not been easy, James.' She was one of the few confidants who could call him by his first name with any impunity. ‘The old days are gone. You know that. I now have only one house in London and there's been no controlling the street girls since you've been away.'

‘But …?'

‘But I shall be proud to warm your supper for you on any night you may choose.'

She took a step towards the Professor, who backed away a mite, for he did not like to show much extravagance towards women when in the presence of his lieutenants. At that moment there was a commotion in the passageway outside, heralding the arrival of William Jacobs and the Spears.

There was much handshaking, and some kissing and whispering between the women. This was followed, naturally, by the pouring of liberal doses of brandy.

When all was quiet, and Bridget Spear seated, still looking green about the gills, Bert Spear raised his glass towards the Professor.

‘I give you our safe arrival,' he toasted.

As the murmur of assent died away, Moriarty looked around the faces of his small band.

‘A safe arrival,' he repeated. ‘And triumph over those who have crossed us.'

‘Amen to that,' muttered Spear.

‘Confusion to them,' said Bertram Jacobs, glass poised.

‘Let them pass blood and rot,' William Jacobs spat out.

The women nodded agreement and they all tossed back their brandy as if their lives depended upon it, Bertram refilling the glasses as fast as they were emptied.

Presently, Sal Hodges, taking her cue from Moriarty, drew Bridget Spear to one side, suggesting that they should leave the men to business.

Moriarty looked from one Jacobs brother to the other, once the women had left.

‘Well,' he began. ‘What arrangements have you made?'

Bertram Jacobs acted as spokesman. ‘The house is ready: that's the best news I can give you. It is what they call a desirable residence, near the Ladbroke estate in Notting Hill, so it's well situated. There's plenty of room for all and a small garden and conservatory at the back. We have put it about that you are an American Professor who does not take kindly to socializing. You are here to study, though you will be spending some time on the continent.'

‘Good,' Moriarty's head was oscillating slowly. ‘And the furnishings are complete?'

‘All you need.'

‘And my picture?'

‘The Greuze was exactly where Ember told us. It's hung in your new study and you will set eyes on it tomorrow.'

Moriarty nodded. ‘And what of our people?'

The Jacobs brothers looked grave, the smiles fading from their faces.

‘Sal's already told you her side,' Bertram frowned. ‘The girls have all split up, or are working in twos and threes. The same applies in all business. Our old demanders have set up for themselves; the street people go their own way. Without anyone to control it, the best cracksmen put up their own screwings, and the fences are doing business direct. There's no order any more.'

‘Then no one person has taken control?' Moriarty's voice dropped to almost a hushed whisper.

‘There are several groups, but nobody big, not like in your day, Professor. Not now there is nobody to show the way.'

‘You mean nobody's really putting up?'
*

It was William Jacobs' turn. ‘Separate items have a put up. Fences do it from time to time. But it is not …'

‘And who else?'

‘There was talk of the Frenchie putting up for a screwing in Mesopotamia
†
a few months back.'

‘And the German …' Bertram began.

‘Schleifstein?' Sharp, angry, the voice raised for the first time.

‘Yes. It is said that he is looking for something to tickle his fancy.'

‘Vultures. Scavengers. What of our lurkers?'

The lurkers were a large army of beggars and snoozers whom Moriarty formerly employed to provide him with intelligence.

‘Most are lurking for what they can make, for themselves.'

‘How long to get them steady again?'

Bertram shrugged. ‘If they was paid regular, I reckon we could get half of them back within a month.'

‘Half of them?'

‘It's not like it was, Professor. Some have died, others just disappeared. The slops …'

‘Crow and his crew.'

‘Not just Inspector Crow. The coppers have been most active. There's been a lot arrested. Even some of our best cracksmen have taken to living respectable.'

‘And the punishers?'

‘They've only ever been good for one thing – for ramping.'

‘Oh, they are good for putting God's fear into people, and for drinking and whoring besides.' Moriarty sounded humourless.

‘Goes with the calling, Professor.' It was the first time Spear had spoken during the exchange between the brothers and their leader. ‘What about the big fella? What about Terremant?'

‘Terremant's working in a Turkish Baths,' Bertram answered, his face lighting up. It had been the massive, steel-hard Terremant who had been the lynchpin in the brothers' escape from jail. ‘The rest of them, well, they do odd jobs for any that'll pay for their services. I should imagine a bit of mug-hunting on their own also. I do know of a cash carrier down the Dilly who used two of them against three of his girls. Wanted to set up on their own. The girls, I mean. They were dissuaded.'

Moriarty sat silent for the best part of a minute. When he spoke it was as though to himself.

‘There must be order among our own people – among family people – if we are to prosper. Just as there must be disarray – chaos – in society.' The threadbare picture painted by the Jacobs brothers was bad.

He rose, stretched and walked over to the window. The sun had gone in again, now covered with cloud, dark and building into high masses. The drizzle was back, and the air hot, tangible, heavy with imminent thunder.

As though suddenly making up his mind, Moriarty wheeled around and looked straight at Spear.

‘When we get back to London your first charge will be to round up Terremant and four or five more. We'll see what they can do for a regular wage. Then I'll put Ember on to the lurkers. London was my city and will be again, and I'll not have people like Grisombre and Schleifstein cracking my cribs or dipping into my people's pockets. Nor will I have the likes of Crow calling the tune.' His head flicked towards Bertram Jacobs. ‘What of Holmes?'

‘He carries on his work.'

Moriarty stood, like some dangerous reptile poised to strike. Then, softly –

‘If we settle with individuals, the rest will come to heel. I am back for one purpose, and before long it will be revealed.'

• • • • •

Sally Hodges assisted Bridget Spear from her bath, wrapping a large towel around the girl's shoulders. There was nothing abnormal about Sal's sexual appetite, but she could appreciate a woman's physical attractions for she had much experience of that in her line of business. Now she watched Bridget towel herself dry and start dressing.

A good face, thought Sal Hodges, good hair and teeth, a shade short in the body but strong hips and pretty legs. Bert Spear had got himself a stayer who would keep him happy for a long time to come. The girl had a natural voluptuousness, now most apparent as she drew on the short silk drawers, stockings and petticoats.

Sal Hodges had no illusions about Bridget. She was not an empty-headed chit, meat for a man's bed or as company on a cold evening. This one was as tough as old boots and, if it was required, she would not think twice about killing for her man. Sal had known that, soon after first meeting the girl – when she had helped save Spear from Moriarty's rivals.

That seemed a hundred years ago, and Bridget appeared more mature now, more confident as she talked of the fripperies which were a mutual attraction for the two women. The rust-coloured gown, into which she now stepped, had, she said, been bought in New York City.

‘You liked America then, Bridget?'

‘Well enough. The last few weeks have been hard. But with a man like Bert you come to expect that.'

Sally laughed. ‘You did not like the sea journey, I gather.'

‘Oh, it wasn't just the journey,' she turned, presenting her back to Sal Hodges. ‘Will you lace me into this? Not too tight. No, I would have suffered wherever we were. But don't breathe a word yet. I have still to tell Bert.'

Sally had thought her breasts were more full than she had remembered.

‘How long?' she asked as though it was no surprise.

‘I reckon I'm about two months gone. It'll be showing soon. Will the Professor be angry?'

‘Why should he be? Bearing children is the natural enough function of a wife.'

‘There's much happening, though. Oh, it's all right so long as we're with the Professor, but if I know Bert, it's but the start of a mighty brood. I don't want them to end up like my own brothers and sisters, and those of others – living off old bones and skilly, huddling in corners to keep warm, dressed in rags and dying young because they had no shoes to their feet, and their fathers strangers from the Bridewell. No, Sal, I want my children brought up right. Bert's a good man, but how long can it go on?'

‘I've known the Professor for many years, Bridget, and he's always been fair to them that are straight and loyal to him.'

‘I've no doubt of that. But you did not have to run, Sal. We ran from the Limehouse place; then from the Berkshire house. I thought we'd be settled in France, but no. We ran from New York and I thought, again, we'd be safe in San Francisco. I liked it there, but we had to run again. Now we're going back to London and, with luck, I'll have the child there,' she patted her stomach. ‘But how will that end?'

‘If I know the Professor it will end with him reaping havoc on the foreigners. And on Crow and Holmes also.'

*
The detailed description of how and why James Moriarty the younger took up his academic brother's mantle and perfected the incredible disguise, is written in my earlier chronicle. However, on publication of that first volume of these memoirs, there were a number (happily but a small handful) of unlettered and ill-read persons who scorned the idea that there were three Moriarty brothers, each named James. For those who have neither taken the trouble to read, mark nor learn from Dr John H. Watson's masterly chronicles concerning his mentor, Mr Sherlock Holmes, I have briefly assembled facts and conclusions which can be found in the Appendix.

*
The French cryptologist who published his
Traicté des Chiffres
in 1586 and is famous for what has been described as ‘the archetypal system of poly-alphabetic substitution and probably the most famous cipher system of all time'. In spite of the clarity with which he expounded his system, Vigenere's cipher fell into disuse and was forgotten until it was reinvented and once more entered the mainstream of cryptology in the 19th century. Moriarty made use of Vigenere's original autokey system and not the standard alphabet system which is generally known as the Vigenere cipher today.

*
Pentonville Prison.

*
‘A put up job' is a phrase still in currency. To put up, here, would be to arrange a robbery or some other criminal act – in other words to mastermind a crime, to provide intelligence and financial backing, also, probably, to arrange the fencing of the articles to be stolen. It was a term, and method, well-known to 19th-century criminals and is mentioned in
Oliver Twist
– ‘It can't be a put-up job as we expected.'