Revenge of Moriarty

by John Gardner

  The newcomer was a big fellow, a nobbler from Houndsditch who had worked off and on for the Professor in the old days. His name was Evans, and Ember would not trust him with his sister’s cat.

  Ember inclined his head towards the ceiling. ‘You work for the Prooshan cove then?’

  ‘When he’s over here. It’s not like being with Moriarty, but nothing is these days, is it? You on your own?’

  ‘Come to see him with a proposition.’

  Franz was coming downstairs again. He looked huge standing in the doorway. Ember noticed that Evans the nobbler treated him with deference.

  ‘He’ll see you. Upstairs. You come with me.’

  Franz’s eyes slid round the whole bunch and Ember had the distinct feeling that he was not among friends.

  Schleifstein’s room would normally have been the master bedroom – the first floor front. The German himself could easily have passed for a provincial bank manager – which he well might have become had he stayed on the straight and narrow path. Here, in the shabby bedroom with its iron cot, cheap wooden table and peeling wallpaper, he looked incongruous. Ember wondered if this was really a front, or whether, for some reason, Schleifstein had been ousted from his superior position in Berlin.

  He was an imposing figure, clad in dark professional clothes; a man who gave off the aura of one who is born to lead; a man very much apart from those who followed him.

  Indeed, Wilhelm Schleifstein had started life in banking, a fact which led to embezzlement, fraud and from thence to robbery and the flesh trade. Ember knew his reputation as a man of ruthlessness, but somehow could not equate his present position – with the deadbeat gang downstairs – with the legendary criminal overseer of Berlin. For a second he wondered why the Professor was bothering with such an elaborate plan to trap the fellow.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Ember. I have heard much about you. Franz tells me that you have a proposition.’ He spoke exceptionally good English, only a hint of accent – ts instead of ds. His large soft hands were steady on the table, and his dark little eyes unwavering. ‘I can only offer you the bed to sit on, and I see that you are wondering why I should be living in this pigsty.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem to be your style.’

  Ember decided that the cocky approach, though dangerous, might be the best way. Speak to him on equal terms, he told himself.

  ‘The collapse of the previous régime has left London in some chaos, and a strong hand is needed for reorganization. Your former master was a firm disciplinarian, as I am in my natural element – Berlin.’

  ‘I had heard.’

  ‘Here it is different. This is something of an open market now. One I can put to good use. But one I do not desire to alert. If I put up at one of the better hotels, the police would be sniffing like dogs around a bitch. If I lie low here, make some simple reconnaissance, then perhaps people will come to me. People who know my reputation. People like yourself.’

  ‘It makes sense. I’m here, aren’t I?’

  ‘If I can put up for a grand screwing, using mumpers like those downstairs, it will possibly draw even more prime coves to me. It is better to start small, Ember, and then grow, instead of going off at half cock. What is your proposition?’

  Ember looked towards Franz who still towered by the door. There was an uneasy pause during which a snatch of drunken warbling could be heard floating in from the street. Probably Ben Tuffnell letting him know that he was still there and watching.

  Schleifstein spoke a rapid sentence in German. Franz nodded and, with a quick suspicious glance at Ember, left the room, his footsteps on the stairs thudding like drumbeats.

  ‘Now,’ Schleifstein relaxed. ‘I know of you. I know you worked for Moriarty in a place of rank. Whether I can trust you remains to be seen. Your proposition.’

  Ember had a duplicate list of the jewellery which would be in Freeland & Son’s safe over the weekend of 20th – 23rd. The list did not give the company’s name or address, nor the names of Lady Scobie or the Duchess of Esher. The dates were also omitted.

  Schleifstein read through the list twice. Once more it was the vision of a bank manager examining a delicate account.

  ‘A list of gems. So?’

  ‘So they’ll all be in one place at one time. And more besides.’

  ‘This place?’

  ‘Is in London. That’s all for now.’

  ‘And it is accessible?’

  ‘Well, it won’t be like cracking a dolls’ house, but it can be done – with a good crew.’

  ‘Of which you would be one?’

  ‘Of which I would be the most important.’

  ‘You are a cracksman? I had not heard.’

  ‘I’ve done a little of everything. I could do this with the right planning.’

  Schleifstein did not look convinced. ‘Then why not do it, friend Ember? Why come to me?’

  ‘These are big pieces, some of them well known. I need them fenced in France, or Holland. Maybe in Germany,’ he added for good measure.

  ‘Surely there are people with whom you have worked in the past.’

  ‘Plenty. But when these sparkling stones disappear, the esclops will be pulling down doors to get at every fence in London. You could have them away before the loss is discovered.’

  ‘And how do you see the division of spoils?’

  ‘You would get the lion’s share. Then me. The rest divided among the crew.’

  ‘How many in the crew?’

  ‘It would be a four-hander. Two nights’ work – and it would be hard work.’

  ‘Give me the name of the place and the dates.’

  ‘Sorry, Herr Schleifstein. You have to trust me and I you.’

  The German looked at the list once more. ‘You are certain all this will be there?’

  ‘It will be there. It can be done.’

  ‘Tell me how.’

  For the first time, Ember detected the glint of greed in the man’s eyes. He went through the plan, carefully avoiding anything which could lead the German to the exact location.

  ‘You would be safer to make it a five-hander,’ Schleifstein said when he had finished. ‘An extra fellow to keep watch. Would you do it with Franz and three others?’

  ‘Depends on the three others.’

  ‘You have met two of my German men downstairs?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Them, and a man called Evans who is also in the house.’

  ‘You also have a snoozer, Wellborn, downstairs. He has a gabby mouth. If I am to do it with them, I’d want them all kept close.’

  ‘That constitutes no problem.’

  ‘And after we’ve cut the floor out on the Friday night there is a day’s wait until we go back in on the Saturday. I’d want us all together during that time. Nobody wandering off on his own.’

  ‘You would all lie up here. It’s secure enough.’

  ‘How long would you need in advance? To make your shipping arrangements?’

  ‘Four days. My people are in and out of London all the time.’

  ‘I’m willing then.’

  ‘Good,’ Schleifstein mouthed the word as though biting into jam pudding. ‘When will it take place?’

  ‘A little while yet. I’ll come back in three days and talk to Franz and your people. Give them their orders.’

  ‘Your hand on it.’

  Ember was about to reach out, ‘We haven’t really come to terms though.’

  ‘You said the lion’s share for me. Half for me, we split the rest down the middle: half for you and the remainder for my people. It is fair?’

  ‘It will be considerable chink.’

  ‘Your hand then.’

  Schleifstein’s palm felt like a piece of tripe. Ember noticed that he wiped it on his handkerchief after they had shaken.

  Blind Fred had disappeared outside and Ember could not see Tuffnell, but presumed he was loitering in the shadows somewhere. There were not many people about now, but when he got to the Angel he saw Hoppy
Jack on his crutches, leaning against the wall with a glass in his hand. There were one or two ragged urchins around, some of them sipping on tots of gin.

  Ember broke into song, his hands deep in the pockets of his greatcoat – low but happy:

  ‘It’s a gentleman soldier, in a sentry box he did stand,

  He fell in love with a fair maid, and boldly took her hand;

  He kindly did salute her, he kissed her in a joke,

  He drilled her into a sentry box, wrapt up in a soldier’s cloak.’

  Hoppy Jack did not even look his way, but the song meant that he was to follow anyone who showed more than a passing interest in Ember.

  There were no omnibuses about, so he decided to walk for a while. Within five minutes he knew there was somebody behind. Twice he stopped suddenly, in deserted lanes, and the echo of the other’s footsteps continued for a split second. Then he paused at a corner and caught sight of a figure turning at the end of the alley.

  Time to give him a run, thought Ember, and began to cross and recross his own path, dodging down alleys, doubling back on the opposite sides of streets. But he could not lose the follower. It went on for half an hour or so until he was almost in Hackney. Hoppy Jack would have lost his crutches by now and was nimble enough when it came to giving a person the shadow. But that was not enough. Ember was intrigued, and a little apprehensive.

  He came to the corner of a narrow, deserted alley which ran some three hundred yards into Dalston Lane. Half-way down, a lamp bracket threw out a small and diffuse pool of light. Ember paused for a moment, then took to his heels heading for Dalston Lane pell-mell, his shoes hitting the cobbles loudly, the sound bouncing from the dirty walls on either side. Past the lamp and into darkness beyond almost up to the main street. Then, turning he moved back in the deep shadow, treading quietly, listening to the rapid sound of approaching footsteps.

  Ember was not naturally a man of violence. He had not the build for it, but his cunning was not easily surpassed. His right hand found the object he wanted in his greatcoat pocket – a pair of brass dusters he always carried. He stayed close to the wall, returning towards the pool of light. The other figure was coming full tilt towards him, he could hear the panting and, as the follower came level, Ember stuck out his foot.

  With a choked oath the man went down, rolling forward in the half light. Ember took a quick pace towards the sprawled figure and his boot found a target. In the darkness a flash of white as the victim’s face came round. The fist with the dusters connected and the man went limp.

  Ember raised his head and whistled softly. Hoppy was coming down the alley.

  ‘Here,’ called Ember, using the toe of his boot to turn over the thing at his feet. The face came into the pool of lamplight. It was the nobbler, Evans, out cold in the land of nod.

  Moriarty listened in a concentrated grim silence as Ember told him of the previous evening’s events.

  ‘Wilhelm is being very cautious,’ he said when his weasely lieutenant had completed the tale. ‘In many ways that is admirable. I would have done the same. Yet I am concerned. I would have been happier if Franz had followed you. I recall friend Evans. Brawn and balls, but little constructive intelligence. He had, if I remember aright, a certain facility with words. One who could twist. The fact that he was put to follow you indicates that he is trusted, and that smacks of the crooked cross, Ember. We must be like cats on thin ice.’

  ‘Blind Fred got a message to me in the early hours.’ Ember looked tired and jumpy. Not a good state for one who was marked to take part in a dangerous screwing. ‘He says Evans got back to the Edmonton place a couple of hours after I left him. He was moving slowly. After half an hour Franz and the other two Prooshans were on the streets.’

  Moriarty’s head swung to and fro. ‘You act innocent,’ he counselled. ‘Yes, somebody jumped you, but you did not stop to look.’

  Ember sighed unhappily. ‘I think Hoppy lifted his purse.’

  Spear, who had been sitting silent in the corner of the study, looked up. ‘You weren’t to know who’d come sniffing around after you left.’

  ‘There are two things,’ said Moriarty. He spoke like a man using extreme care in choosing words: a man under police questioning. ‘First, they are possibly looking for you. You must be looking for them. If it comes to the push, some mug-hunter was chasing you and you thought it best to tell them. If they do not disguise the fact that it was Evans, you have to be suitably outraged. You do not wish for bad blood in your crew. We all know what can happen in that situation. Second, if they have decided to watch you, they must not be led here. You’ll have to keep a leary eye over your shoulder.’

  ‘I’ll have a brace of lurkers watching my back door.’ Ember gave a toothy grin.

  ‘It would be best. Make sure they’re trusted ones.’

  ‘Two that haven’t been near the Edmonton house. Slowfoot and one of the women, Widow Winnie’d be as good as any.’

  ‘It’s not for long, less than three weeks now, but we must watch every angle.’ Moriarty was getting into his stride, always at his best when moving the pawns in the criminal game. ‘We’ll need lurkers at every end – in the Cornhill, unseen, and along the route back to Edmonton. It would be a cruel blow to find friend Wilhelm changing his plans at the last moment. What of the coppers, Spear?’

  ‘All stays normal on the Friday night. We’ll put our man in on the Saturday, as late as possible.’

  ‘And the sable maria?’

  ‘It’ll look like the real thing; and the uniforms will look natural as bread and cheese.’

  ‘You have tools, Ember?’

  ‘I’m borrowing them. Double enders, spiders, jack-in-the-box, brace and bit, saw, jemmies. All the usual. Borrowing them from old Bolton. He’s past it now. Lives up St John’s Wood. Always willing to lend a hand, old Bolton.’

  ‘Trust nobody, not even your shadows.’ Moriarty rose from the desk, pacing to the window. ‘Best say you are borrowing them for a friend. Haven’t we got tools in the family?’

  ‘You said to keep it close. Better to have stuff that hasn’t been used for a few years.’

  The Professor nodded. He did not particularly like Ember but he was a true and loyal man. Inside him the familiar excitement was building into almost a sensual pleasure with the knowledge that soon his shark’s teeth would fasten around Schleifstein’s legs. The thought was distinctly erotic. I must tell Sal to bring the Italian girl down, he reflected.

  Ember went up to St John’s Wood and called upon old Tom Bolton, the retired cracksman, in his little cosy villa bought with the proceeds of a life-time of burglary. The reason of the visit was to collect tools.

  ‘They’re for a friend,’ he explained. ‘Got a little crib with an old safe out in the country.’

  ‘They’re good tools,’ said the old man. His eyes were watery and he had to get about on a pair of sticks now; all his old agility gone – and him a man who could slide through impossible windows and wriggle across rooftops like a snake. ‘There’s none of your newfangled stuff, you know.’ He seemed loath to part with them. ‘None of them blow-lamps and things.’

  ‘Won’t be needed,’ Ember replied cheerfully. ‘I said it’s an old safe.’

  ‘It’s not that I mind lending them.’ He obviously did mind. ‘But I’d like to know who’ll be using them.’

  ‘It’s a Prooshan friend of mine. They’re searching all over Germany for him and he’s short of chink. Just doing the one crack here to set him up for a while. Good bloke, he is. The best.’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘There’s a hundred guineas in it for you.’

  ‘That’s a lot of money, Ember. It can’t be such a small crib.’

  ‘Ask no questions, Tom. Fifty now. The rest later.’

  Reluctantly the retired burglar painfully hauled himself upstairs. Ember heard him banging about in the bedroom.

  ‘They’re on the landing,’ said Bolton when he reappeared. ‘I can’t manage to carry them dow
nstairs. Age and the rheumatics is a terrible thing. I once got me tools and forty-odd pounds of swag over eight rooftops, with the peelers hunting me all the way. Now it takes me an hour to get me tea. A Prooshan, you said? Would I know him?’

  ‘Doubt it.’ Ember cascaded the gold sovereigns onto the kitchen table and ran up the stairs for the bag – what they called a brief bag in a nut brown hide. ‘You won’t regret it,’ he called out to old Bolton. ‘You’ll have them back before the end of the month.’

  Tom Bolton had a woman who came in to see he was managing, and do his little bits of shopping. It was not charity, for he paid her odd sums and knew that she stole from the shopping money, but it was necessary. When she popped in on the following morning, he asked her to post a letter which had taken him a long while to write, the knuckles on his hands being swollen. She took it down to the corner box on her way to pick up his groceries. The letter was addressed to Angus McCready Crow, Esq., at his home address.

  As he had promised, Ember returned to the Edmonton house three nights after his initial visit. In the time that passed in between, he caught only a glimpse of Franz and one of the other Germans – the clean one. They did not see him and the lurkers, Slowfoot and Widow Winnie, were certain that he had not been followed.

  Franz opened the door to him and Ember immediately felt the atmosphere. In the dining-room Wellborn sat with the plump and dirty German. Evans was by the fire, his head in a sling.

  ‘What you been up to?’ Ember asked as cheerfully as he could muster.

  ‘Douse the chat,’ slurred Evans unpleasantly.

  ‘Did you have trouble getting home the other night, Mr Ember?’ Franz sounded openly unfriendly.

  ‘Well, now you mention it, some ramper tried it on, this side of Hackney.’

  ‘There’s a lot of nasty people abroad in the streets at night. You must take care of yourself.’

  ‘Oh, I do, Franz. I’ve never been a shirkster when it comes to keeping body and soul together.’

  The house smelled of stale greens, an all-pervading aroma which was familiar enough to Ember who did not hold with the sentiment that cleanliness was next to godliness.

  Evans muttered something from the fireside.