"You are all under arrest!" Moriarty thundered. "Resistance is futile! Unhand those people and surrender!"
The men mouthed expletives unheard in polite company, and one of them made a dash for the stairwell. He was halfway down the flight of stairs when the prince's bodyguard that was nearest to the action reached the stairwell and launched himself off the landing and into the darkness, landing on the fleeing henchman's shoulders. They went down together in a tangle of arms and legs, and it wasn't clear which had ended up on top.
But there was no time to find out. Moriarty and his group had reached the cluster of men around the Barnetts and waded in, swinging their sand-filled hosiery. The villains pulled long truncheons from their belts and held them defensively in front of them, warding off the blows and striking back; except for one who was armed with a military saber, which he brandished wildly in the general direction of Moriarty and his men.
Then someone blew out the lantern.
"Back! Back! Don't let go of them!" someone on the other side yelled. "Back to the room."
"Forward carefully!" Prince Ariste called. "Make sure of whom you're hitting before you strike. But push forward!"
"Mummer!" Moriarty called. "Where are you? Have you still got your dark lantern? Now might be a good time to spread a little light about the area."
"My thought exactly, professor," the mummer called, and a wide spill of light suddenly appeared on the far side of the action, illuminating the villains from behind and throwing them into sharp relief. The mummer had crawled past the villains and was perched on a window ledge set into the far wall.
With the enemy highlighted in Mummer's lantern, they went down swiftly before the onslaught. Moriarty took on the saber slasher, parrying his blade neatly with his cane and jabbing him sharply in the neck. Holmes stepped inside the truncheon range of one of the men and used a precise baritsu move to disarm his opponent and pin him face-down on the floor.
In moments the fight was over, the enemy either unconscious or subdued. Prince Ariste's bodyguard appeared at the top of the stairs, hauling the senseless body of his target and tossed it down on the floor. Dr. Watson checked the breathing of the unconscious men and pronounced them fit. "They will have headaches," he declared, "and it will serve them right." He then went to tend to one of the prince's men who had received a slash in his arm from the wild waving of the saber.
Moriarty went over to the Barnetts and worked at unscrewing their restraints. He dropped the offending ironmongery on the floor and stepped back. "Mr. And Mrs. Barnett, I presume," he said with a little bow and flourish.
"Thank God you came!" Cecily said.
"It took you long enough!" Barnett groused, rubbing his wrists.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR — THE BLOODY HANDPRINT
If once a man indulges himself in murder, very soon he comes to think little of robbing; and from robbing he comes next to drinking and Sabbath-breaking, and from that to incivility and procrastination.
—Thomas de Quincey
"Two Englishmen to see you, sir."
"Really?" Moriarty looked up from his paper-strewn desk. "Who might they be?"
His valet held out the silver tray. "Their cards, sir."
Moriarty took the pasteboards. "Peter Chennery. The young man from the embassy. And—ah! The duke of Albermar." Rising thoughtfully, he took his watch from his waistcoat pocket and clicked it open. It was a little after ten in the morning. "Show them in, Brom."
Seconds later the duke of Albermar burst into the room, with Chennery trotting behind. "I shouldn't be here," the duke said. "I had to see you. What have you discovered? Can you save my son?"
Moriarty raised an eyebrow and glanced at Chennery. "Good afternoon, Your Grace," he said.
"Never mind that!" the duke said. "And never mind Chennery here, he knows all. Or as much as I know. I have not heard from you since you arrived in Vienna. Have you made any progress?"
"Sit down, your grace," Moriarty said, lowering himself into his own seat behind the desk.
"I'll stand," Albermar said. "I can't stay. I must prepare for a major conference that begins Thursday. Day after tomorrow. Diplomatists and heads of state from all over Europe. Damned important affair. Very hush-hush. Premier Joubert of France has arrived by special closed train. The kaiser himself is coming this evening from Germany in complete secrecy; and for the kaiser to do anything in complete secrecy is probably unprecedented. Grand Duke Feodor of Russia has already arrived. He is the personal representative of his brother, the Tsar. All of them, one might say, are slipping into Vienna to attend a most secret conference. I am to represent Her Majesty's government. We are endeavoring to draw up a plan to decide what's to be done with the Ottoman Empire, or what's left of it. The 'Sick Old Man of Europe,' that's what they're calling it. Are we to shore it up or dissect it and divide the spoils of our good deed? That's why I'm in Vienna. But how can I concentrate? I have to know what you've discovered, what you're doing, what the chances are of saving my son!"
"The Sick Old Man of Europe ... a secret conference ... fascinating!" Moriarty paused to jot something down on the notepad on his desk, and then turned back to the duke. "Oh, your son's chances are excellent. 'Paul Donzhof will be out of prison before he comes to trial, one way or another. I have been looking into ways of, ah, whisking him from his lodgings in Heinzhof Prison without official sanction, and have devised three different methods, one of them unique, as far as I know. But I don't think it will come to that. I have also spoken with his attorney, in my guise as Alexandre Sandarel of course, and I believe I can get all the charges against him withdrawn in a very short time. Which is, perhaps, the best method of all."
Albermar dropped into the chair. "All the charges withdrawn?"
Moriarty nodded. "The police of all nations share a reluctance to admit that they are mistaken, but I think that in this instance we can convince them. The case against him is flimsy. It was contrived by people who wanted to see him arrested and charged, but either it did not matter to them whether or not he was actually convicted, or the unexpected murder of the girl frightened them away. Perhaps both. Nonetheless the mill of justice continues to grind, and he will end up inexorably beneath the wheels unless we make an effort to remove him."
"The unexpected murder of the girl, you say? You mean it was an accident?"
"I believe that it was deliberate but unplanned." Moriarty rose. "Later today I'm going over to the apartment your son maintained under the name of Paul Donzhof to inspect it for indications as to what actually took place. My, ah, acquaintance, Sherlock Holmes is joining me, as is Dr. Gross, the head of the Viennese Criminal Investigation Bureau. Holmes feels that the case of Paul Donzhof might well be related to some work he is doing for the Austrian government. Besides, at the moment he is in the uncomfortable position of owing me a favor; a position he intends to rectify as soon as possible. Dr. Gross is joining us because he has heard of the great Sherlock Holmes, and is eager to observe his techniques of criminal investigation. And it seems that the officials have some reservations of their own as to the young man's guilt, so it was easy to convince Dr. Gross to conduct this experiment. Holmes is actually quite good when he's not working from a preconceived fallacy."
"Do you think this will help?"
"It may well. The apartment has, I understand, been kept secure since the murder. In the meantime, Your Grace, let me introduce you to some other people who were victims of the same plot that enmeshed your son."
Moriarty went to the connecting door between his office and the sitting room and pulled it open. "Mr. And Mrs. Benjamin Barnett and Miss Jenny Vernet."
The duke crossed to the door and looked curiously through. The three of them had been sitting around a table drinking coffee. They rose when the door opened.
"The duke of Albermar," Moriarty introduced. "It is his son that we are endeavoring to release from prison."
Barnett bowed. "Your Grace," he said. The two women curtsied.
"Two nights ag
o Mr. and Mrs. Barnett were prisoners of a man whom we believe to be one of the leaders of the group involved," Moriarty told the duke. "Miss Vernet was under threat of immediate execution from the same group."
"Execution!" the duke looked startled. "What was her crime?"
"I was discovered hiding in a cupboard," Jenny told him. "They took offense."
Chennery, who had been standing meekly alongside the duke, stepped forward. "Excuse me," he said, his face turning slightly red, "but—Madame Verlaine—is she about?"
"Ah, yes," Moriarty said, "Madame Verlaine. At this moment, your Grace, she is visiting your son, the prison officials having the mistaken impression that she is his sister. She should be back shortly."
"Visiting Charles? I should like to speak with her, but I can't stay." He turned to Chennery. "Will you wait for the young lady and bring her to me when she arrives? You know my schedule."
Chennery nodded. "Yes," he said. "Yes, Your Grace. Yes, of course, Your Grace. I'll be delighted to do that."
The duke looked at him keenly for a moment and then turned back to Moriarty. "I have to leave," he said. "Please get word to me through the embassy as soon as you have anything to tell me. Sooner. As soon as you anticipate having anything to tell me. Please."
"Of course," Moriarty agreed.
The duke turned to the others. "Your stories must be fascinating. I must hear them. When I get back from the conference I will be staying at the embassy, probably incognito. You must all come have dinner with me. And my son, whom I trust will be back with me by then." He turned to Moriarty. "You see, I trust. I have never felt so helpless at controlling the course of events. I hope my trust is well placed. Well, auf wiedersehen, as they say. Until we meet again."
With that, the duke of Albermar clapped his on hat his head and left the room as briskly as he had entered it."
-
An hour later, his Inverness cloak buttoned and tucked firmly about him against the chill drizzle, Moriarty stood across the street from the building where Paul Donzhof had lived before the Viennese police provided him with the snug, secure housing he now enjoyed. A gray, square, solidly middle-class stone building, it looked incapable of harboring the sort of violence that had occurred there a month before.
An official carriage pulled up to the door as he watched, and Sherlock Holmes emerged, accompanied by a round-faced man with mutton-chop whiskers and a wide mustache, who was carrying an oversized leather briefcase secured with two straps. Moriarty crossed the street to join them.
"Professor, ah, that is Dr. Sandarel," Holmes greeted him. "Allow me to present Dr. Hanns Gross, the director of criminal prosecutions for the City of Vienna."
"Dr. Gross," Moriarty said.
"Dr. Sandarel." Gross moved his briefcase to his left hand and shook Moriarty's hand.
"A pleasure to meet you, Doctor," Moriarty said. "I've read your book, of course. The Handbuch für Utitersuchungsrichter als System der Kriminalistik. The Examining Magistrate's Handbook—A System of Criminalistics. It's the first intelligent treatment of criminal investigation I've seen."
"Thank you," Gross said. "Mr. Holmes has told me of your intense interest in criminals and their activities."
"I'm sure he has," Moriarty said, glancing at Holmes. "I'm quite certain he has."
"I'm preparing a new edition of the handbook," Gross said. "I've been reading some of the cases of Mr. Holmes, as recorded by his amanuensis, Dr. Watson, and I'm incorporating the techniques learned from those cases in the new edition. Anyone seriously interested in criminalistics would do well to study the cases of Sherlock Holmes."
"I am pleased that you think so," Holmes said. "It is no less than the truth."
"Watson always dramatizes my cases for their sensational aspects," Holmes commented sadly, "while I would much prefer that the analytical processes involved were treated more fully."
"A clear enough view of the process of ratiocination you employ is suggested in Dr. Watson's stories to make them of great value to the student of crime-solving," Gross told him, shaking his right forefinger in the air for emphasis.
Holmes nodded, accepting the implied compliment as his due. He tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger. "Studying the career of Dr. Sandarel here would also greatly reward the serious student of crime," he said, nodding gravely at Moriarty.
Moriarty gazed at Holmes with an expression that was difficult to read. "You are too kind," he said.
"Really?" Gross beamed. "Always delighted to meet a colleague. What is your specialty, Dr. Sandarel?"
"The mind of the detective as well as that of the criminal," Moriarty told him. "And how persistence can transform itself into obsession, which then clouds the mind."
"Yes, yes," Dr. Gross agreed. "I, myself have described that in my writing. It is necessary to have a clear mind and not form a definite opinion of a case too soon. A preconceived opinion is clung to with tenacity until the investigator is forced to abandon it, by which time the best clues may well be lost—often beyond the possibility of recovery."
"Mr. Holmes himself has said something like that," Moriarty observed, "and I'm sure he tries to live up to it. Don't you, Mr. Holmes?"
A slight smile twitched about Holmes's lips, and then was lost. "Let us go upstairs," he said. "I am anxious to examine this crime scene."
"I, also," Dr. Gross said. "It is fortunate that the area has been kept pristine, as it was on the day of the murder; although I'm afraid the most significant clues may have degraded or even disappeared by now just through the passage of time. It has been almost a month since the crime."
"I fancy I might be able to discern something that the Viennese police overlooked," Holmes said, "despite the wait."
"The examining magistrate would like to bring this case to court," Dr. Gross explained. "But we're not satisfied with the present state of the evidence. So anything you can find pointing to the young man's guilt or, of course, his innocence, would be of value."
They entered the building and paused at the foot of the wide staircase. "Top floor?" Holmes asked.
"Of course," Dr. Gross said. "When have you known an examination that wasn't up the very highest flight of stairs? It's what keeps the police force in such good physical shape."
"Why don't you go over the known facts for us as we go upstairs?" Holmes asked.
"Very well," Dr. Gross agreed. "But I may have to rest at one or more of the landings to catch my breath. I'm not as young as I used to be."
"Few of us are," Moriarty observed.
"Very well." Dr. Gross started upstairs with a determined look on his face. "The Rathaus Bureau of the Vienna Criminal Police was notified at eleven forty-five on the morning of Friday the twentieth of March that an attempt would be made by anarchists on the lives of the duke and duchess of Mecklenburg Strelitz as their coach passed along the Ringstrasse that afternoon. Unfortunately, by the time the guard could be notified, the attempt had already been made."
"So," Moriarty said, "the police were notified before the attack."
"Yes, that is so."
"By whom?"
"Nobody seems to know. The point has been investigated, but as to how the warning was received by the bureau, there is no information. It was stated in the warning that the anarchist in question would be wearing a green greatcoat and a wide brown cap and carrying a Shugard Seuss revolver."
"How specific!" Holmes commented.
"Was it not Hafiz who said, 'a man who has but one greatcoat will be seen wearing it everywhere?' " Moriarty asked innocently.
Dr. Gross paused and looked back at them. "I take your point," he said. "A wise man planning to commit a crime would not inform even his comrades of the color of the coat he will be wearing. But, as we know, criminals are seldom wise, and the inability to plan ahead seems to be one of the hallmarks of the common criminal."
"Just so," Moriarty remarked. "The common criminal. But this is an uncommon crime, and I think therefore we can postulate an uncommon criminal.
"
Dr. Gross started up the stairs again. "Becoming more and more common, unfortunately," he threw back over his shoulder, "these political assassinations."
"True," Moriarty said. "And there is a common thread that connects them; but it is not the thread of ordinary crime."
"Anarchists!" Dr. Gross declared. "Fast-growing evil weeds that sprout from nowhere."
"Yes, but financed and organized how?"
"Not all insane people are dirt-poor," Dr. Gross said. "Some of the very richest, most high-born spend their lives trying to destroy the very institutions that have placed them where they are. It is, according to our Dr. Freud, a way of striking back at a father who mistreated or ignored them. Dr. Freud says it is all in the unconscious mind. He calls it an 'Oedipus Complex,' after the Greek myth."
The Great Game Page 29
