The Mammoth Book of the Adventures of Professor Moriarty

by Maxim Jakubowski

  Holmes immediately began his examination by scrutinising the man’s head and neck. He was a short, stocky man of about five and a half feet in height, with a spade beard and a bald head. His eyes had been closed, but his mouth was slightly open, the jaw muscles fixed in rigor mortis. About the eyes were telltale petechial haemorrhages, so often found in cases of strangulation and asphyxiation.

  ‘As you say, the bruising is consistent with strangulation with a single hand. The left hand, in fact.’

  He whipped out a magnifying glass from a pocket of his coat and inspected the bruising, before turning his attention firstly to the torso, then to the hands.

  ‘The hands are soft, but they have seen physical work in the past. They are now kept clean and the nails are well groomed. Note also the curious signet ring with the symbol of what seems to be a pentagram.’

  ‘I had noticed that, Mr Holmes. Do you think it is significant?’

  ‘Possibly,’ the detective replied, non-committally. He bent over the open mouth and sniffed. ‘Curious and curiouser.’

  From another pocket, he drew out a pair of fine forceps. Then over his shoulder: ‘Bring the lamp closer, please, Constable Grimes.’

  Inspector Munro and PC Grimes looked over his shoulder as, by the lamplight, Holmes prised open the lower jaw and inserted the forceps into the mouth and deep into the throat. Then slowly he started tugging something.

  Gradually, he pulled out a bundle of jute.

  ‘Good grief!’ exclaimed Munro. ‘The swine killed him with that. I can see it now. He had him by the throat and shoved that piece of sacking to block his windpipe.’

  ‘What sort of devil would do that?’ asked the constable in disgust.

  ‘It is not just sacking, Munro,’ Holmes said, laying the jute bundle on the slab. ‘There is something inside.’

  He unwound it to reveal three pairs of wooden dice.

  ‘The plot thickens, Munro,’ he said, as he swept up the dice and the jute bundle. ‘I think we have seen enough for now. With your permission we shall take this to Baker Street for further examination and some experimentation.’

  Upon arriving back at his Baker Street rooms, Sherlock Holmes had Mrs Hudson rouse Billy the pageboy and sent him off on an errand.

  Then, with his cherry-wood pipe lit to his satisfaction, he lay the jute bundle on the table between himself and Munro. ‘Now, for a bit of experimentation. What do you make of these, Munro?’

  Munro prodded them. ‘Well, I never!’ he exclaimed. ‘Just looking at them they seem perfectly normal, but this pair have four, five and six on three faces, and the same repeated on the other sides. And this pair have only the numbers one, two and three.’

  ‘Quite correct,’ said Holmes, with a wry smile. ‘The higher ones are called “high despatchers” and the lower ones are “low despatchers”.’

  He picked up the remaining pair and tossed them. They came up one and six. Instantly, he scooped them up and tossed them again with the same result.

  ‘And these are Fulhams, meaning they are loaded. They will always come up as a total of seven. Fulham was renowned as the part of London where dice-sharpers lived and plied their trade in Elizabethan times. But it seems that the trade has now moved south of the river to Putney.’

  ‘So it begins to look as though whoever killed him was making a point. He had been caught cheating at dice,’ Munro conjectured.

  ‘Now for some chemistry,’ Holmes said, rising with the piece of jute and crossing to the table in the corner of the room, which was littered with retorts, test tubes and assorted chemistry paraphernalia. He lay his pipe down in an ashtray and pointed at the window. ‘Chemical analysis is incompatible with smoking,’ he said, with a humourless laugh. ‘It would be as well to have fresh air, if you wouldn’t mind opening the window, Munro.’

  He sat at his chemical table and arranged several bottles of solutions and reagents in readiness.

  ‘First, we need to snip a piece of the jute off and soak it in a test tube with ether for a short while. Then we shall apply the Greiss test.’

  Munro watched with interest as he shook the test tube for several minutes.

  ‘Observe as I then decant this liquid into these two conical flasks. Into the first I am going to pour a test tube of sodium hydroxide. You see that it remains clear. Now, as I add this Greiss reagent, if the liquid turns pink it will tell us that there are nitrites present in the liquid.’

  He poured several drops into the flask and grunted in satisfaction as the liquid immediately turned pink.

  ‘And now, if I simply pour the reagent into the second flask without the alkali – nothing happens. That makes it absolutely clear, don’t you agree, Munro?’

  The inspector shook his head. ‘I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, Mr Holmes.’

  ‘No? Then I would recommend that you devote some time to the study of chemistry, you will find it invaluable in the pursuit of criminals. I have just shown that the jute cloth was used recently as a wrapping for nitroglycerine. In other words it had at some stage a stick of dynamite in it.’

  Inspector Munro’s mouth opened and closed as he struggled to find words for the thoughts that tumbled through his mind. Just as he was about to speak the bell rang downstairs and moments later they heard a rush of many feet upon the stairs.

  ‘Ah, Billy has returned with the help we need.’

  ‘What help, Mr Holmes?’ Munro asked in some confusion.

  ‘Enter!’ Holmes boomed out as the footsteps reached the landing atop the stairs.

  The door opened and a group of a dozen dirty and ragged urchins were led in by Billy the page. With a wink to the urchins and a bow to Holmes he left.

  To Munro’s surprise some of the street urchins were barefooted and all of them looked in need of a square meal.

  ‘Inspector Munro, you see before you the unofficial force – my Baker Street irregulars.’

  One of the boys was taller and older than the rest and was clearly the leader.

  ‘Wiggins, have no fear of the Inspector here. He is one of Scotland Yard’s best. I have an errand for you all. I need you to find me a man. You are to locate him only, not attempt any communication, for he is dangerous. As soon as you find him, and I have no doubt that you will find him somewhere in the gaming houses of Fulham, although I doubt if that is where he lives, you are to report to me. There is the usual scale of pay and a guinea to the one who finds him.’

  ‘But Mr Holmes, we have no idea what he looks like,’ Munro protested.

  ‘Oh we know something that distinguishes him, Munro,’ Holmes returned.

  Then to the urchins:

  ‘You are looking for a tall, powerful man, of six foot two in height. He is American and a fervent gambler with a quick temper, ready to use his fists. He wears a signet ring on the fifth finger of his left hand and he smokes large Cuban cigars, which he habitually holds between the fourth and fifth fingers of that hand. Now off you go. Report to me any time of the day or night.’

  Once they had gone Munro was quick to ask for an explanation.

  ‘It is simple, Munro. He is a tall man who could easily hold O’Donohue down with one hand, keeping out of reach of the Irishman’s flailing hands. That and the size of the hand give us his height. He stuffed the bundle with the crooked dice and the sacking into his throat. I trust that you noticed the bruises on the throat of the dead man?’

  ‘Of course, it was a left hand.’

  ‘But did you miss the imprint of a ring on the bruise made by the fifth finger? Not only that, but smelling the throat the overpowering smell of Cuban cigars was evident between those fingers. This man is a continuous cigar smoker.’

  ‘But why an American?’

  ‘The Fulham dice, Munro. They are loaded to always show up a seven. If you were familiar with the game of craps, which is highly popular in America, not only in their saloons, but in the alleys and back streets of towns and cities from coast to coast, then you would know that a se
ven can both win a game and at other times lose it. A dexterous dice-sharper can substitute a pair of dice at an instant. This man was playing with O’Donohue and that means that O’Donohue was used to playing craps with him. He probably regularly cheated him.’

  ‘So, this American discovered that he had been duped, probably over many games and literally stuffed the dice down his throat. I see.’

  ‘But do you see, Munro? I bring your attention back to the ring. To the rings they were both wearing on the fifth fingers of their left hands. I would be very surprised if our American does not have exactly the same design on his ring.’

  ‘A pentagram? You mean there could be something to do with the satanic arts?’

  ‘Perhaps, but I think not. However, I do think that they were both members of a secret organisation.’

  ‘You mean Moriarty’s gang?’

  ‘No, to my knowledge, Moriarty is neither particularly religious nor superstitious. I think that they are both members of an anarchist group, entirely independent of Professor Moriarty.’

  ‘Anarchists? With what aim?’

  ‘Total disruption of society. One thing I think is likely, the dynamite was part of a consignment, which suggests that they planned to steal from Moriarty. Or rather, O’Donohue was planning to help the American steal the consignment, but the American decided to silence O’Donohue. They may have been gambling companions, but silencing the professor’s quartermaster could be a way of completely covering his tracks. This all implies that this man has a hot temper and he is totally ruthless.’

  Munro stroked his moustache pensively. ‘So what now, Mr Holmes?’

  ‘I think it is time for you to retire to your home. It is late, but, for me, I have thinking to do. It is quite a three-pipe problem and I would like now to be on my own. There is no more to be done this evening.’

  Professor Moriarty was wakened at five o’clock in the morning by Joshua.

  ‘My apologies, Professor. I thought it best to tell you straight away that young Decker, our urchin who runs with Sherlock Holmes’s irregulars is here. He and his fellows have been given a task by that meddlesome Holmes. It concerns the O’Donohue murder.’

  The professor slid out of bed and donned the dressing gown that his elderly manservant held in readiness for him. ‘So it looks as if the great detective is somehow on the case. Have our people discovered anything yet?’

  ‘They are checking out Rossetti’s gang. It all points to them, according to Jack Lonsdale at the Fusilier’s Club.’ He sighed, then: ‘But I am afraid that the dynamite consignment has gone. Does that mean you will be moving against Rossetti?’

  ‘Not until I am ready. In the meanwhile I will listen to what young Decker has to say and I will give him instructions. Bring him to my study.’

  Inspector Munro received the telegram from Sherlock Holmes in the early afternoon.

  Munro, bring six men in plain clothes all wearing black to St Barnabus Church, Bethnal Green. Meet me on Roman Road at 3 p.m.

  S.H.

  A thick fog had fallen when Munro and his men met Sherlock Holmes in the cemetery of St Barnabus Church.

  ‘You see, Munro,’ said Holmes. ‘The window in the shape of a pentagram! Why the architect chose it has always been a mystery, but this is the reason for the pentagram on the rings of O’Donohue and the American. I am sure that you will find that this church was built with foreign money.’

  ‘We will find out in due course, Mr Holmes. But did your irregulars track your American here?’

  ‘They did, as I had every confidence that they would. He is Irish-American and he happens to be the vicar, the Reverend Elliot Sanderson, from Chicago. He is taking a service this afternoon at three thirty, which is going to be attended by the Prime Minister Lord Salisbury and almost all of his cabinet. You remember that Collingwood, the MP for Stepney, died suddenly last week.’

  ‘Shall we go in now?’

  ‘No, I am going inside alone. Give me five minutes then come in, prepared to make your arrest.’

  Sherlock Holmes entered the church alone and Munro and his men waited anxiously, alert to move quickly.

  After almost exactly four minutes, there came the sound of two shots from inside the church. Munro and his men rushed in to find Sherlock Holmes half collapsed on the front pew clutching his left arm, a heavy revolver still clenched in his right hand.

  On the floor, sprawled out, was the body of a clergyman. He too had a smoking gun in his right hand, but whereas Holmes was merely wounded, the vicar was dead with a bullet hole between his eyes and a rapidly enlarging pool of blood about his head. His vestments were already soaked crimson.

  Upon his outstretched left hand a signet ring with a pentagram symbol was plainly visible.

  ‘You will find dynamite with concealed wires leading to one of H. Julius Smith’s diabolically clever dynamo blasting machines behind the pulpit. I disabled the plunger and disconnected the wires, much to the Reverend Elliot Sanderson’s displeasure.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have tackled him alone, Mr Holmes,’ Munro remonstrated.

  ‘One man could slip in and have a chance of upsetting his scheme. Had a flock of police officers, albeit disguised as mourners, then I fear the outcome could have been worse. I think the Reverend of the Pentagram Society intended to martyr himself when he murdered the prime minister and the cabinet and everyone else who attended the funeral. As it was, he chose to play dice one last time when he accosted me.’

  He smiled as he raised his revolver. ‘As you can see, I play with loaded dice, too.’

  Then the great detective fainted.

  Two days later, Sherlock Holmes was the talk of London and beyond. The conspiracy to murder the prime minister and his government by the anarchist group known as the Pentagram Society, a title given them by the sleuth himself, had fired the public imagination.

  After hospital treatment of the flesh wound to his left arm, Holmes had returned to Baker Street where he had been inundated with telegrams and letters from well-wishers, a visit from Lord Salisbury himself and talk of a knighthood.

  All of this Holmes greeted with his usual private disdain and with his public display of modesty. Yet he was pleased to see Inspector Munro when he dropped in.

  ‘Ah, Alistair – I trust that on this occasion you will not object to my use of your Christian name; it seems apt after our handling of this unholy affair by the anarchist Pentagram Society.’

  ‘Of course, Mr Holmes, that is perfectly in order. But, if you don’t mind, I will still use your title. That too seems only right, although I heard that it may soon be Sir Sherlock Holmes.’

  Holmes adjusted the sling that he was wearing over his old grey dressing gown and laughed. ‘As you wish, Alistair. Yet I am sure that after this coup you yourself will soon be advancing in rank at Scotland Yard. Will you take a brandy?’

  ‘I’d prefer a whisky and soda if you don’t mind, Mr Holmes.’

  ‘Of course. And I shall join you. Make yourself comfortable by the fire while I pour them. It may take me a moment longer to operate the gasogene with one hand.’

  ‘Will you be getting Dr Watson to chronicle this case, sir?’

  ‘In due course, after a period of time to let it slip somewhat from the public mind.’

  ‘What will you call it, Mr Holmes?’

  ‘I thought “The Case of the Crooked Dice” or perhaps “The Case of the Fulham Strangler”.’

  He turned and handed Munro a glass then picked up his own. ‘Shall we drink to our success, Munro?’

  ‘Oh, I think so. It has been a glittering success, a lesson in detection.’

  ‘Kind of you to say so, my good fellow. It will, I think, display the art of deduction to perfection.’

  Munro gave a short laugh and then the smile faded from his face. ‘Or rather it could show the art of deception.’

  His eyes suddenly seemed sharper, unblinking and his head oscillated right and left in a manner reminiscent of a reptile.

&nb
sp; ‘My God, can it be you?’ Holmes gasped, dropping his whisky and soda and darting his right hand inside his sling to come out again with his revolver. ‘But, as you can see, Moriarty – I never take chances.’

  In answer, Professor Moriarty merely smiled and took a sip of his drink. ‘Put it down, Holmes. It is full of blanks. I exchanged the bullets after you fainted and we packed you off to hospital. That’s better, now let us talk frankly.’

  ‘What have you done with Munro?’

  Moriarty smiled. ‘There is no other person by that name that you need concern yourself about. Effectively, I am Alistair Munro, as I have been for two years. You pride yourself on your ability to disguise yourself, as the world knows from your egotistical tales, which Dr Watson publishes on your behalf. I too have several personae that I use, which require certain disguises. They are of various people in authority whose position is such that they can come and go as they please, so I can show up as them when it is convenient for me to do so. Munro has been my particular hobby, fostering a disciple-like relationship with you as I built his career. And, as this case demonstrates, he has been very useful.’

  ‘In what way useful, Professor?’ Holmes asked, regaining his composure. ‘Why would following me aid you?’

  ‘Because I didn’t follow you, Holmes, I guided you at every step. From the elimination of O’Donohue, one of my men whose incompetence necessitated his removal from my service.’

  ‘You killed him?’

  ‘I eliminated him. Then I used his death as a means to eliminate Sanderson.’

  ‘Why would you want to eliminate an anarchist and his group?’

  Moriarty laughed. ‘Actually, a bit of anarchy is very good for business. You can see that, can’t you? A headless state means total confusion. When the authorities are preoccupied it is perfect for my organisation and others like mine. You have seen how anarchy has worked for my colleagues in the Balkans and across Europe.’

  He sipped his drink again. ‘But this had nothing to do with anarchists. And there is no such organisation as the Pentagram Society. Elliot Sanderson, on the other hand, was perfectly real. He was a fanatic, but he was not an anarchist. He was an Irish nationalist, an American Irish nationalist, of course. His organisation and I do substantial business from time to time and they requested that I aid him in blowing up Salisbury and his government. They supplied the money to obtain explosives and together we removed Collingwood the MP for Stepney so that his funeral could be performed at St Barnabus Church.’