"All of this," Gobolski said, "is the normal procedure." He sipped at the second glass. "Then I received a message from St. Petersburg today. Doubly encoded, so that when the code clerk was finished with it I then had to decode it again myself."
"Yes?" Moriarty encouraged.
"There was a message in it — and instructions. The message was for Professor James Moriarty. The instructions were for me. I have never heard of you before, you understand."
"I would not have expected you to have."
"My instructions were to bring the message to you myself, personally, and not allow anyone else to see it. That is unusual."
"I'm sure."
"The instructions further directed me to be careful," Count Gobolski said. "Be careful! When I already have twenty-four-hour policemen and nine armed guards." He smoothed his mustache. "I trust that the message holds some relevancy or importance for you. I confess that it conveys nothing of interest to me."
"I haven't seen it yet," Moriarty said, patiently.
"I tell you Mr. — Professor — Moriarty, there is enough to keep me busy in the diplomatic sphere without branching out into espionage. The External Branch of the Okhrana is responsible for espionage. It is not my job. The relationships between your country and mine — I assume you are British — are quite delicate. They require all of my time. I don't see why a man in my position has to act as a courier for messages of doubtful importance."
"May I see the message?" Moriarty asked.
"What? Oh, yes. Of course." Count Gobolski patted the pockets of his formal attire, and finally produced a slip of buff paper which he passed over to the Professor.
Moriarty read it, and then reread it, looking puzzled. "This is all?" he demanded.
Count Gobolski looked slightly startled at the change in Moriarty's manner. "All?" he said. "Of course it is all. Then I was right— the matter is of no importance? I am missing Wagner for nothing?"
"On the contrary, my dear Count," Moriarty said, "it is of the gravest importance. But it is incomplete; the most significant facts are missing." He held the slip of paper out. "Barnett, what do you make of it?"
Barnett took the paper and stood under the gas pendant to read it. It was printed in a crabbed hand, presumably Count Gobolski's, and read in its entirety:
FOUR SAILORS FROM BLACK SEA FLEET HAVE LEFT SEVASTOPOL FOR ENGLAND. JOINING TREPOFF SURELY. TRAVELING AS GERMANS POSSIBLY. EXPECTED JULY TENTH.
"Trepoff needs sailors," Barnett said, handing the note back.
"So it would seem," Moriarty said. "And the tenth is only six days off." He transferred his attention back to Gobolski. "What do you know of Trepoff?"
"I?" Gobolski started. "Nothing. I know nothing of Trepoff. I have heard rumors, of course. Who has not? But I know nothing of this madman. Nothing. I think it is a joke, or a myth used to scare small children. It is said that he kills without warning. And that, although an agent of the Tsar, even the Tsar is afraid of him. Of course, that is not true. I know nothing of him."
Moriarty leaned forward. "Trepoff is in London," he said, tapping the desk. "He is real. You were sent with that message because of your exalted rank and station, because you could be trusted and no one else could. I thank you for coming. This is of the utmost importance, you must believe that. As important as any of your other work."
"Trepoff is in London?" Count Gobolski shot a nervous glance around the room and wiped his mustache. "Has your man ascertained yet whether my carriage is under observation?"
"He will inform us before you leave," Moriarty said. "But this message must be amplified." He tapped the paper. "You must send a reply requesting more detail."
"Detail?"
"Yes, Your Excellency. I need to know the identity of the four men. I need to know their ranks and their specialties."
"What for?" Gobolski said, honestly puzzled. "They are only sailors. If they were officers it would have said as much."
"But even sailors have specialties," Moriarty said patiently. "They may be deckhands, or gunners, or ordnance specialists, or artificers, or engine crew, or stewards, or any one of a dozen other jobs. If I know what they do, then I will have some idea of why Trepoff wants them. I need this information, Your Excellency."
Count Gobolski nodded. "Very clever. The specialties of sailors. I will send the message."
"Thank you."
There was a tapping at the study door, and Mummer Tolliver burst through. "I've got 'em pegged right enough for you, Professor," he said, coming to a halt in front of the desk.
"Then there is someone watching the house?" Moriarty asked. He looked pleased.
" 'Course there is, sir," the Mummer said. "There's three of 'em, as a matter of fact."
"Tell me about it," Moriarty said, rubbing his hands together thoughtfully.
"Yes, sir. There's a chap bent over in the shrubbery in the square, behind the equestrian statue of Lord Hornblower. He's keeping a weather eye on the carriage what's parked outside the door."
"My carriage?" Count Gobolski demanded.
"Right enough," the Mummer agreed. "And on the back steps of the British Museum, on Montague Place, there's a beggar with a horrible twisted lip selling pencils. Only it's a peculiar time to be selling pencils, says me, and he ain't no beggar, further."
"That sounds like a certain consulting detective of my acquaintance," Moriarty said. "I do hope he isn't too comfortable."
"And then, around the corner of the next block, over on Gower Street, there's a hansom cab setting, waiting for something."
"A fare, perhaps?" Moriarty suggested.
"Funny time to be waiting for a fare on Gower Street," the Mummer said. "I went over to him myself and tried to engage him."
"And?"
"He told me he was otherwise engaged. When I persisted, he told me several interesting things about my parentage that my father hasn't seen fit to mention. He spoke with an accent."
"What sort?" Moriarty asked.
The Mummer shrugged. "French," he said.
"Could it have been Russian?" Moriarty suggested.
" 'Course it could," Tolliver agreed. "French, Russian — they all sound the same, you know."
"Yes, I suppose they do," Moriarty said. "Anything else?"
"It is my opinion," Tolliver said, "that the gent lurking behind the statue and the gent atop of the hansom are working together."
"Interesting," Moriarty said. "On what do you base this observation?"
"Their hats," Tolliver said.
Barnett looked at his small friend. "Hats?" he said.
"Yes. Caps, actually. They both have the same cap, and it's a queer one, it is. Long beak, coming to a point almost, in front. With a little strap in the back with a buckle. Never seen one like it before, and here's two in one evening. That's why I think they're related, those two."
"Very good work, Tolliver," Moriarty said. He turned to Count Gobolski. "If you don't mind my asking, Your Excellency, where are you going from here?"
"To the house of — a friend — south of Kensington Gardens," Gobolski said. "Why do you ask?"
"Please write down the address and give it to Tolliver here," Moriarty said. "They will follow you when you leave here, but they will be prepared for someone attempting to follow them. That is, if it is the group I suspect. However, if Tolliver picks them up when you arrive at your friend's house instead of following them directly, we may catch them off guard. In that case we may be able to trace them back to their lair. Perhaps back to Trepoff himself."
"You believe this is possible?" Gobolski asked.
"I think it is, yes."
"You think this little man can do such a job?"
"Tolliver?" Moriarty said, turning to the Mummer.
"I ain't perfect," Tolliver said, "but I'm good."
Count Gobolski shrugged, obviously far from convinced, and wrote an address down on the back of one of his cards. He handed the card to Tolliver.
"I wants to change clothes for this job," the
Mummer said, indicating his checked suit and high collar. "This ain't a suitable disguise. Give me a moment."
"We'll give you twenty minutes," Moriarty said, "ten minutes to change and a ten-minute head start."
"Twenty minutes?" Count Gobolski pulled out his pocket watch and inspected its face. "It is now ten twenty-five. I am already late."
"Patience, Your Excellency," Moriarty said, waving the Mummer out of the room, "there is much at stake here. Perhaps I could interest you in a brief game of chess to pass the time?"
"Chess?" Count Gobolski looked interested. "You play chess?"
"Barnett, hand down that board on the shelf behind you, if you will." Moriarty said. "And the Persian pieces in the box next to it."
The game went on for forty minutes, with the two men engrossed in the board between them, and Barnett an interested, if not engrossed, spectator. Finally, Moriarty pushed a black pawn forward and straightened up. "Checkmate, I believe, Your Excellency," he said. "A good game."
Count Gobolski stared at the board. Then he took a small notebook from his pocket and jotted down the sequence of moves in a quick, nervous hand. "Brilliant!" he said. "So fast and so sure. And you an Englishman!"
"Thank you," Moriarty said, taking the delicate ivory pieces and replacing them carefully in their box.
"Well!" Gobolski said, rising and putting his notebook away. "Now I am incredibly late. I hope it is to the good." He shook hands with Moriarty. "I will send your list of questions to St. Petersburg tomorrow," he said. "Perhaps you would play chess with me again some time?"
Moriarty rose and bowed. "My pleasure," he said.
SEVENTEEN — THE PUZZLE
Life must be lived forward, but can only be understood backward.
— Kierkegaard
The cripple, squatting on his little body cart, pulled himself through the London streets with surprising speed, aided by his two short India-rubber-tipped sticks. Early risers on this Sabbath morning saw him pass and felt a touch of pity, a twinge of undefinable guilt (emotions his whole garb had been carefully designed to evoke), and more than one hand reached toward a pocketbook as he passed. He did not stop for alms, however, but pressed determinedly on, scurrying through the streets of Bloomsbury until he passed the British Museum and then hopping his cart dextrously up the steps of 64 Russell Square.
Mr. Maws opened the door upon hearing a persistent knocking, and looked stolidly down on the mendicant on the stoop. "Yes?"
The cripple rubbed the side of his nose with his right forefinger.
Mr. Maws stepped aside. "Enter," he said. "You may wait in the front room. He will be down directly."
Ten minutes later Professor Moriarty strode into the front room and glared down at the mendicant. "Well?" he demanded.
The cripple once again rubbed the side of his nose with his right forefinger. Then he ponderously winked at Moriarty, his face screwed up in an awful expression, and waited.
"Yes, yes," Moriarty said impatiently. "I already know that. Well?"
The cripple looked unhappy. "The Kensington Wheeler, they calls me," he said finally.
"And well they should," Moriarty agreed. "Why are you here?"
"Twist, 'e tells me right enough to come see the professor — you the professor? — and bring 'im a message."
"I am the professor," Moriarty said, as patiently as he could manage. "What is the message?"
"Twist, 'e says as how you'll stand a quid for this 'ere message," the Kensington Wheeler said firmly.
"I'll make it a guinea," Moriarty said, reaching into his waistcoat pocket, "if you'll get on with it." He held some coins out, which were grabbed and disappeared in an undefinable manner into the mendicant's rags.
The Kensington Wheeler tucked his sticks under him and assumed a narrative stance. "I 'as a spot," he announced, "to the right 'and side o' the doors o' the Church o' St. Jude on the south side o' River Thames, over in Lambeth. Sundays, that is. Rest o' the week I wheels about Kensington."
Moriarty nodded. "I see."
"Well, sir," the Kensington Wheeler continued, "no sooner 'as I assumed my spot this 'ere morning when a growler pulls up to the corner and two gents gets out dragging a third gent between them."
"This third gentleman was unconscious?" Moriarty asked.
"No, sir. 'E were right lively. 'E didn't want to go with those other two gents no ways. But 'e were a little chap, and they was considerable bigger."
"I see."
"Well, sir, these two big gents they pays me no mind, like I was part o' the wall, which is a usual reaction what people 'as. But the little chap, 'e sees me, and right off 'e gives me the office. Which weren't easy, what with these other two 'olding 'is arms, but 'e manages. And 'e calls out to them — but really to me, dontcherknow— 'what you want to bother the Mummer for? The Mummer never 'urt you'—so I'd know who 'e is, like."
"Ah!" Moriarty said.
"Well, sir, these other two gents, they gives me the once-over, but I makes like I'm part o' the wall, which is what they thought in the first place, so they leaves me alone. As soon as they is out of sight, I 'eads out for the guild-'all, even it being the start of the 'eaviest time o' the day for me, cause the little chap gave me the office. Twist tells me to bring the tale 'ere, and you'd make it worth my while."
"Very interesting," Moriarty said. "You did well. You should have taken a cab here, though. I would have reimbursed you."
"Ain't no cab going to stop for me, Professor, even if I waves the money at the jarvey. Which I 'as done."
"I see. Well, you shall leave here in a cab. I'll have one here to take you wherever you wish to go. Can you tell me which way they took the Mummer as they left you?"
"Better 'n that," the beggar said, "I can show you what building they took 'im into."
"Excellent!" Moriarty said. "And so you shall. Go into the kitchen and tell Mrs. H to feed you. I'll be along presently, and we'll take a trip together. We must be quick about it, though."
"I'll be quicker than quick, Professor," the Kensington Wheeler said. "I'm not much of a one for eating, but if I could 'ave a drop o' something before we leaves, it would restore my spirits like."
"Whatever you like," Moriarty said. "Tell Mrs. H." He crossed the hall to his study while the Kensington Wheeler propelled himself to the rear of the house. After ringing for Mr. Maws, Moriarty touched a concealed stud on the left side of the bookcase behind his desk, and it promptly slid forward. Moriarty swung the bookcase aside and opened the cabinet behind it.
"You rang?" Mr. Maws stood by the door.
"Yes. Have you seen Mr. Barnett this morning?"
"I believe that he has just come down to breakfast, sir," Mr. Maws volunteered.
"Good," Moriarty said. "I shall require him — and you, Mr. Maws, if you would be good enough to accompany me." He slid open a door in the cabinet and contemplated the row of revolvers contained therein.
"Is it about Mr. Tolliver, sir?" Mr. Maws inquired.
"Yes. The Mummer seems to have fallen into the hands of the opposition. I have no idea what they plan to do with him, but I rather fancy it would be a good idea not to give them the time to do too good a job of it."
"Very good, sir," Mr. Maws said. "If we are to go armed, sir, I would prefer one of the Webley-Fosbery.455-caliber revolvers."
Moriarty handed over the requested weapon and a box of shells. "Change clothes into something a bit less butler-like," he said. "And ask Barnett to step in here as you pass the dining room."
"Very good, sir," Mrs. Maws said.
A minute later Barnett came into the study. Moriarty quickly informed him of what was happening and handed him a Smith &c Wesson hammerless revolver and ammunition. "This is for self-protection," he said, "and, if necessary, a show of force. I don't know what we'll be coming up against, but if Trepoff is any part of it we'd best be prepared. He is a violently dangerous man."
Barnett loaded the revolver and thrust it into his belt. "Won't your London police object to
gunplay of a Sunday afternoon?"
"It may require a bit of explaining," Moriarty admitted. "We could always tell them we are rehearsing an amateur theatrical. On the whole, it would be best if we don't have to use these weapons. Besides, I would like to speak with Tolliver's captors in some detail, a task which will be rendered easier if they are still alive."
"And," Barnett added, "if we are."
"True," Moriarty replied, buttoning his jacket and selecting a walking stick from the rack. "Let us be on our way. Oh, there you are, Mr. Maws. See about capturing us a growler, if you will, while I retrieve the Kensington Wheeler from the kitchen."
It was just past noon when the four-wheeler turned into Little George Street and pulled up at the Church of St. Jude. "We'd best stop here," Moriarty said. "Mr. Maws, if you would help the Wheeler down, we'll make sure we have the right building."
"I'll point 'er out to you, Professor," the Kensington Wheeler said, "but I ain't going inside with you. That there is your affair."
"Good enough," Moriarty said. "Just point the house out to Mr. Maws and you'll have more than earned your money." He closed the door of the cab. "Wait around the corner," he told the driver. "I don't know how long we'll be."
The driver touched his whip to his hat, and the four-wheeler clattered off.
Mr. Maws walked off alongside the wheeler and was back in a minute. "Fifth house down on the right, just as the gentleman described it," he said. "Far as I can tell there's no one at the windows. The blinds are drawn. How are we going to get in?"
"I've been giving it some thought," Moriarty said. "I could impersonate a gas man, but even a Russian wouldn't believe that if he remembered it's Sunday. Also, there may or may not be some urgency, depending on what plans they have for Tolliver. All in all, I'm afraid, the direct approach is the best."
"Then let's go!" Barnett said.
"Remember," Moriarty said, "an absolute minimum of violence. We want prisoners."
With that, the three of them walked at a measured rate down the street to the fifth house and mounted the stoop. Moriarty knocked gently on the door.
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