" 'Oo's there?" a voice came through the closed door after a minute.
"It's Father Banion," Moriarty said in a deep, melodious voice, his face pressed close to the door. "I understand there's a sick man in there who requested my presence."
The bolt was pulled and the latch lifted. "There's no one sick in here, Father," the man inside said, opening the door slightly to pass the word.
Mr. Maws hit the door solidly with his shoulder and sprung it open. In a flash Moriarty was inside and had grabbed the man and wrapped an arm around his mouth. "There'll be someone very sick if you try to make a sound," he whispered. "I'll break your neck!"
The man struggled for a moment and then was still. His reaction was not one of belligerence, but rather of great surprise.
"Who are you?" Moriarty asked softly. "Don't raise your voice!" He released his hold on the man's neck enough for him to catch his breath and reply.
"I'm the porter, sir," the man squeaked. "And who are you? Sir?"
"Scotland Yard," Moriarty said. "This house is surrounded."
The man's mouth fell open. "The p'lice!" he said. "It's them foreign-looking gentlemen, ain't it?"
"What do you know about them?" Moriarty demanded in an undertone. "Speak quickly!"
"Nuffin', sir. They been here about a fortnight, sir. I didn't do nuffin', sir, whatever they did. There's a whole bunch of them upstairs now."
"I see," Moriarty said, "And how many to a bunch, my man?"
"I didn't watch them come in, you know. They don't like it if they think I'm watching them." The porter sniffed and wiped the back of his hand across his nose. "I'd say maybe a dozen, maybe a few more'n that."
Moriarty released the porter and turned to his two companions. "We seem to have bitten off a hefty morsel," he said.
"We could rush them," Mr. Maws said, flexing his shoulders.
"We could, indeed," Moriarty agreed. "Which would put us somewhat in the position of the fox rushing the hounds. But it is an option." He turned to the porter. "I'm afraid there's going to be some excitement here for the next little while. Have you a room? Good. Go to it now, and don't come out of it for the next half-hour."
When the man had gone, Moriarty stepped to the foot of the stairs and listened. The sound of subdued conversation came from above. "It doesn't sound like an interrogation," Moriarty said. "They probably have Tolliver locked up in one of the upstairs rooms while they discuss other matters."
"Perhaps one of their number is heating the hot irons even now, while the rest of them talk," Barnett suggested.
Moriarty shook his head. "They've only had him here for a few hours," he said. "And this must be a regularly scheduled meeting. Or, rather, a specially scheduled meeting, since these people usually don't assemble in groups larger than three. But at any rate, it must have been set in advance of their capturing Tolliver."
"It must be important, then," Barnett said.
Moriarty nodded. "Assuming our conclusions are correct," he added, "and this doesn't turn out to be a gathering of the Lithuanian branch of the Young Men's Christian Association." He pulled his pince-nez glasses from one pocket and a cloth from another and began assiduously polishing the lenses. "I'd give quite a lot to listen in on that conversation," he added.
"I could sneak upstairs," Barnett offered. "Perhaps I could overhear something."
Moriarty shook his head. "The chances of your being apprehended," he said, "are much larger than the chances of their speaking English."
"I hadn't thought of that," Barnett admitted.
Moriarty put his pince-nez back into his pocket. "We could get reinforcements," he said, "but that would take longer than we can afford. They may decide to transfer Tolliver to a safer place, since this house is undoubtedly going to be abandoned after this meeting. Indeed, Tolliver may already have been taken away."
"Then what do we do?" Barnett asked.
"We rush them, as Mr. Maws has suggested," Moriarty said. "But in such a fashion as to create an air of moral, if not numerical, superiority. I see that this house is constructed with a back stairs. Ideal for our purposes."
"How's that?" Barnett asked.
"We have to leave them a way out," Moriarty said, "or they'll come out over us."
Mr. Maws pulled his revolver from under his jacket. "Shall we go then, sir?"
Moriarty nodded and pulled a police whistle from his trouser pocket. "When I blow this," he said.
Mr. Maws smiled. " 'Under the shadow of Death,' " he said firmly, " 'Under the stroke of the sword, Gain we our daily bread.' "
Barnett turned to him. "What's that?"
"Kipling," Mr. Maws explained. "Are we ready?"
"Don't use that weapon unless they fire first," Moriarty instructed. "What we're after is a maximum of noise and confusion, but preferably without gunfire." He thought for a second, and then continued. "Mr. Maws, you take the stairs. Barnett, start on this corridor, but keep away from the back stairs. We have once again become Scotland Yard," he said. "And there are at least fifty of us. But somehow we've forgotten to cover the back exits."
"How careless of us," Barnett said.
-
At that instant an upstairs door opened and footsteps sounded over their heads. The murmur of voices grew louder.
Moriarty put the whistle to his lips and blew a triple blast. "All right up there!" he yelled. "This is the police. All of you come down with your hands over your heads. Resistance is useless!"
There was a moment of shocked silence from upstairs and then the murmur turned into a babble and the sound of footsteps increased in number, volume, and tempo.
Barnett started opening and slamming doors and shouting official-sounding instructions. "Simmons," he yelled, "take your men around the back! Dwyer, check these rooms out!"
Mr. Maws stomped up the front stairs with the stolid tread of the invincible English policeman. "You are all under arrest," he bellowed in a deep voice. "It is my duty to inform each of you that anything you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence. Come along quietly, now!"
The milling footsteps upstairs broke into a panicked scurrying, as one of them found the back stairs and reported the fact to the others. A heavy sofa was pushed out into the upstairs hall facing the front staircase, and two men squatted behind it, pointing a brace of long-barreled revolvers at the advancing figure of Mr. Maws.
Mr. Maws dropped as someone's gun went off, and the bullet crashed through a print of Mercy Interceding for the Vanquished, which hung on the wall behind him. Mr. Maws's answering shot smashed into the door frame above the sofa.
There was a hurried whispering from behind the couch, and then a sliding sound, and then all was silent from above. Professor Moriarty climbed the stairs to where Mr. Maws lay and peered amusedly at the couch barrier. "The birds have flown," he said. "And a good thing, too."
Mr. Maws got up and dusted himself off. "Disgraceful!" he said. "I shall have to speak to that porter. I don't believe they clean this stair carpeting at all."
Barnett came up to join them. "Gone?" he asked.
"We have the building to ourselves," Moriarty said. "Except for the porter, and, I hope, Tolliver. You two go look for him. I wish to examine that meeting room and see if our friends left anything of interest in their haste."
"I hope those shots don't bring the real police," Barnett said.
"They may," Moriarty acknowledged. "In which case we are injured innocents. British stoic heroism. Saved a man from kidnappers — if Tolliver is here — but want no reward. After all, we didn't run away." He went up to the landing and boosted himself over the sofa. "But I'd better get a look at that room before they arrive."
Mr. Maws searched the rooms on the floor they were on, while Barnett climbed the last flight to the top floor and checked those rooms out. It was Barnett who found Tolliver. The third door he pushed open led to a lumber room full of disused furniture, Tolliver was securely trussed up and tied to a bed frame which rested against the far wall.
Barnett cut the ropes with his pocketknife and released the brave little man.
"I heard the commotion when you arrived," Tolliver said. "What happened? If I might ask." He sat on a trunk and rubbed his arms briskly. "My hands are coming all over pins and needles," he explained. "They tied me a bit tight."
"It's good to see you, Mummer," Barnett said. "But you're going to have to become a bit more proficient at the art of following people so we don't have to rescue you every time you go out of an evening."
"I like that!" Tolliver said. " 'Ere I am trying to bring a bit of excitement into the lad's life, and 'e's full of reproach. After all, it's not 'im what got trussed up like a capon."
Barnett laughed. "Come on downstairs," he said. "The professor will want to say hello."
Moriarty was on his knees examining the floor in the meeting room when Barnett brought the Mummer down. "Don't touch anything!" he snapped as they entered the room. "I'm not through in here yet."
"You might at least," Barnett said, annoyed at Moriarty's lack of compassion, "tell the Mummer that you're glad to see him."
"Nonsense," Moriarty said, getting up and dusting off the knees of his trousers. "We're here, aren't we?"
"Well, I'm glad you come," Tolliver said. "I was beginning to get a bit concerned as to my future."
Mr. Maws appeared in the doorway. "Afternoon, Tolliver," he said. "Professor, I thought you might be interested to hear that I just glanced out a front window and noticed several large men taking up positions about the house."
"Scotland Yard," the Mummer said.
"Let us hope so," Moriarty said. He sighed. "No doubt they will remember about the back door. Ah, well. There doesn't seem to be anything of interest in this room, unfortunately. And to think, we had a whole room full of them here, and now they're all gone."
"Leaving nothing behind?" Barnett asked.
"Nothing of consuming interest," Moriarty said. "There's that hat" — he pointed—"and that picture, and a few cigarette butts of rather common brand."
Barnett went over to examine the picture, which was tacked to the wall by the door. A full-color portrait of Queen Victoria looking stuffily regal, it had been carefully cut out of a recent edition of the Illustrated London News.
"Well, well," Barnett said. "A patriotic bunch of anarchists. What will they think of next?"
-
The sound of someone pounding violently on the front door came up from below. "Open up!" an authoritarian voice bellowed. "This is the police!"
"Go down and let them in, Mr. Maws," Moriarty directed. But before Mr. Maws had reached the staircase, they heard the front door opening and the heavy feet of policemen treading on the stairs. "The porter!" Moriarty said. "I had quite forgotten about the poor porter. What must he think!"
Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs, and a uniformed policeman came into view. " 'Ere now, just you stand still there!" he commanded. "There's three of them — no, four — up here, sir," he called back down the stairs.
"Oh, officer," Moriarty said in the concerned voice of a nervous schoolmaster, "thank God you've come at last. We thought you'd never get here."
That set the policeman back. Confusion reddened his already ruddy ears. "What's all this, then? What's all this?" he said.
"My young friend here," Moriarty said, indicating Tolliver, "has been imprisoned by a bunch of foreigners. We had just contrived to effect his release when you arrived. Surely it was our summons that brought you?"
"I don't know nothing about that, sir," the policeman said. "You'd better wait here, sir."
"We'll just come downstairs," Moriarty said. "There may be more of them on the upper story. Tolliver, take your cap," he added, indicating the piece of headgear hanging from the back of a chair.
"My cap?" said Tolliver. "Oh, yes. Thank you, sir."
They went downstairs, edging past the policemen who were gathering for the assault on the upper story. On the ground floor officers were going from room to room, while the porter stood with three plainclothes Scotland Yard men and Mr. Sherlock Holmes in the front hall.
"Holmes!" Moriarty said. "Whatever brings you to Lambeth? And Inspector Lestrade, I believe."
"Acting on information received," Lestrade said stiffly, "I obtained a warrant to search these premises. I was informed that you might be here, Professor, although, quite frankly, I didn't believe it. I'll have to ask you to explain your presence here, sir."
Holmes pushed Lestrade aside and stepped forward, his fists clenched. "Enough of this, Moriarty!" he snapped. "We have you now. Where is she? The house is completely surrounded, you might as well give it up."
Moriarty shook his head. "Honestly, Holmes, I have no idea what you are talking about. You must have arranged this little raid, so I thank you. I was wondering why they gave up so easily. They must have looked out the window and seen you arriving. But I don't know what brought you."
Holmes laughed. "Really, Professor, you disappoint me," he said. "Who must have left? I came here expecting to find you, and I found you. Where is the girl?"
"What girl?"
"The Duke of Ipswich's daughter, Lady Catherine."
"That again." Moriarty took his pince-nez from his pocket and affixed them to the bridge of his nose. "Holmes, please believe me. I had nothing to do with her abduction, and I have no knowledge of her present whereabouts. Is that what this is about? You followed me here, and decided that this is where I must have hidden her? Quite a piece of ratiocination." He turned to the inspector. "And on Sherlock Holmes's unsupported word you applied for a warrant? Giles Lestrade, I'm ashamed of you."
Lestrade looked embarrassed. "The professor has been of some assistance to the Yard in the past," he told Holmes. "And I know of nothing against him except some unsupported rumor and your theories, Mr. Holmes. Not that you, yourself, haven't come to our aid on occasion."
"Then you are not going to place Moriarty under arrest?"
"Now, Mr. Holmes," Lestrade said, looking acutely uncomfortable, "you know the law. If we find the young lady, and she accuses, ah, mentions the professor when she relates what happened, why then that'll be a different story. But as things stand…"
Holmes glared at Moriarty. "Disgraceful!" he said. "The greatest rogue unhung, and I can't even get him charged."
Moriarty shook his head. "Really, Holmes. And in front of witnesses, too. Actionable slander, I'd say." He shook his finger in Holmes's face, which caused Holmes to take an abrupt step backward. "As I've told you before, you must use your brain at all times, and never rely on preconceived notions. In this case, for example, if you would use your quite adequate powers of deduction and examine the premises, you would discover quite easily that I am speaking the truth. A group of Russian anarchists had the rooms upstairs. They had abducted my associate, Tolliver, here. I and my friends arrived to effect his release, and you were one step behind me."
Holmes snorted. "Anarchists!"
Moriarty turned to the porter, who was standing on the edge of the group, looking confused. "Is that not so?" he demanded. "Right enough," the porter assented. "And you have never seen me before today?"
"No, sir. Can't say as I have."
"Very convincing," Holmes sneered. "I'm going upstairs to look around," he told Lestrade. "Hold them here until I return, if you don't mind. You can at least do that, can't you?"
"Now, Mr. Holmes—" Lestrade said.
Moriarty smiled. "I shall remain, willingly, until you return," he said. "I believe that the front room is empty. We shall wait in there until you are quite satisfied." And pushing the door open with his stick, he strode into the room and settled into an overstuffed chair.
"Say, Professor," Barnett said, sitting across from Moriarty and speaking in a low voice. "What does that fellow have against you, anyway?"
"He believes me to be a villain," Moriarty said, staring at the wall opposite.
"Yes, but there are a lot of villains in this world," Barnett said. "And Holmes sure has it in for you in pa
rticular."
Moriarty was silent for a moment, and then his eyes focused on Barnett. "We knew each other some years ago," he said. "I was his tutor for a period. We were, I might say, as close to being friends as a tutor and his student ever get. He was a brilliant student, if a bit disorganized."
Moriarty fell silent. "Yes?" Barnett prompted.
"I was rebuffed by society," Moriarty continued, "at least that segment of society that I deemed important. I chose to live outside their laws to accomplish my ends. It was a deliberate decision that I have never regretted. My researches are more important to the future of the human race than the mores of this particular time and place.
"Holmes, also, was rebuffed by society, albeit an entirely different and particularly limited segment of society. He chose to get his revenge by being better than those who had rebuffed him. Which he certainly is. This — improvement — necessitated a certain rigidity of outlook. Thus, I am on one side of a barrier Holmes created, and he on the other. It is quite a shame."
Barnett's reportorial soul was unsatisfied with the answer, which managed to seem specific while remaining quite vague, but he sensed that he was not going to get a better one at the moment. He resolved to solve this mystery when the current excitement had died down enough to allow him to devote the time to it.
-
The door opened a minute later and Holmes stalked in with Lestrade at his heels. "The girl has not been in this house," he announced. Moriarty nodded.
"There were other people here," Holmes conceded. "Fifteen or sixteen of them. Russians, for the most part, although several of them have been in England for some time. Tolliver would seem to have been their prisoner for a matter of hours. They arrived at different times over a period of about one day. They were discussing plans of some sort, certainly illegal. Whatever they have planned is going to take place in the near future; at least a week off, but no more than a month. You would seem not to have been part of the group, Professor."
"How do you know all that?" Lestrade demanded.
"Thank you for that," Moriarty said. "Don't look so disappointed, Holmes. There are other criminals in the world."
Professor Moriarty Omnibus Page 17
