Professor Moriarty Omnibus

by Michael Kurland

  "You sure showed up in the nick of time the other night," Barnett said.

  Holmes smiled. "I am not altogether incompetent," he said.

  "Those sailors Trepoff sent for were submariners," Moriarty told Barnett. "From where could he acquire a submarine?"

  "Not from the Royal Navy," Barnett said, remembering Lieutenant Sefton's story. "They don't use them."

  "There is one," Holmes said, "at the Thornycroft yards at Chiswick. It was dredged from the bottom of the Thames after sinking three times in three trials. Not submerging, you understand, sinking. It is not in working order."

  "Holmes!" Moriarty said. "You never cease to amaze me. I had no idea you were interested in submersibles."

  "I'm not in the least," Holmes said. "My brother, Mycroft, however, is a fount of such information. Among other things, he does some work for the Admiralty. Only last week — no, two weeks ago— he was after me to take on a case involving the theft of some Whitehead torpedoes."

  "Ha!" Moriarty said, taking his pince-nez glasses off and polishing them with a small rag. "A case which you were unable to take up because of your involvement with the abduction."

  "That's correct," Holmes said.

  Moriarty fixed Barnett with his gaze. "If I remember correctly," he said, "you told me that one of the features of the Garrett-Harris submersible was its ability to release Whitehead torpedoes while submerged."

  "That's right," Barnett said. "But it blew up. Do you think there's another one?"

  Moriarty waved a hand at Holmes. "There's your misdirection," he said. "They didn't want you investigating the theft of those torpedoes."

  "An intuitive leap," Holmes sniffed.

  "Not at all," Moriarty said. "Barnett, your knowledge of coming events must be copious. What event is coming up in the next week or so involving the sea? Something major."

  "The sea?"

  "Correct. The launching of a new battleship, perhaps. I don't suppose the Tsar is coming for a state visit by ship? Something of that sort?"

  "Nothing," Barnett said. "Of course, I might have missed something. I can go to the office and check the file."

  "Nothing nautical?" Moriarty said.

  "Not on the scale of battleships," Barnett said. "There's the regatta tomorrow, but they're small private yachts."

  "What regatta?" Holmes demanded.

  "The Queen's something," Barnett said. "I don't remember. Wait a minute and I'll get the evening paper. I'm sure the St. James Gazette is covering the story in full." He left the room and was back in less than a minute, riffling through a newspaper.

  "Yes, here it is," he said. He creased the paper back. "The annual regatta for the Queen's Cup is to be sailed Saturday, August first — that's tomorrow — between ships of the Royal Yacht Squadron and ships of the Royal West of England Yacht Club. Her Majesty will give the cups out herself. There are actually several cups, apparently. Let's see; there will be one winner in each class, and a special cup for the club with the highest point average."

  "Fascinating," Holmes said. "Go on," Moriarty said.

  "I don't know what else you want," Barnett said. "The Prince of Wales is the Commodore of the Royal Yacht Squadron, and H.R.H. the Duke of Wessex is Commodore of the R.W. of E. Yacht Club. The course, something over fifty miles, is laid in the Solent. It begins at Cowes, goes eastward to the Nab lightship and around, back past Cowes to Lymington, and then back past Cowes again to Portsmouth, finish line lying between the block house and the Victoria and Albert, the Queen's own yacht, from which she will be watching the affair."

  "That's it!" Moriarty said.

  "Could be," Holmes admitted.

  "What?" Barnett asked, folding the paper.

  "The Garrett-Harris submersible," Moriarty told him, "was not destroyed. I should have realized it weeks ago. It is a fatal error to make assumptions based upon facts not in evidence."

  "But I saw it blow up!" Barnett said.

  "Did you?" Moriarty asked. "What exactly did you see?"

  "Well," Barnett thought back, trying to recapture the moment in his memory. "It was going through the water, just submerged, leaving a phosphorescent wake, the slight 'V' of foam from the periscope imposed over that. Then it sighted its prey — a sloop — and began stalking it. The submersible sank beneath the sea until it was totally invisible and moved forward to line itself up for the torpedo launch. As it launched the torpedo, it exploded. A great geyser erupted from the sea, drenching the ship I was on, and the two broken halves of the submersible appeared briefly on the surface before going to their final resting-place in the mud below. It seemed to me that I saw the body of a man in one of the sections. At any rate, neither of the operators was ever found."

  "A wonderfully concise description. And it shows that you saw nothing."

  "I saw the whole thing!" Barnett protested.

  Holmes clapped his hands together. "It has always fascinated me," he said, "how people will swear to have seen something when an analysis of their own description clearly shows that they didn't and couldn't have."

  "It's the principle of most sleight-of-hand," Moriarty said.

  "What didn't I see?" Barnett demanded.

  "You didn't see anything," Moriarty told him, "from the time the submersible disappeared under the sea."

  "If you mean I didn't have the craft directly in my sight the whole time," Barnett said, "then you're right; I didn't. But the inference of the following events is certainly valid."

  "Is it?" Holmes asked, chuckling.

  "I offer you this scenario, Mr. Barnett," Moriarty said, speaking clearly and distinctly as one explaining the obvious to a child. "Let us suppose that Trepoff, for whatever reason, wanted a submersible."

  "Okay," Barnett said. "Let's."

  "So, hearing that the Turks are testing one, he went to Constantinople. It would be a coup to get one from Russia's traditional enemy, the Ottoman Empire. He went to where the submersible was docked and managed to get access to it."

  "How?" Barnett demanded.

  "Three or four methods occur: forged papers, bribed guards, stealth, or some combination thereof. We may never know which method he adopted. Once there, he determined that he would need some time to effect the removal of the craft. I assume it had to be hoisted aboard some freighter, disguised as a large piece of machinery.

  "What better way to gain time than to make it appear that the craft has been destroyed? Trepoff quickly acquired a large metal structure of the approximate size — I suggest a large boiler of some description. He towed it to the appropriate spot the night before and sank it, along with a powerful bomb. Trepoff is good at bombs. Possibly he planted a body on the boiler."

  "What about the two Americans who ran the ship?" Barnett asked.

  "One of them was undoubtedly the body that you saw. The other was kept alive. Somebody had to run the craft. That he was subsequently killed is shown by Trepoff's need for the four submersible-trained sailors."

  "Possible," Barnett said.

  "And then they took it out and ran it for the sea trials that you saw. Up to the point where the craft submerged. At that moment it turned away from the show and headed back toward the freighter, which was to pick it up and take it to England. The explosion a minute later blew the boiler and the murdered American submariner to the surface for one brief appearance, which was enough to convince the onlookers that it was the submersible."

  "And Trepoff," Holmes said thoughtfully, "returned to England with the Garrett-Harris submersible, which is capable of releasing Whitehead torpedoes while submerged."

  "That is my theory," Moriarty said.

  "And a pair of Whitehead torpedoes was stolen from the naval establishment at Devonport a fortnight ago. Each of them, according to Mycroft, possessed of several hundred pounds of the latest explosive."

  "And Her Majesty Queen Victoria, whose picture I found gracing the meeting hall of Trepoff's no-name society, is going to spend tomorrow on board her yacht, the Victoria and Albert," Moriarty
said. "And if I were an anarchist, the queen of the largest empire in the world would certainly be a tempting target."

  "They'd never dare!" Barnett exclaimed. "The public revulsion would set their cause back a hundred years."

  "Exactly Trepoff's aim," Moriarty said.

  "We must get to Portsmouth without delay!" Holmes said.

  Moriarty stretched out his hand for his Bradshaw's. "Let us see what the British Railways have to say about that. It is fourteen minutes past nine, and the next train to Portsmouth…" He riffled through the pages thoughtfully, then put the guide down. "It appears that we cannot get to Portsmouth by any scheduled train any earlier than eleven-oh-four tomorrow morning. Which will never do."

  "Intolerable!" Holmes said. "What shall we do?"

  "Hire a Special," Moriarty told him. "I'll send out Mr. Maws now to arrange it. If you'd like to go back to Baker Street and pack, Holmes, I'll meet you at Waterloo Station in an hour."

  "Very good," Holmes said, getting up. "A Special. If you don't mind, I shall bring my companion, Dr. Watson, along. He is a good man to have at your back."

  "By all means," Moriarty said. "Barnett, will you join us?"

  "You couldn't keep me away!" Barnett exclaimed.

  TWENTY-ONE — VICTORIA AND ALBERT

  MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN.

  — The Book of Daniel

  It was eleven twenty-six before way clearance was obtained for the trip, and the Special — one ancient engine and two cars — pulled out of Waterloo Station. Sherlock Holmes and his taciturn friend Dr. Watson joined Moriarty and Barnett in the compartment farthest from the engine, where it was quietest, and discussed the situation.

  Dr. Watson was a portly, ruddy-faced, handsome man with a well-trimmed mustache. Barnett had met him briefly when he and Holmes had come to Barnett's rescue in the house of the explosive musical box. Now Barnett took the opportunity to study him more closely. He was the epitome of the Victorian Englishman, and the perfect foil for Holmes. Stolid, slow, without Holmes's incisive mind or ready wit, he was nonetheless brave, loyal, and as tenacious as an English pit bulldog. He contributed little to the conversation, but seemed content to sit back and appreciate every word uttered by Sherlock Holmes.

  "We must decide upon a course of action," Moriarty told Holmes, modulating his voice to be easily heard over the clacking of the wheels. "We will have precious little time."

  "If we are right," Holmes said.

  "I admit that the probabilities are only slightly better than half," Moriarty said, "but it is on the strength of that half that we are all aboard this Special, puffing through Guildford at a quarter past midnight."

  "I thought you were both convinced that you were right," Barnett said.

  "It was not the conviction that we were right, but rather the fear that we might be right that has compelled us to this trip," Moriarty said. "And now we must proceed as though we had no doubts."

  "We will have to alert the authorities," Holmes said.

  "Police or naval?" Moriarty asked. "And tell them what?"

  "Nevertheless the attempt will have to be made."

  Moriarty shrugged. "As you will," he said. "The most important thing is to locate the submersible. We will, of course, attempt to capture Trepoff as well, but stopping the submersible must have the first priority."

  "Consider that the submersible may be already submersed," Holmes said. "Sitting on the bottom, awaiting the proper moment."

  Barnett shook his head. "No chance," he said. "There are two problems: air and fuel. When the craft is submerged it runs on electrical storage batteries, which give off noxious fumes when in use. As a result the air must be purged every two hours, which is also when the batteries expire and must be recharged."

  "Let us suppose," Holmes said argumentatively, "that the craft merely rests on the bottom and does not call upon the batteries for motive power. How long then?"

  Barnett shook his head. "I'm no expert," he said. "I'm just remembering what I was told by Lieutenant Sefton — the man I was supposed to have murdered — before the trials. I believe that the air does foul, but at a slower rate. The oxygen in the air gets used up by the occupants' breathing, in any case."

  "Trepoff will need all his submerged time to make good his escape," Moriarty said. "The submersible will remain in its hiding place until Trepoff is ready to strike. Then it will proceed directly to its target, blow up the Victoria and Albert with the queen aboard, and leave the harbor. Somewhere in the Solent a ship will be waiting to pick up the submersible — or at least its crew — and remove them from the area."

  "What makes you think Trepoff will be so solicitous of the welfare of his agents?" Holmes asked.

  "He may well be aboard himself," Moriarty said. "And although certainly a brave and daring man, he tends to be careful of his own welfare. Besides, he couldn't afford to have four Russian sailors, clearly not anarchists, captured. Killed, perhaps; but not captured."

  "That brings us to an interesting question," Holmes said, thoughtfully pressing the tips of his fingers together. "How is Trepoff planning to make it clear that this is an anarchist outrage? Surely he isn't going to leave it to be supposed."

  "Somehow anarchists are going to be apprehended for this crime," Moriarty agreed. "Probably in such a state that they can't reveal too much."

  "Dead," Barnett said.

  "Quite probably," Moriarty said.

  "Dastardly plot," Doctor Watson said.

  As the Special chugged and clanked its way across the quiet English countryside, the four men in the compartment looked silently at each other. This was not the proper setting for such horrors. They should take place in an alien clime, not in damp, stolid, virtuous Victorian England. They did not belong here, and the possibility of their presence was disquieting.

  "I don't see that we can accomplish anything useful tonight," Moriarty said. "We won't arrive until about half past two. I suggest we get a few hours sleep and start fresh in the morning."

  "I agree," Holmes said. "Creeping around in the dark in a city one is not familiar with would not be overly productive."

  "My feeling is that Trepoff will pick the moment of the awarding of the cups as his prime moment to attack," Moriarty said. "It will create maximum effect and confusion. The area will be full of boats going in all directions. That should maximize his chances of escaping."

  "What time is that, Professor?" Watson asked. "When is Her Majesty presenting the cups?"

  "The newspaper estimated that it will take place around six in the evening," Moriarty said. "If we start looking at six in the morning, that will give us twelve hours to find the submersible before it is employed."

  "God grant that it is enough time," Holmes said.

  "All the inns in Portsmouth are most probably filled this weekend," Moriarty said. "I have taken the liberty of adding a sleeping car to our special, as, fortunately, one was available."

  "I was wondering what the extra car was," Barnett said.

  "We shall each have our own compartment," Moriarty said. "Not exactly the ultimate in luxury, but it will serve."

  "The expense for the sleeping car must have been considerable," Holmes said. "Surely this was an extravagance."

  "I believe the Tsar can afford it," Moriarty said.

  -

  The special pulled into a siding in the Portsmouth yard shortly after two in the morning, and the group separated to get what sleep they could.

  Barnett would have been willing to swear that it was no more than a few minutes after he lay his head on the small pillow that a fully dressed Moriarty was poking him awake. Barnett groaned and sat up. "What time is it?" he asked.

  "Ten past six," Moriarty told him. "I've let you sleep late."

  "I don't know how to thank you," Barnett said.

  "Get dressed as quickly as you can," Moriarty instructed him. "Holmes and I have been studying a map of Portsmouth. We've decided to make the Royal Standard public house our base of operations, and it's a tw
o-mile walk."

  "Any particular reason why the Royal Standard?" Barnett asked.

  "Yes. Two. It's fairly centrally located along the docks, and the guidebook says it sets a fine breakfast table."

  "I'll be right with you," Barnett said.

  After a brisk walk to the Royal Standard, they consumed a hasty breakfast, selecting from a buffet table that groaned with solid English fare.

  "Now we begin," Moriarty said. "Two south toward the Battery and two north toward Whale Island, and we somehow contrive to inspect everything that touches the water or floats on it that is large enough to conceal a Garrett-Harris submersible."

  "The Navy may object to our poking around some of their docks," Barnett said.

  "Well, we'll have to assume that they object just as strongly to Trepoff concealing his submersible there," Moriarty said.

  "We must notify the authorities," Holmes said.

  "I doubt if you will be able to convince them of anything," Moriarty said. "But feel free. I shall come with you if you like. It will be interesting to hear you accusing someone other than me of unspeakable misdeeds and evil acts."

  Holmes stood up. "Very well, then," he said. "Come along. There is a police station three blocks from here."

  Moriarty nodded. "Barnett," he said, "why don't you and Dr. Watson walk south along the harbor and see if you can determine anything of interest. After we speak to the authorities, Holmes and I will proceed north."

  "Very good," Barnett said.

  "We shall meet back here in, let us say, four hours to compare notes. And by the way, Barnett, do not try to be a hero all by yourself this time. If you find the craft, don't attempt to do anything whatsoever on your own. Come back here for reinforcements. If it makes you feel any better about it, we shall do the same."

  "Okay," Barnett said.

  Watson looked to Holmes for instructions and Holmes nodded. Watson beamed. "We'll find the little sinker for you if it's there, eh what?" he said, looking very pleased with himself. With that, he clapped his bowler on his head and left with Barnett.

  Holmes and Moriarty walked to the police station, and Holmes strode up the stairs and through the oak door. "Good morning, Sergeant," he boomed at the blue-coated man behind the desk. "Who is in charge here today?" Moriarty stood quietly by the door.