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 particular."
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."
Holmes sat on the edge of the sofa and stared at Moriarty with a curious expression on his face. "Then they have the girl," he said. "Tell me what you know about them."
"Still the girl?" Moriarty said. "Then you weren't following me?"
Holmes took a cigarette case from his coat and removed one. He started to return the case to his pocket, then paused and offered it to Moriarty. "Try one," he said. "They're made for me by Drucquer's."
Moriarty took a cigarette and returned the case to Holmes, who shoved it back into his pocket. Barnett noted the gesture and saw that, for these two men, there was no one else in the room at this moment.
Holmes struck a wax vespa and lit the two cigarettes, and the two men stared silently at each other as smoke gradually filled the room. "The Duke of Ipswich received a note," Holmes said.
Moriarty lifted an eyebrow. "Finally," he said.
"I was prepared," Holmes said. "The note was delivered in an ingenious manner, but I managed to follow the deliverer, and a chain of other underlings, until I was led to this house. The trail seemed to end here. I was sure that the answer lay here. That either the girl was here, or I could round up enough of the gang here to break its back and ascertain her whereabouts."
"It's a good thing they got away, then," Moriarty said. "Had you captured those who were here, without the girl, she would surely have been killed."
Holmes nodded. "But you see," he said, "I thought it was you. And you are a fairly reasonable man. Whatever else you are."
"What did the note say?" Moriarty asked. "They didn't want money."
"This is to go no farther than this room," Holmes said. "I pledge myself and my associates," Moriarty answered.
Holmes looked at Lestrade. "What, me?" the little detective said. He took his bowler off. "My solemn word," he said.
"It is common knowledge in certain circles," Holmes said in a low, clear voice, "that the Duke of Ipswich is to become foreign minister when Lord Haider resigns, probably in a few weeks. The note informed the Duke that if he wished to see his daughter alive again, he was to perform certain actions in regard to a certain foreign power."
"He could refuse the appointment," Moriarty said. "And assure the death of his daughter."
"Of course," Moriarty said. "And, of course, the duke as a loyal British citizen has no intention of following these instructions, even if it means the death of his daughter."
Holmes nodded. "I must find the girl before he takes office," he said. "The first note, on the night she was taken, warned against publicity. The duke has complied with that. And now this."
"What is he going to do," Moriarty asked, "if you don't find his daughter?"
"He is going to accept the portfolio," Holmes said, "and perform his job. On the day that he learns for certain that his daughter is dead, he is going to put a bullet through his brain."
Moriarty nodded. "That clever bastard," he said.
"What?"
"I assure you I'm not referring to the duke," Moriarty said. "Unfortunately I can't give you too much information. Nothing, I'm afraid, that would be of immediate assistance to you. However, I can tell you this: the abductors of Lady Catherine have no intention of returning her alive. She may already be dead, but probably not. They knew the duke would not obey instructions. Indeed, they are counting on it." He stood up. "And I'll tell you something else; one of the benefits they looked for in this abduction, and the reason they waited until now to send these further instructions, was to set you against me. It kept you from looking for them, you see."
Holmes thought about that for a moment, and then nodded. "Who are they?" he asked. "Surely you can tell me something about them. You can't have been here by accident. And the nation involved—we have both been there recently."
"I can tell you nothing more at this time," Moriarty said. "It is not my personal secret, you see. In any event, I know nothing that would be of material benefit to you in your search beyond what you already know or can surmise. But I can tell you this, Holmes; in this matter our interests run together. If I discover anything of value to you, I shall convey it to you immediately. At any rate, come around to Russell Square in a day or two."
"I'll do that," Holmes said.
"Wear one of your less elementary disguises," Moriarty suggested, "for both our sakes."
EIGHTEEN — THE HAT TRICK
You shall seek all day ere you find them, and, when you have them, they are not worth the search.
— Shakespeare
Moriarty spent most of Monday dissecting the cap they had picked up in the Lambeth house and subjecting the pieces to a variety of microscopic, physical, and chemical tests. By the time he went up to dress for dinner, he had filled several notebook pages with the results.
Barnett came in late for dinner, which, by household custom, did not wait for him. Mrs. H set the table, served, and cleared at specified unvarying times. If one didn't make those times, then one didn't eat dinner. Of course, one could always go into the kitchen and have Mrs. Randall fix one a plate and eat it at the kitchen table. But as Mrs. H would say, that wouldn't be dinner, now would it?
Barnett plowed right into his meal, ignoring the soup and slighting the fish to get directly to the roast while it was still on the table. When he had enough on his plate to keep him alive until breakfast, he paused to be sociable. "Evening, all," he said.
Professor Moriarty was glaring at him. "I fail to see the purpose of dressing for dinner," he said coldly, "if one proceeds to behave like an aborigine at the table."
Barnett put his fork down. "Right, Boss," he said. "I'll just wear my breech-clout and feathers next time."
"And don't call me 'Boss,' " Moriarty said. "It is a particularly abominable Americanism."
"Well!" Barnett said. He looked at Tolliver, who was carefully ignoring the whole exchange, and then back at the professor. "I believe I missed something here."
"Eat your dinner," Moriarty said.
"You've been working on that hat all day, right? You didn't get anything from it, right?"
Moriarty sighed. "I shall have to control my petulance," he said. "Not that I mind being disagreeable, but I do object to being obvious. We'll talk about it after dinner."
They had coffee in the professor's study after dinner, and Moriarty produced the hat. "I know a fair amount about it now," he said. "It is made of Egyptian long-fiber cotton, dyed with a vegetable dye not used in this country. It is of fairly recent manufacture, say within the past six months. Its owner is a healthy young man, under thirty-five, with a full head of dark-brown hair. In all probability he is of Eastern European st
ock, and under five foot six. He is interested in horse racing, or associates with people who are. He is a very neat, clean man. I think that is the best I can do for the time being."
Barnett stared unbelievingly at the Professor. "You got all that by staring at the hat under a microscope?" he asked. "Are you having me on?"
"Not at all," Moriarty said. "I assure you it is all either truth or reasonable assumption. But you see, Barnett, the problem is that it doesn't get us anywhere. I have pulled a collection of interesting but irrelevant facts out of this piece of headgear. I have spent a day at it, and furthered us not one bit."
"Yes, but—" Barnett said. "The things you have pulled out of that hat are still more than I thought could be in it. How do you know what he looks like?"
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