The Infernal Device & Others: A Professor Moriarty Omnibus

by Michael Kurland

  Holmes looked over to Moriarty and saw that he was silently laughing. "This is not amusing!" he rasped.

  "No," Moriarty agreed. "Of course it isn't."

  Inspector Peebles, a plump, smiling man, entered the room with the sergeant. "Now, now," he said, chuckling happily, "what's all this?"

  "My name is Sherlock Holmes, Inspector," Holmes said, "and I have information regarding an attempt that is going to be made against the life of Queen Victoria."

  "Now, that's very serious," the inspector said, still smiling. "Just how is this attempt going to be made?"

  "By submersible boat."

  "By what, sir? What was that?" A puzzled look replaced the smile.

  "By submersible boat. Submarine. We have reason to believe that a foreign agent has smuggled a submersible boat into the harbor and is planning to blow up the Victoria and Albert."

  "Now, now, that's quite serious, sir," the inspector said ponderously. "Just where is this submersible located now, sir?"

  "I don't know," Holmes said.

  "I see, sir," the inspector said. He turned to Moriarty. "Is this gentleman with you?"

  "That's right, Inspector," Moriarty admitted.

  "Well, why don't you and your friend just go out and find this submersible for us. As soon as you have found it, you be sure to come back here and tell us where it is." The inspector's smile returned. "Then we'll take care of it for you."

  "Yes, Inspector, we'll certainly do that. Thank you, Inspector. Come along now, Holmes."

  -

  They left the station together, Moriarty silent and Holmes fuming. "They didn't believe me," he said, the line of his jaw rigid with fury. "They treated me as though I were mad!"

  "Well, it is a rather incredible story," Moriarty said. "I'm sure that if Lestrade were here you could convince him, however. You seem to be able to convince him of anything."

  "We've got to find that boat by ourselves," Holmes said.

  "Yes," Moriarty agreed. "And I think we'd best be about it."

  They proceeded north along the waterfront, poking into and exploring every wharf and jetty they passed. Gradually, Holmes regained his good humor as he became intrigued with the problems of the search. Moriarty stopped in fascination at a clearing by the Naval Barracks where two great balloons were slowly puffing up on the ground. They were being filled with hydrogen gas, generated by a complex self-contained apparatus resting in two wagons by the side of the field. Canvas pipes, treated with gutta-percha, connected the generator with the balloons.

  "What's happening here?" Moriarty demanded of a frock-coated man who was directing the operation.

  The man turned to him and took off his stiff top hat. "Balloons, sir," he said. "Observation balloons."

  "I can see that," Moriarty said. "I have some small knowledge of aerostatics myself. My name is Professor James Moriarty and this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

  "I am Hyman Miro," the man announced. "Scientist and inventor and developer of the Miro-graphy system of wet-plate photography."

  "Ah, yes," Moriarty said. "I am somewhat familiar with the system. It employs a reversal process using a collodion plate and the bromide of silver. The developer, if I remember correctly, is largely pyrogallic acid."

  Miro beamed. "That is correct, sir. Pyrogallic acid and ammonium carbonate, with potassium bromide. You have employed my system?"

  "Yes, sir," Moriarty said. "The photography of celestial bodies requires rapid, fine emulsions. Yours is quite adequate."

  "We, ah, have business, Moriarty," Holmes said, tapping his foot.

  "Patience, Holmes," Moriarty said. "Meeting Mr. Miro may prove very useful. You are," he asked Miro, "planning to use these balloons as tethered observation platforms for the purposes of photography?"

  "I am," Miro said. "If the weather remains fine, I should be able to expose my plates for no more than the tenth part of a second and still get a complete image. I will be able to stop the motion of the ships on the water, sir. A wonderful thing."

  "And you are going to be up in them all day?"

  "Up and down, sir. Up and down. The wet plates must be developed within minutes of being exposed or they lose detail. The darkroom will be erected between the two balloons, which will be lowered and raised on command by a powerful winch."

  "Very clever, sir," Moriarty said.

  "Until six o'clock, sir," Miro said.

  "Ah?" Moriarty said.

  "Yes. The P.L.R.F.C. is taking over the balloons at six to prepare for their fireworks display. Can you imagine, sir, fireworks from a hydrogen balloon? It's the height of idiocy!"

  "The P.L ..." Holmes said.

  "Yes, sir. The P.L.R.F.C. The Portsmouth Library and Recreation Fund Committee. They are in charge of the evening's festivities. Fireworks!"

  "Really, Moriarty," Holmes said.

  Moriarty raised his hand. "Mr. Miro," he said. "I am about to entrust you with a grave responsibility."

  "Sir?" Miro said.

  "We have reason to believe that an attempt is going to be made to blow up the Victoria and Albert."

  "The Royal Yacht?"

  "Correct. A madman who has stolen, and has in his possession, a submersible craft, is going to use it to approach and destroy the Royal Yacht, with Her Majesty on board. We are trying to apprehend him now, but if we fail, then in a matter of hours he will carry out his plan."

  "Well, sir," Miro said, "what can I do about it?"

  "A submerged craft is much more readily visible from high above than from the side. It is a matter of the angle subtended. The craft has to be within a hundred yards of the Royal Yacht to release its Whitehead torpedo. You'll have a fine view."

  Miro's eyes lit up. "What a photograph!" he said. "But you can't mean that you want me to spend the day searching for this undersea craft? I wouldn't be able to get any photographs."

  "No, sir," Moriarty said. "What I'd like is to send my assistant up with you. Not this gentleman," Moriarty said quickly, as Miro eyed Holmes, "but another."

  "What good will that do?" Miro asked. "We'll be up there, and you'll be down here."

  "You said something about fireworks," Moriarty said. "My assistant could take some up with him, and let off a colored rocket if he spots the craft."

  Miro thought for a minute. "Sounds crazy to me," he said. "But ... you say you've used my process for astronomical photography?"

  "I'll be delighted to show you my plates," Moriarty said.

  Miro clapped his topper back on his head. "Send your man over," he said. "It doesn't matter when: I'll be up and down all day."

  "Thank you, sir," Moriarty said. "You're doing a great service for your country—and your queen."

  "I'll be in touch with you," Miro said, "about viewing those plates."

  Holmes and Moriarty continued their northward quest, examining the Filling Basin and the Rigging Basin of the big naval shipyard, and on to Fountain Lake, the tidepool where the frigates were moored. Whale Island, with its great Gunnery School, thrust out into the commercial harbor beyond. They walked slowly around each pier and mooring, looking for a place where a forty-foot-long submersible could be hidden. There was no such place.

  "Well, Professor," Holmes said, as they scrambled back from examining the inside of a closed boathouse through a window overhanging the water, "at least this had the negative virtue of eliminating most of the inner harbor. When we get back to the pub, we'll know hundreds of places where the craft is not."

  "Perhaps our companions had better luck," Moriarty suggested. "It's about time to head back now, anyway."

  "Right," Holmes said. Then he grabbed Moriarty's arm and pointed. There, in the sky in front of them, the great bulk of a tethered hydrogen balloon slowly filled the sky as the device rose higher and higher at the end of its cable.

  "Interesting," Moriarty said. "Note the unusual ratio of the height of the balloon to the chord of the diameter. I would think it would cause a loss of stability, but perhaps not. I'll have to speak to Mr. Mir
o about that."

  "That's the wave of the future, Moriarty," Holmes said, staring up at the balloon with an intent expression on his face.

  "If so, it's taking a long time waving," Moriarty said dryly. "The Montgolfier brothers made the first balloon ascent one hundred and two years ago, on June fifth, seventeen eighty-three."

  "Someday," Holmes said, "passenger-carrying balloons will be crossing the oceans at unheard-of speeds, linking the peoples of the world into one great hegemony, led by a just and powerful nation that flies a flag quartering the Union Jack with the Stars and Stripes."

  "Why, Holmes," Moriarty said, tapping him gently on the back, "that's almost poetic."

  "Come," Holmes said, "we'd better get back to the public house."

  -

  Twenty minutes later, they arrived back at the Royal Standard to find Barnett and Dr. Watson waiting for them. Over a hasty but excellent lunch, washed down by a fine cider, Barnett told the tale of the unsuccessful search to the south. "No submersibles," he said, "no Russians, no inaccessible areas on the dock; nothing but a lot of people enjoying the spectacle of hundreds of sails crisscrossing the bay."

  "We've been going about this wrong," Holmes said. "How's that?" Moriarty asked.

  "We've been on land trying to search the sea. We should be on the sea. We should hire a boat. A steam-launch."

  "Excellent, Holmes!" Moriarty said. He thumped on the table. "Landlord! I say, landlord!"

  The portly proprietor of the Royal Standard hurried over. "Is something the matter, gentlemen?" he asked, drying his hands on the towel tied around his ample waist.

  "Not at all," Moriarty said. "A fine establishment you have here. Excellent food."

  "Why, thank you, sir. Food is important to me, so I always assume it's important to my customers, too."

  "And right you are," Moriarty assured him. "Now tell me something, sir; I'm sure you know what goes on in these parts better than anyone. Where could we hire a steam-launch at this particular time?"

  "That's a hard one, sir," the proprietor said, screwing his face up into an attitude of concentration. "Captain Peterson's rig has been let to a party of journalists. Lowery's is still in repair; busted boiler, it has. The Blue Carbuncle is over in Cowes for the day. Hired out to a photographer, I believe. The Water Witch—why, that's right! Captain Coster was in here this morning. He's the skipper of the Water Witch. Complaining, he was, that his party what chartered the boat for the day had as of yet not shown up. That was some hours ago, but if they've not appeared yet, I'm sure he'd take you out. Are you gentlemen from a newspaper?"

  "You might say," Barnett said.

  "Could you direct us to this Captain Coster?" Moriarty asked.

  "Nothing easier," the landlord said. "To the left as you leave and then to the right at the second crossing. The Water Witch is white with black trim and a broad red stripe on the funnel. You can't miss her."

  "Thank you, sir," Moriarty said, rising from the table. "Come, gentlemen; this might be just what we need."

  As they left the inn, Moriarty gave Barnett his new task. "Miro is expecting you," he said. "Try to make yourself useful to him, but not at the expense of failing to search for the submersible. Take signal rockets up with you, and make sure you have an igniter. If you sight the craft, set off a rocket. Use different colors for different directions. Let us say red, white, blue, and green for north, east, south, and west."

  "Yes, sir," Barnett said. "I'll keep a careful lookout. Is the direction to be from the balloon or from the Water Witch?"

  "What an excellent thought," Moriarty said. "You'll be able to keep us in sight, of course. From the Water Witch, then."

  "You'd better stay with us," Holmes said, "until we're sure we get the craft."

  The Water Witch was still at its mooring, and Captain Coster was only too happy to take them out. "Want to go out and watch the regatta, do you?" he asked. "I can get you in a good position for that, although I daren't get too close. They'll have my license for sure if I interfere with the race."

  "We just want to stay in the harbor for now," Moriarty told him. "There's a particular boat we're looking for and we want to cruise around and see if we can find her." He swung around to Barnett. "We're settled here. You'd better go off to Miro. We'll be looking for your signal."

  "Okay," Barnett said. He trotted off down the wharf.

  Captain Coster built up a head of steam in the Water Witch and they headed across the harbor toward Gosport Town on the far side. There they gradually made their way around the curve of the shore, pulling alongside every wharf and jetty to peer into boathouses, hulks, sheltered moorings, and anything else that looked like a possible hiding-place for the forty-foot steel cigar.

  After two hours' futile searching, they crossed back and resumed the hunt on the Portsmouth side. Dr. Watson kept his eyes on the tethered balloon, as they worked their way toward it and again away from it. Captain Coster pulled the Water Witch as close as he could to the various objects they wanted to examine, and Holmes and Moriarty took turns leaping aboard a variety of boats, barges, and assorted flotsam that graced the harbor and could provide shelter, however unlikely, for the Garrett-Harris. What Captain Coster thought of this, he didn't say. He was obviously used to the odd requests of his paying passengers.

  It was five o'clock when the Victoria and Albert steamed into the harbor and stopped at its spot at one end of the finish line. Several small Navy steam cutters took positions around the Royal Yacht, presumably to fend off overenthusiastic sightseers. On the upper deck, a stout somber woman dressed in black sat alone under a canopy and wrote in her diary.

  There was no sign of the submersible.

  TWENTY-TWO — EARTH, AIR, FIRE, AND WATER

  Speed bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing.

  —Harold Edwin Boulton

  Disgraceful," Captain Coster said, puffing away on the thin black rope he called a cigar.

  "What's that?" Moriarty asked.

  "Them barge captains. They have no regard for any of the rest of us. They're so used to being pushed about they can't even take the responsibility of properly mooring their barges. Look at that one now, come adrift. I'll have to notify the port director when we dock, and he'll have to send a tug to pick her up."

  "Does it happen often?" Moriarty asked, staring speculatively at the drifting barge.

  "All too," Captain Coster said. "Although usually only when the beggars are empty. This one has a full load of coal, I notice. Some colliery is going to be delighted if she smashes up on the Head or beaches herself."

  Holmes, who had been considering the barge carefully, came over to Moriarty. "Look closely at that craft," he said. "Does anything strike you?"

  "Yes," Moriarty said. "I've been thinking the same thing."

  "That's it, then?"

  "The probabilities would so indicate."

  "What is it, Holmes?" Watson asked, staring at the barge.

  "Captain Coster," Holmes said, "please look carefully at the barge. Does it seem to you that it is riding too high on the water? Compare it with those barges at the pier to our left, which are also fully loaded with coal."

  "Why, yes," Coster said. "That had been bothering me, but as I couldn't think of anything to account for it, I decided I must be mistaken."

  "Pull alongside that barge, Captain," Moriarty directed. "Carefully, very carefully, if you don't mind."

  Slowly the Water Witch edged alongside the coal barge. Moriarty took a small self-loading pistol from his pocket and worked the slide to chamber a bullet. Dr. Watson pulled his old service revolver from his belt, and Sherlock Holmes produced a smaller, silver-plated revolver from an inside pocket of his traveling cape.

  Captain Coster did his best to look calm and unconcerned at his passengers' odd behavior. "This person you're looking for," he said. "I take it he's not a friend of yours."

  "Hush!" Holmes said, putting his finger to his lips. "Keep your ship alongside. We'll be back."

  Th
e three of them, Holmes in the lead, leaped across the two feet of water separating the two craft and scrambled up the rough wooden side of the barge. The craft was nothing more than a huge rectangle full of coal from front to rear. At the very stern was a small wooden superstructure resembling a shed with windows cut in it. Black curtains shielded the windows from the inside, and there was no sign of life.

  Slowly they worked their way to the stern. "It seems unlikely that we haven't been seen—or perhaps heard," Moriarty whispered. "We had best be ready for a warm welcome."