The Last Moriarty Read online

  Holmes looked back in the direction of the village, then forward along the empty railway track and deserted road. “We must reach Exeter in time to send a wire to the Commissioner before the train for Paddington departs at half past three. We are roughly twenty-six miles away. We shall have to ride hard.”

  25. MISS JAMES HAS NEWS

  It was after eleven o’clock that evening when I knocked at the door of Miss James’s room at the Savoy Hotel. The third-floor hallway was deserted. Miss James opened the door just enough to identify me, and to see that I was alone. Dark circles shadowed her lovely green eyes. “I got your note,” she said, widening the opening and motioning for me to enter. “I saw Mr. Worth again yesterday.”

  Despite the late hour, her hair was still pinned up, though I noticed she now wore small pearl earrings in her delicately shaped ears, and a blue silk robe now covered her white cotton blouse and long black wool skirt. On the window seat, large parcels wrapped in brown paper were stacked in front of the heavy green velvet curtains.

  She saw me looking at the parcels. “Those came this afternoon. Johnny wanted me to have some fancy things to wear. He got the dressmaker to produce them overnight and deliver on a Sunday. It’s amazing what the Rockefeller name does to people. But it’s still nothing serious between us. He confessed that he has a sweetheart, and he hopes he can make her jealous—or at least that’s what he said he was trying to do. This is all an act, to stir up some rumors.”

  On the low table before me were a silver coffeepot and a half-empty cup. I was about to sit on one of the two upholstered chairs near the window, and I expected Miss James to sit on the other. But she remained standing, so I did the same. Thinking she would appreciate news that indicated we were making progress on her case, I said, “Holmes found the registration of your birth yesterday. It did not list the names of your parents but it did give a location in the county of Kent. We may be able to learn something there.”

  She accepted this admittedly inconclusive report without apparent interest. “Where is Mr. Holmes?”

  “I do not know. We met earlier this evening with government officials. Then he said he had an important visit to make and asked me to make sure of your safety.”

  “Well, I’m safe enough. But I’ve had another doozy of a piece of news from Mr. Worth. I was called to Mr. Carte’s office after the Saturday night performance, and there he was, waiting for me: top hat, white gloves, black cloak, and all. He took me to the restaurant next door. We were at the same table where I’d been with Johnny on Friday night.”

  “Did he know that you had seen us yesterday?”

  “He asked where I’d been and I told him shopping with Johnny. He said where before that, and I said out walking, picking out the shops. He looked at me really hard, as if he didn’t believe me.”

  “Did he threaten you?”

  “He said London was a very unsafe place for a young woman to be going about on her own.” She pressed her lips together, remembering. “The way he said it was ugly, but in a polite way. I felt as if he’d be disappointed to have me harmed, but that he knew he’d get over it in a minute or two. Then he said a lot of things about family and loyalty. He got all sentimental and reverent over what a great man I had for a father. He said my father is his brother, only for legal reasons his brother adopted a different name.”

  “Did he tell you the name?”

  “He did.”

  She hesitated. I felt a sudden apprehension, and a moment’s wish that I had not asked the question. Then she blinked rapidly and pressed her lips together again. Her eyes met mine.

  “According to Mr. Worth, you are looking at the daughter of the late Professor James Moriarty.”

  “You poor child.”

  The words came out before I realized what I had said.

  “Don’t feel sorry for me.” Lucy sat down across from where I was standing, and indicated that I should sit. “It hasn’t touched my heart or anything. I know what you wrote about a criminal strain in Moriarty’s blood, but I don’t believe in any of that. I’m not about to go in for a life of crime, and the thought of Mr. Worth being related to me is just sickening.”

  “His name is listed as a witness on the birth registration.” I felt I had to tell her, but she barely seemed to notice as she went on.

  “He said you distorted the truth about his brother. He said my father was an organizational genius. He said one day the Professor’s greatness would be recognized and his enemies would be destroyed.”

  26. A SURPRISE VISIT

  Electric lamps formed pools of light on the deserted asphalt pavement of Waterloo Place as I paid my cabman. Grateful for the illumination, I nonetheless glanced apprehensively at the shadowy trees of Waterloo Gardens to my left and to the small stand of additional trees behind me. I could not help remembering that not twenty-four hours had elapsed since another wooded park at Clapham Common had provided cover for Moran, or some other marksman who was doubtless in the employ of Adam Worth. And even though my cabman, a trusted member of Lestrade’s undercover squadron, had assured me that we had not been followed, I hurried as I approached the four concrete steps that led to the wide concrete entrance of the Diogenes Club.

  Returning to Baker Street, Holmes had said, was obviously out of the question, given our circumstances, and so he had accepted Mycroft’s arrangements for us to stay at the club, where attendants could keep a lookout. We each had one of the small rooms on the top floor that were maintained for the use of members. Lestrade had posted three of his most capable men at the entrances to the club. They had been instructed not to admit anyone, and, thinking of Moran and his air gun, to keep clear of windows. Holmes had sent another of Lestrade’s men with a message to Mrs. Hudson to pack enough luggage for each of us to spend three nights away from home.

  Lestrade’s man opened the wide front door for me. “We put your things in your room, Doctor. Mr. Holmes’s room is just alongside, but he’s not yet arrived.”

  I mounted the stairs and within moments was entering my room. My battered brown leather suitcase stood upright on the carpet at the foot of my bed alongside my equally battered black medical bag.

  Then I looked up and gasped in astonishment.

  Hunched on the small chair beside the window, his head in his hands, sat young Henry Clevering.

  Clevering looked up at me with haunted eyes. His flaxen hair, normally perfectly combed, now projected in an aura of straw-like spikes, like the stuffing spilling from a torn doll. “Where is Holmes? I must speak to him at once. It is imperative! And please, close the door behind you.”

  I stood my ground, refusing to take direction from this man. I felt sympathy for his obvious distress, but I was also indignant at his unannounced intrusion. “How did you get in here?”

  “I never left the building. I was on my way out when the doorman handed me this note.”

  From the inside pocket of his coat he produced an envelope and handed it to me.

  “It is my personal stationery. The handwriting is my wife’s.”

  I read:

  HENRY, MR. WORTH WAS HERE.

  HE WISHES TO REMIND YOU OF YOUR POSITION.

  I concealed my excitement, for the name of Worth and an evident connection with Clevering spoke volumes. I said as blandly as I could, “What of it?”

  “It is a threat, Dr. Watson. He has chosen this method to remind me—”

  We heard footsteps approaching from the hallway. “The door. Please,” said Clevering.

  I turned to close it, and saw Holmes. He was only a few steps away, still clad in the formal garb he had worn at our meeting with the Prime Minister earlier this evening. Behind him, one of the attendants in the Diogenes Club’s distinctive maroon uniform and cap was carrying a suitcase into the room across the hall.

  Holmes looked at me inquiringly. I also thought I saw a hint of satisfaction in his eyes.
At any rate, I felt relieved that Holmes was here and safe, and able to glean firsthand whatever information Clevering might possess.

  “We have a visitor,” I said. “Mr. Clevering wishes to consult you on an urgent matter. Would you like to come in?”

  He nodded and entered, closing the door behind him. Clevering, to my surprise, apologized for the intrusion, showed Holmes the letter, and explained once again that it had come from his wife. Holmes nodded graciously and perched on the side of my bed to face Clevering, folding his legs gracefully beneath him as if he were a Hindu Yogi.

  “Mr. Worth seems to find it useful to threaten the loved ones of those he wishes to control,” Holmes said. “Yours is not the first report of this method that I have run across since Friday. Let us hope that we can find Mr. Worth and bring him to justice before there is a fourth occurrence.”

  “Can you protect my wife and children?”

  “We will come to that in due course. First, I have a few questions to put to you regarding your ‘position,’ as Mr. Worth refers to it.”

  A shrewd look came into Clevering’s blue eyes. “If I tell you, will you give me your word that you will not tell the Prime Minister or the others of my involvement?”

  “I will not bargain, Mr. Clevering. If you want my assistance in any form, you must tell me the whole truth. Now. How did you come to be involved with Mr. Worth?”

  “I was referred to his organization by someone—at our embassy in Berlin.”

  “Why?”

  “They had got wind of the possibility of a meeting with the Americans. They recognized that it would alter the balance of power in Europe, and so they wanted to ensure that it did not succeed. They would pay well. They needed someone to keep them informed and to supervise the payments they would make to their confederates in London.”

  “They wanted you to spy for them. When did this occur?”

  “About five months ago, they took me aside at an embassy function and gave me an ultimatum. I had gambling debts. And there was a young woman.”

  “When and where had you met the woman?”

  “In my Berlin hotel the previous night.” Clevering hung his head. “I was manipulated.”

  “Of course you were. Did they try to manipulate Foster as well?”

  “After he started asking questions at the Bank. But he wouldn’t cooperate. That’s why he had to be killed.”

  “When his body was found, how did you notify Worth?”

  He looked startled. “How did you know about that?”

  Holmes was silent. Finally Clevering spoke.

  “I cannot tell you.”

  “Then there is nothing I can do for you.”

  “Mr. Holmes! Please! I am facing ruin, and the ruin of my family!”

  Holmes’s face was impassive.

  “If the police investigate,” Clevering went on, “Worth will know that I have betrayed him. His organization will kill my wife and children. That is the very message of this note!”

  “I understand the threat. But if you cooperate, the police can protect your family.”

  “Would you take the risk, if someone you loved were involved?”

  There was a long silence, and I had the impulse to shout at the man’s presumptuous self-centeredness. But of course my words had to remain unsaid.

  Finally Holmes spoke. “I would take the risk. Now. Tell me how I can find Worth.”

  Clevering closed his eyes, seeming to withdraw into himself for a moment. Then he shook his head and got to his feet. “You have boxed me, Mr. Holmes. I cannot argue with you, but neither can I find the courage to give you the information that you need. I can only hope that you find it by some other means, and rely on your mercy not to have me arrested.”

  Without another word, Clevering left the room. The door closed behind him.

  “He thought to engage my charitable instincts toward his wife and children,” said Holmes. “He still hopes to escape the consequences of his treason.”

  “Why did you let him go?”

  “The police have been watching him at my request. If we are fortunate, he will try to contact Worth, they will observe and report, and we shall be able to follow the trail.”

  Holmes stood and rubbed his hands together in that brisk way he has when he anticipates a favorable outcome. “Now, Watson, let us walk down the corridor to the smoking room and you can tell me what you learned from your visit to Miss James. I believe there is a decanter of brandy on the sideboard.”

  I could not wait to tell him my news. “Worth has told Miss James the identity of her late father.”

  “And?”

  “Worth says that the man was his brother.”

  “A family connection is not surprising, given that he witnessed the birth registration and that he serves as her trustee.”

  I continued, watching Holmes’s face as I anticipated his reaction. “Worth says that his brother was the late Professor Moriarty.”

  To my astonishment, Holmes barely seemed to notice. He replied, “That is what Miss Rosario says as well. She is in the room across the hall.”

  “But I saw the club attendant there, with your suitcase.”

  “That was Miss Rosario, with her own suitcase.”

  I stared at him.

  He continued, “I brought Miss Rosario here for her safety. You realize, of course, that she is the mother of Miss James.”

  27. A CONVERSATION WITH MISS ROSARIO

  Holmes said nothing further about Miss Rosario that evening, other than to remind me of our most recent meeting, when she had fled from us outside the Savoy rehearsal room. Then he had me recount my conversation with Miss James and immediately thereafter announced that he was in need of a good night’s rest. I retired immediately to my room, welcoming the opportunity for uninterrupted sleep.

  The following morning I was taking coffee in the breakfast room of the Diogenes Club when Holmes entered, looking refreshed. “I need your assistance for the next several hours, Watson,” he said. “Miss Rosario is attending an early rehearsal at the Savoy. I should like you to escort her, first stopping at her flat so that she can retrieve her violin, which she forgot to bring with her in the confusion of her travel here. I have arranged for one of Lestrade’s men to drive you. You will then ensure that she reaches the Savoy Theatre in time for rehearsal. She will tell you the time that she needs to arrive. I would go myself, but the Commissioner and I have an appointment with Mr. Carte at ten. We may still be at the Savoy when you arrive, so please come by to let me know you are both safe. If you agree to make the journey, of course.”

  “I agree.”

  “And please, Watson, do not press the lady for details about her past association with Professor Moriarty. The recollection would be distressing to her, as you may well imagine.”

  “I quite understand—”

  But before I could finish assuring him on this point, he had nodded his thanks and was already departing the room.

  It was about an hour later, almost nine o’clock, when Miss Rosario and I began our carriage ride to her flat. The Strand was filled with the usual assortment of carriages, carts, cabs, and wagons one would expect for a Monday, but the driver Lestrade had assigned was a competent fellow and moved us along without undue delay. Still I felt apprehension. Something impelled me to keep looking out the window to see if we were being followed. We had about one mile to cover between the Diogenes Club and Miss Rosario’s flat on Exeter Street, and then from there only a short walk to the Savoy. Her rehearsal call was for noon.

  I saw nothing suspicious behind us, but I kept a lookout. Naturally I was suppressing my curiosity regarding why Holmes thought Miss Rosario might be in danger. Did she know of Adam Worth, and his connection to the late Professor Moriarty? Did Worth have reasons to silence her? He had obviously refrained from doing so up until now, but was there somet
hing connected with Rockefeller’s visit and the impending meeting at the Bank of England that would change his view? I had no answers.

  We had come as far as Trafalgar Square when Miss Rosario asked, “What does he think of Lucy?”

  “Last night he asked to hear every detail of my conversation with Miss James. He made me go over it a second time.”

  “That is not what I mean. Does he realize what she could accomplish in her career?”

  “I am sure he does. He admired her performance Friday night; you couldn’t help seeing that.” I had to lean close to make myself heard over the roar of traffic. She had a scent of jasmine. The warmth of her hopeful expectation seemed to surround me and lift me up.

  “Lucy has a gift.”

  “Singing?”

  “People. She engages easily with anyone. I have seen her at the theater. Even those who don’t like her find themselves letting down their guard.”

  “She was with young Rockefeller Saturday, and then Worth. Though it is by her own account, she seems to have acquitted herself well with both.” This statement was somewhat inaccurate, for although I was sure Lucy had completely charmed young Johnny Rockefeller, I was equally certain that her encounter with Worth had been acrimonious. Still, I wanted to keep our conversation on a pleasant footing.

  “I find that I have the pride and dreams of a mother,” Miss Rosario said. “Given our circumstances, perhaps that is unwise.”

  We rode without speaking for a time. Outside, the clatter of wheels and horses’ hooves punctuated the cries of cart drivers and cabmen pursuing their morning enterprise. Then she asked, “Does Lucy know I am her mother?”

  “I do not believe so.”

  “Does she know of James Moriarty?”

  “Yes.”

  She turned her face away, toward the side window of the carriage. “He was one of my first students twenty-one years ago. I had only recently arrived in London from Rome with a small legacy from an uncle, and a dream of performing with the London Symphony. I had secured a position there as second violinist, but the pay was barely adequate, and the legacy was rapidly diminishing. To support myself I began giving private lessons in my rooms on Montague Street, just around the corner from the British Museum.