The Last Moriarty Page 2

  “He has told me nothing,” Holmes said. “These cards identify this man’s employer as the Standard Oil Corporation, and a child could deduce that a man carrying Standard Oil business cards is Mr. Rockefeller’s employee. Now, why is this man’s death important enough to bring three leaders of Her Majesty’s government to St. Thomas Hospital at an hour when the sun has barely come up?”

  While the four officials and Mycroft conferred quietly, I watched as Holmes walked around the body. He removed the man’s right shoe and placed it beside the cloak. At the other end of the cart he carefully lifted the head and knelt to observe the neck. He placed both of his hands on the soft, wet shirtfront and pressed down, putting his weight behind the movement. Then he did so once more.

  He looked up to his audience. “Mr. Clevering. I cannot fulfill the task you have assigned me.”

  The young man gaped in surprised indignation. “Then you are dismissed. We shall have to find someone else.”

  “No one can do what you have asked me to do.”

  “Mr. Holmes, I have heard of your high opinion of yourself, but this is hardly—”

  “Oh, do shut up, Clevering.” Commissioner Bradford raised a hand. “Mr. Holmes. Please explain what you have learned from your examination of Mr. Foster’s body.”

  “He was murdered,” said Holmes.

  The Commissioner frowned. “How?”

  Holmes turned to Lestrade. “First, did anyone witness Mr. Foster’s fall from the Westminster Bridge?”

  “A constable was on duty on the other side of the bridge, making his rounds from Parliament. He heard a loud splash.”

  “Any others on the bridge?”

  “No one. It was just after midnight.”

  “And what did the constable do?”

  “He ran up to the center of the bridge and looked down.”

  “And he saw no one on the bridge?”

  “No one. Well, he did say there was a carriage. It was at the far end of the bridge, and going away. It was too far away to identify in the fog.”

  “What did the constable do then?”

  “He ran to the base of the bridge and untethered a small rowboat that is kept there for such emergencies. He rowed as quickly as he could, and found Mr. Foster’s body floating on the surface. Facedown.”

  “Did he notice anything else in the water? Perhaps a sponge, or a towel? A cloth of some kind?”

  “No, nothing else. He brought the body to shore on this side of the river and called for help from a constable there to move it to the patrolman’s outpost.”

  “And, upon seeing Mr. Foster’s wallet and realizing that he was the subject of an urgent lookout notice from Scotland Yard—”

  Clevering interrupted, indignant once more. “How can you possibly know that?”

  “He was important—since otherwise you would not be here—so his absence would have been noticed and urgent attempts made to find him. Such attempts would include Scotland Yard.”

  “Quite right,” said Commissioner Bradford. “Now, Mr. Holmes, you say he was murdered?”

  “No water was expelled from his lungs when I put my weight on his chest, so he did not drown. Chloroform fumes, however, were expelled, so sudden inhalation of chloroform was the cause of death. His chin and upper lip are slightly bruised, and no pad or towel was seen in the water or on the bridge, so he did not inhale the chloroform voluntarily. He was murdered.”

  The Commissioner nodded. “Inspector Lestrade, did you notice the odor of chloroform?”

  “Just now, yes, sir. We had not thought of pressing on Mr. Foster’s chest.”

  “Have you anything to add, Mr. Holmes?”

  “Mr. Foster was not killed in an ordinary robbery, since his wallet was full. He was probably lured to his death somewhere on this side of the river, in a building with a fine-gravel carriage path where carpentry work was taking place. One of his attackers was known to him and was likely a woman.”

  His audience stared at Holmes in astonishment. Clevering said, “I am sure we all marvel at your clairvoyant powers, Mr. Holmes. Now if you will be so good as to explain this incredible chain of suppositions—”

  The Prime Minister interrupted, standing and making a polite show of glancing at his pocket watch. “Mr. Holmes. Will you promise me your assistance?”

  “If I am in full possession of the facts.”

  “We do not condone murder,” said the Prime Minister. “However, an unsupervised investigation could have consequences adverse to the national interest. We cannot have this case brought into the papers.”

  “I have no desire for public recognition. But I shall need access to room 404 at the Savoy.”

  “The police have inspected it and found nothing to indicate foul play.”

  “They may have missed something.”

  “The room has already been cleaned and made available for rental, since it was apparent that Mr. Foster had committed suicide.”

  “If it was so apparent, and you wished to conceal the matter, then why did you summon me here?”

  An awkward silence ensued.

  Holmes nodded, “Now I understand. When Mr. Rockefeller asks, I shall tell him my conclusion as to the death of his employee.”

  “Why would Mr. Rockefeller want to ask you anything?”

  “Since we were all called here at dawn, someone of importance wanted me to investigate. Since clearly you gentlemen wish me not to investigate, none of you is that important someone. You were therefore coerced into sending for me. Mr. Rockefeller coerced you.”

  The Prime Minister had descended the steps of the amphitheater and was walking toward the door. The others were following him.

  “You cannot run away from this,” said Holmes. “Mr. Rockefeller is not known for his patience or his credulity. He will want the truth, and he will want to hear it from me.”

  The Prime Minister stopped for a moment, turned, and inclined his head in a nod toward Mycroft.

  Mycroft said, “The Prime Minister would like you to assist us. I will explain.”

  But just at that moment from the direction of the hospital lobby came a deafening thunderclap that shook the walls all around us. From the skylight, broken glass began to fall.

  3. A YOUNG AMERICAN

  Two hours later, our eyes still smarted from the smoke and dust at the hospital entrance. In my memory I could hear the agonized cries of the horses and see the mangled form of one of them as it writhed, horribly wounded, on the pavement beside the remnants of what had been the Prime Minister’s carriage, first in the procession and now demolished.

  Holmes and I sat with Mycroft and Commissioner Bradford in the Diogenes Club, in one of the upstairs rooms where talking was permitted. The curtains were drawn, but electric wall sconces were lit, and fresh coals now glowed in the wrought iron grate of the oak-paneled fireplace. The stout oak door had been shut to ensure our conversation would remain confidential.

  The PM, Clevering, and Goschen were no longer with us, having been spirited away to their offices in Downing Street and Westminster by Lestrade and the Commissioner’s men. Mycroft had poured a restorative snifter of brandy for each of us. I gratefully sipped mine, inhaling the warm bouquet as I tried to identify what possible motive anyone might have had for causing such an outrage. Holmes left his brandy untouched. He had wanted to stay at the scene, but the Prime Minister had insisted that we all depart at once from what he referred to as the zone of danger.

  The coachmen and footmen had seen what had happened. An old ragpicker had come shambling out of the wooded area at the fringe of Archbishop’s Park, pulling a cart piled high with the bundles of refuse that were his stock in trade. He had come nearly halfway across the road when some of the men noticed that he was apparently heading for the Prime Minister’s carriage. Naturally they called for the ragpicker to turn back and stay away fr
om the carriages, whereupon the man took to his heels and ran back into the park, leaving his cart behind. The blast came moments later, a great flash of light and a concussive report that rendered the men temporarily blind and deaf.

  They had described the ragpicker as tall, gray-bearded, and stooped, dressed in a porkpie hat and dirty long black coat. No, they could not recall anything else about him, other than their impression that from the way he ran he was not a young man, though they could not be certain due to the shock they had received.

  “We know one thing, however,” said the Commissioner. “The bomb was detonated by a timing device that made use of electricity, similar to the one in this drawing.” He showed us a penciled sketch of a bundle of cigar-shaped tubes, a cube-like object with wires, a geared clockwork mechanism, and two conical objects. “It would have been about the size of a loaf of bread.” Then he held out his palm, on which rested two white ceramic conical objects that matched those in the drawing. Each was about an inch and a half in length. “These are ceramic insulating connectors. They are used to connect electrical wires. One of Lestrade’s men found them amid the remnants of the ragpicker’s cart.”

  “Deductions, Sherlock?” asked Mycroft.

  At this moment the door opened and we saw a young man, tall and ruggedly handsome, in a tweed suit of American style, peering at us through rimless spectacles. He was the picture of American confidence, apparently well accustomed to influence far greater than that of most men of his age. Coming up breathlessly behind him was one of the club’s gray-haired attendants.

  “I do apologize, Mr. Holmes. Young Mr. Rockefeller would not wait for me to announce him.”

  “But you have done so nonetheless,” said Mycroft, unperturbed. “Thank you, my good man. Please join us, Mr. Rockefeller.”

  Young Rockefeller came in as the attendant withdrew. “I’m John D. Rockefeller Jr.,” he said, shaking hands with each of us in turn. “Johnny to my friends.” As he came to Holmes his face lit up in an eager smile. “I guess the Prime Minister got my father’s telegram. And wow, what a thundering big explosion there at the hospital. As soon as it happened I told my driver to skedaddle! Then I thought better of it and waited around till you came out and got into your carriage, and we followed you here.”

  Holmes said, “It was you in the cab?”

  “Yep. I came to your place on Baker Street and followed you. My father wanted to be sure you were on the case. He wants the best.”

  Holmes nodded somberly. “Please take a seat, Mr. Rockefeller.”

  “Johnny, please.” He joined us at the table, sitting across from Holmes.

  “Johnny, then. Now, what does your father want me to investigate?”

  “He wants you to find out what happened to Foster, our security man, who disappeared last night. Father is with my mother on their steamship in Southampton. They plan to sail up the Thames and arrive here Monday. But Father wired the Prime Minister that if you weren’t put on the case immediately he would go back to New York.”

  “I have taken the case.”

  “Was Foster in that hospital?”

  “Mr. Foster’s body was in the hospital. His death had been officially ruled a suicide,” said Holmes with a glance at the Commissioner. “However, a further examination of the body leads to a different conclusion.”

  “Murder?”

  Holmes nodded.

  “Poor old Foster. What did he get himself into?”

  “I would be happy to share the details with you or your father at another time. I will also find the murderer.”

  “You’re hired,” said Johnny.

  Mycroft said, “The Prime Minister would also like to retain your services, though in another capacity. I was about to explain that when the explosion interrupted us.”

  “Is there any reason why I should not pursue both matters at once?”

  “Mr. Rockefeller’s and the Prime Minister’s interests are aligned,” replied Mycroft.

  Holmes was jotting a name on a notepad. He tore off the sheet and handed it to the Commissioner. “Then would you please have your men compile a list of any reported thefts of dynamite occurring within the past year? Knowing the quantities that are missing would be particularly important. Also I should like to have a conversation with this gentleman at the earliest possible opportunity. Would you please have your men arrange for me to visit him in his prison cell?”

  “There is a telephone outside,” Mycroft told the Commissioner, who left the room, closing the door securely behind him.

  Holmes then turned to his brother. “Now, Mycroft, will you please explain why the Prime Minister was testing my integrity, and what that has to do with the Admiralty’s impending meeting with Mr. Rockefeller?”

  4. A REQUEST FOR ASSISTANCE

  Mycroft did not seem at all surprised at what to me were two astonishing assertions on Holmes’s part. His tone was very matter-of-fact. “Lord Salisbury wanted to see for himself that you still retained your deductive powers and your independent spirit. There is a meeting to be held between certain cabinet officials, Mr. Rockefeller, and two equally prominent Americans. There will be enormous official pressure to proceed with the meeting and to ignore any obstacles that may arise. The Prime Minister feels it is imperative to have your assistance.”

  “How am I to assist?”

  “You are to find Mr. Foster’s killer or killers, discover whether or not the security arrangements for the meeting have been compromised, and if so, devise alternative arrangements and insist that they be followed.”

  “Was Clevering aware of the PM’s view?”

  “He was not. Lord Salisbury kept his own counsel, except for confiding in Mr. Rockefeller, and in me. He telephoned Mr. Rockefeller in Southampton after Foster had gone missing, and asked him to send the wire insisting on your involvement.”

  “I am pleased to have his support. Will he enforce my recommendations?”

  “He hopes your persuasive powers will obviate the need for that.”

  “I see.” Holmes gave one of his wry smiles and turned to young Mr. Rockefeller. “Now, Johnny, what else can you tell us of Mr. Foster?”

  “Foster was with the Pinkertons before Father hired him. We all came over to Southampton, and Father sent me ahead with Mr. Foster to London. He thought it would be good experience—that’s why he let me take time off from college.”

  “When was the last time you saw Mr. Foster?”

  “Yesterday morning at breakfast. He said he had an appointment with a little old lady.”

  “Did he say where?”

  “He said she lived on Threadneedle Street. He said it as though it was funny.”

  Holmes nodded at Mycroft. “So the meeting is to be held at the Bank of England.”

  “The Bank is sometimes referred to as ‘the old lady of Threadneedle Street,’” I explained to Johnny.

  Holmes continued, “Were you and Mr. Foster both staying at the Savoy?”

  “It’s been about a week now.”

  “And have you noticed anything unusual during your stay?”

  Johnny blushed. “No, not really.”

  “Please describe it nonetheless.”

  “Well, someone slid a theater program under the door of my room.”

  “Was there anything unusual about the program?”

  “It was for the show playing at the Savoy Theatre—that’s just next to the hotel. The unusual thing was that someone had drawn a circle around the name of one of the women in the chorus, and it was the name of a young woman I had met back home. I asked Mr. Foster if he knew anything about it and he said he’d check around.”

  “A young American lady in the Savoy Theatre chorus?”

  Johnny shrugged. “Is that so unusual? She’s very talented. We sang together in a concert. The girls from her school and the boys from mine got together in our c
ampus chapel in Providence. That’s in Rhode Island. And I’d corresponded with her a bit after that. Brilliant girl. Her name is Lucy James. But I can’t figure out how anyone here would have known that I’d even met her.”

  “Clearly someone wants you to see her and renew your acquaintance.”

  “I bought a ticket for tonight’s performance.”

  “Use it, then, by all means. Write her a note and ask her to meet with you. Learn what you can. But be exceedingly careful.”

  “You think there is danger?”

  “There is an organization at work here, Johnny. Someone murdered Mr. Foster and took care that we should learn that he had been killed when they could easily have hidden his body or removed the wallet and the room key that identified him. Their confederates waited until the body had been discovered and followed to where the body was taken. Then they observed the parade of official carriages, and then they set off a bomb. Their capabilities have been demonstrated, and their message is clear.”

  “What message?”

  “‘Mr. Rockefeller, go home. Mr. Prime Minister, do not hold your meeting. If you do, you may expect us to cause you harm.’ This is what we have been told this morning, Johnny.”

  “My father is not a coward. He receives threats against his life every day of the year.”

  “No one is doubting his bravery. But please consider the consequences if your father and his associates were to be harmed here, after having come to England at the invitation of Her Majesty’s government.”

  He was about to continue when we were interrupted by the return of the Commissioner. Ashen-faced, Sir Edward handed Holmes the sheet from the notepad. He said, “We cannot arrange for you to meet Colonel Sebastian Moran. Three nights ago, Moran escaped from Dartmoor Prison.”

  “Who is Colonel Moran?” asked Johnny.

  “He is an assassin,” said Holmes. “He was formerly employed by the Moriarty gang, once the most powerful criminal organization in England.”

  5. A DELIGHTFUL PERFORMANCE