The Last Moriarty Page 5

  10. POLITICAL CONSIDERATIONS

  After a brisk walk along the well-lit Strand and a short turn onto Pall Mall, I soon reached the Diogenes Club, where I found Holmes and Lestrade waiting on a settee in the third-floor lobby. “You are not late, Watson,” said Holmes. “We are waiting to be granted an audience by those who have summoned us. Mycroft has told us they have some important preliminary decisions to make.” He nodded in the direction of a heavy oaken double door through which came the sounds of muffled discussion.

  “What has happened?”

  “Probably nothing.”

  Lestrade smiled wryly at Holmes and then looked gloomily at the oaken doors. “And they’ll do as they please no matter what we say, and if it all goes wrong they’ll have us to blame. That’s what we police are for. And now they’ll drag you into it, too, Mr. Holmes.”

  At that moment the oaken doors opened and Mycroft stood waiting. His formal nod indicated we were to enter.

  The room was relatively small, with a table only large enough for eight chairs, three on each side, with the Prime Minister at the head. The others from this morning were there, as well, and their expressions of concern had only become more pronounced in the hours that had passed. Clevering, at the Prime Minister’s right, beckoned Holmes to the opposite end of the table and its single empty chair. No one took any notice of Lestrade or me. Fortunately there were smaller chairs available along the sides of the room, so the two of us were not required to stand throughout the meeting.

  “Are you quite comfortable, Mr. Holmes?” asked Clevering. “I trust no bomb makers have followed you this time?”

  Holmes nodded, politely.

  “Have you caught the bomber? Can you assure us that our meeting with the Americans can take place without incident?”

  “Had the bomber been caught, all of you would have already been informed by the Commissioner. As to your final question, I will not dignify it with an answer.”

  Clevering brandished his monocle, outraged. “How dare you, sir!” The others around the table looked uncomfortable. None spoke in support of Clevering.

  “But I have a question for you, Mr. Clevering,” Holmes went on affably. “On this occasion, a late-evening meeting attended by our Prime Minister and three members of his cabinet, why does your minister send you? Why does he not attend himself?”

  “He is indisposed. A digestive ailment.”

  “You visited him today?”

  “I did. And I assure you that I have his full authorization to represent him and to take any action that he would be authorized to take.”

  “And these more senior gentlemen have elected you as their spokesman this evening?”

  “You have cheek, sir! This is a war office matter!”

  The Prime Minister intervened then, putting Clevering into his place with a cold stare and an upraised palm. “We are interested in Mr. Holmes’s opinions here, Clevering.”

  Holmes replied, “Thank you, Prime Minister. Now, it would be most helpful to me to know more of the meeting being planned with the Americans. I believe the subject of the meeting to be the conversion of the Royal Navy from coal to oil, and the construction of suitable oil-fueling equipment to be installed throughout our fleet’s domestic and international network of coaling stations. This would be an enormous investment, and would greatly strengthen our nation’s military capability, so therefore the arrangements must be held in absolute secrecy for political as well as military reasons. That conclusion occurred to me the moment I saw Mr. Foster’s business card, given the unusual interest of both the Secretary of War and the First Lord of the Admiralty in the death of a missing American.”

  “I thought you would see that,” said the Prime Minister.

  “And now you have confirmed it. So we can proceed to identify the other American participants at the meeting. I shall name two names, and you may respond as you see fit. First, Mr. Andrew Carnegie, since the construction of the seaport fueling facilities will require enormous quantities of steel and since several of the port locations are likely to lie in his native Scotland.”

  The Prime Minister shrugged. Holmes nodded.

  “And Mr. J. P. Morgan, since enormous sums will be required, and since Mr. Morgan has wide experience in financial dealings between our two nations. By the way, I would expect that you, Prime Minister, and President Cleveland have agreed that this current project is the quid pro quo for the Morgan bank’s bond issue this past spring. As I recall from the newspaper accounts, the bank’s bonds saved the American dollar through the backing of our British gold reserves, and generated no small amount of political controversy on both sides of the Atlantic.”

  The Prime Minister shrugged again, but there was a gleam of approval in his eye.

  “Now. Do you or your colleagues have questions for me?”

  “We jolly well do,” said Clevering. “About the case you claimed to be a murder. What about this woman you spoke of? Did you find her, or is she just a figment of your imagination?”

  “She is a deduction, not a figment. I deduced her presence from my inspection of the body of the unfortunate Mr. Foster.”

  The Prime Minister leaned forward before Clevering could speak. “Please continue, Mr. Holmes.”

  “The body showed no signs that Mr. Foster had been bound or struggled, so the attack took him by surprise, which indicates someone took him from behind while the other kept his attention. An attractive woman would be most suitable for that task. A woman might also be excused from the physical exertion of carrying the body. Had both attackers been men, they would most likely have carried the body by the shoulders and feet, rather than dragging it.”

  The Commissioner asked, “How do you know that the body was dragged?”

  “Mr. Foster’s dress shoes were new, the soles and heels barely worn. Yet the glossy black patent leather above both heels was deeply scratched, and the bottoms of his trousers were frayed, indicating that the body was dragged across a hard, rough surface.” He looked at the expectant faces around the table and continued, “This morning I also mentioned that the scene of the crime was near carpentry work and a gravel carriage path. Those I deduced from the particles of sawdust and fine silvery gravel embedded in Mr. Foster’s socks and inside his shoes.”

  “You also mentioned the death occurred on the other side of the river?”

  “Since the constable did not see anyone approach the bridge from the Parliament side, it follows that the carriage came from the other side to the center point of the river and turned around. Then, seeing no witnesses, the occupants of the carriage disposed of Mr. Foster’s body by throwing it into the water.”

  “Most ingenious,” said Clevering. “What do you intend to do next?”

  “I propose to return to my home and go to bed. It has been a long day for all of us.”

  “That is not what I meant.”

  “I also propose to speak briefly and privately with the Commissioner, Inspector Lestrade, and my brother, Mycroft. And Dr. Watson, of course.”

  “You will not take the leaders of Her Majesty’s government into your confidence?” Clevering shook his head. “You continue to outrage us, Mr. Holmes.”

  11. OUR MOST OBVIOUS DIFFICULTY

  In a short time Lestrade and I were sitting at the table with Holmes, Mycroft, and Commissioner Edward Bradford.

  As I have mentioned, Sir Edward was an ally. He had expressed his gratitude for Holmes’s brilliant work in preventing the underground robbery of an enormous amount of gold bullion from the Bank of England, which would have been a disastrous start to his first year as Commissioner. His military bearing bore witness to his thirty years’ service in Persia and the Indian subcontinent. The empty left sleeve of his well-tailored coat, neatly stitched and folded at his side, attested to his bravery during an encounter with a tigress in the Guna province. I knew that he was well respected by Le
strade and the forty thousand other Metropolitan Police Department employees who were in his charge.

  “What now, Mr. Holmes?” Sir Edward asked, the hint of an ironic smile beneath the wide expanse of his white mustache.

  Holmes’s features tightened. “There are a number of individuals whom we should investigate. First there is Mr. Clevering, whose attitude appears so inappropriately and inexplicably arrogant and uncooperative. I should like to know why. Then there is Blake, the set supervisor at the theater, who so very helpfully provided us with his recollection of Mr. Foster’s visit to the prop room the afternoon before his murder. Also there is Mr. Worth, Carte’s investor. Watson and Lestrade no doubt observed, as did I, that Mr. Worth did not so much as glance in the direction of Miss James when we were all together in Mr. Carte’s office earlier this evening. For a man of his age, such behavior is highly unusual, given her attractive appearance. I would ask you also to learn what you can of Mr. Worth, in particular of his finances. Where has his wealth come from? Who are his associates? Where do his funds go, and for what purposes?”

  Lestrade, Sir Edward, and Mycroft exchanged glances. Then Mycroft said, “I shall initiate inquiries on an urgent basis.”

  The Commissioner said, “I shall do the same, and we shall learn what we can.” He hesitated and then pressed on. “But there is something else. We have the report you requested regarding recent thefts of dynamite.’”

  “Have you told the Prime Minister?”

  “Not as yet.”

  “Then the news is not good.”

  The Commissioner said, “There have been two incidents. The first was in March, at the Senghenydd Colliery near Cardiff. Two crates, each containing three dozen nine-inch cartridges, were reported missing the morning of March 18.”

  “And the second?”

  “That incident occurred the night of June 20, on the Glasgow and South Western Railway line somewhere between the Nobel Explosives factory in Ardeer, where a train was loaded, and Newcastle, where it was unloaded.”

  “The quantity stolen?”

  “Four freight cars filled with dynamite left Ardeer. In Newcastle, one of the freight cars was found to have lost nearly one third of its cargo.”

  “That is an appalling piece of news.”

  “Taken with the incident at St. Thomas this morning, it is indeed appalling. That amount of dynamite would produce an explosion several hundred times greater than the one outside the hospital. Thousands would die.”

  “Have there been any arrests? Are there any suspects? Has any of the dynamite reappeared?”

  The Commissioner shook his head. His tone was grim. “And four months have elapsed, so the trail has gone cold.”

  12. BREAKFAST AT 221B BAKER STREET

  On awakening in our Baker Street rooms the following morning, I dressed and descended my stairway to find Mrs. Hudson, our esteemed landlady, setting out a hearty breakfast from a heavily laden tray. A warm smile wreathed her middle-aged features when she saw me. Then she gave a dubious glance at Holmes, who sat cross-legged on the carpet in his morning coat, surrounded by piles of papers and books, and a folded copy of the morning’s Times. He had a sheaf of notes and envelopes on his lap and was sorting these into three piles, while puffing a lit pipe filled with his customary strong-smelling shag tobacco.

  Mrs. Hudson spoke in her usual brisk fashion. “There’s ham and sausages, a nice white pudding, some white-bread toast and some fresh creamery butter for it, along with some of that Dundee marmalade you’re fond of, Doctor,” she said. “And fresh coffee, of course. There’s more than enough for both of you, if you take my meaning,” she said, with another disapproving look at Holmes.

  I knew Mrs. Hudson was well accustomed to Holmes’s neglect of sustenance, other than tobacco, when he was immersed in a case, but she never gave up her attempts to nourish him with proper fare. I felt a kinship with her on this point. Though I had long since despaired of successfully changing Holmes’s eccentric and medically unsound habits, I, too, frequently chided him, if only to appease my own conscience.

  Today, however, Holmes surprised both of us. “Excellent, Mrs. Hudson! You have brought us a breakfast fit for a famished Yorkshire countryman—two of them, in fact. I shall attend to my share in due course. Watson, please do not wait for me.”

  These words he spoke in his most cordial tone, though without once taking his eyes from his work. Then he fell silent once more, glancing at each item and placing it onto one of the three stacks as one would deal out a hand of cards, all the while sending up great blue-gray clouds of tobacco smoke. Mrs. Hudson and I exchanged looks of resignation as she withdrew and I sat down to the table.

  I finished my meal in silence, Holmes remaining on the floor with his pipe and papers. These, I had come to realize, were associated with the other cases with which Holmes was currently occupied. I wondered how he could be even thinking of his other work, given the magnitude of the task the Prime Minister had assigned him. Or was this the result of his compulsion to continually occupy his mind, to meet the challenge of every case that might interest him? If so, I feared for the worst, for I knew his constitution had its limits, and if he placed too much strain on faculties that were, though extraordinary, subject to mortal frailty, after all, a breakdown of some sort would someday be inevitable. Then I could bear my apprehension no longer. I asked, “Holmes, what are you doing?”

  “Sorting, Watson.” He gave me a placid, understanding look. “I am sorting these cases according to their level of urgency. If I succeed in helping the Prime Minister and Mr. Rockefeller, I will be ready to resume my other activity in an efficient manner. If I fail—”

  “Surely not, Holmes!” I could not help but interrupt.

  “Nevertheless, there is a possibility that Colonel Moran may be the winner in this current encounter. If such an event occurs and I am unable to continue, I ask that you will be so good as to turn these papers over to Lestrade.”

  “I will do as you ask, of course. But you have defeated Colonel Moran once before.”

  Holmes gave an ironic smile. “On that occasion, the Moriarty organization had been broken up. The Colonel had little or no assistance. Now, matters are different.”

  “I do not follow you, Holmes.”

  “No one escapes from a fortress such as Dartmoor without careful planning and assistance from others. Just as no one steals more than a ton of dynamite without similar planning and assistance. Now, the trail to the dynamite theft has grown cold. But Colonel Moran escaped four days ago and there may still be clues for us. So let us examine this problem. Three questions then arise. Whose organization assisted Colonel Moran, for what purpose, and why now?”

  He drew a clump of papers from the top of one of the three piles. “During the past several months, there have been indications—without the name of Moriarty appearing even once, of course—that the old patterns and methods were beginning to reassert themselves once more.” He held up a page or two at a time and then replaced it in the pile as he continued, “A robbery, so cunningly planned that the theft is not noticed for days. An attack, with the victim too terrified to disclose what might possibly be the motive to cause him harm. An insignificant thief who barely has funds to feed and clothe himself is caught and imprisoned, and then suddenly a solicitor and a bail bondsman appear to procure his freedom. The actions chronicled in these papers show all the hallmarks of Moriarty’s operations.”

  “Possibly someone eluded you from the old Moriarty organization, and that person has formed a new one.”

  “Let us take that as our assumption. We may further assume that this someone, this organization, has extracted Moran from his imprisonment. But why has the escape come now? Moran has been languishing in Dartmoor more than a year.”

  “Perhaps the resources to manage his escape have only recently become available.”

  “Perhaps. But I think it more like
ly that an opportunity for the organization has arisen that requires Moran’s particular skills. Now ask yourself what that opportunity might be.”

  “The meeting with Mr. Rockefeller and the others.”

  “A meeting that would increase our nation’s naval power, and which therefore other nations would pay handsomely to stop. Now, ask yourself how the organization learned of the proposed meeting.”

  “Possibly Mr. Foster let something slip. Or someone may have recognized young Johnny.”

  “But they arrived in this country only a week ago. And Moran escaped four days ago. That leaves three days, which is not nearly enough time to plan and execute an escape from Dartmoor.” Holmes nodded. “If our chain of reasoning is correct, the knowledge of Rockefeller’s visit would have had to come to the organization weeks or perhaps months earlier. And the only persons aware of the visit at that time were within the Prime Minister’s inner circle.”

  “So there is a traitor.” I struggled to contain my consternation. “Holmes, this gets worse and worse! And we have no evidence! We have no evidence against anyone.”

  “Then we must test our suppositions, and be guided by the results of our test.”

  Before I could even imagine what he meant by this pronouncement, we heard the voices of Mrs. Hudson and another woman below, and their footsteps ascending our stairs.

  13. MISS JAMES NEEDS HELP

  Soon Mrs. Hudson was with us once again, announcing our visitor. “Miss Lucy James. She says she met both of you at the Savoy.”

  “Please come in, Miss James,” said Holmes, looking up from his papers.

  Wrapped tightly in a maroon-colored wool cloak, Miss James was nonetheless shivering as she stepped into the room. Her cheeks were not pink from the morning chill as I would have expected, but rather pale and drawn, and her lovely eyes appeared fearful.