The Last Moriarty Page 6

  Holmes’s voice became gentle. “Will you not take breakfast with us? See, there is a place already set for you. Mrs. Hudson, will you please bring some fresh coffee for our guest?”

  I rose to greet Miss James and escort her to our table as Mrs. Hudson withdrew, but she did not sit. Instead she moved around the room, looking at her surroundings with a kind of reverence, and clutching her reticule with both hands as if fearful of losing it. She paused but once, to trace her fingers lightly over some of the bullet holes that still formed the initials VR in our wall.

  Finally she spoke. “Thank you for your kind hospitality, Mr. Holmes, but I couldn’t eat. I’ve had something of a shock and I need your help.”

  “Then you had better sit down,” said Holmes. “Take that seat by the fire.” He quickly got to his feet and stepped lightly over the clutter, taking her cloak and helping her into my chair. He then took his usual position in the other chair.

  I drew a chair from the dining table to a position where I could observe them and then I went back to the dining table and poured coffee for Miss James. I noted that today she again wore a plain white blouse and dark wool skirt, again with no jewelry. “Here is hot coffee,” I said, bringing the cup to where she sat, hunched over and staring into the glowing coals. “You appear chilled. We have brandy as well—”

  “No, no, please. I don’t drink brandy or any other ardent spirits.” Her lip trembled as she sipped at the coffee. Then she looked up, her green eyes wide in frightened appeal. “Mr. Holmes, I need you to find my true parents. I quite realize that you are occupied with other matters”—she gestured at the heap of newspapers and books still strewn untidily on our floor—“but I have no one else to turn to. Until now I have relied solely on my trustee, whom I have never seen until, well, until last night and this morning.”

  “Last night?”

  “Yes. In Mr. Carte’s office. I did not know his identity then, of course, but he presented himself to me this morning at the Savoy as I came into the restaurant. He was very overbearing. He made it plain that if I do not obey his direction he will no longer pay my bills and I shall be thrown penniless into the street.”

  Holmes spoke gently. “And your hope is that your real parents will help you?”

  “It seems foolish, I know, after twenty-one years. Yet they did care enough to establish the trust.”

  “In all likelihood they are not living together as husband and wife. And as I recall, your trustee told you that your father was dead.”

  “I realize that. But my hope is that he was not being truthful, or that at least my mother may take an interest in me. And I must try, for I know I cannot continue in a state of dependency on a man such as Mr. Adam Worth.”

  “The same man who interrupted us last night in Mr. Carte’s office? He is your trustee?”

  “Yes. Please excuse me for not explaining this clearly. Yes, the man last night in Mr. Carte’s office. The man who interrupted us. A horrible man.”

  “And you are certain that he is your trustee?”

  “This morning he showed me the paid receipts for my tuition over the past three years, and for my passage from New York on the Britannic, and for my room and meals at the Savoy Hotel.”

  “Did he leave any of those receipts with you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did you notice an address on any of the receipts?”

  “He did not let me examine them, but I did see the first one clearly, one from Miss Porter’s School. It was addressed to him at The Western Lodge, Clapham Common. I have no idea where that might be.”

  Holmes gave an approving nod. “I credit your powers of observation, Miss James.”

  I saw a faint blush appear on her cheek. “I brought one of his letters.” She opened her reticule and handed a cream-colored envelope to Holmes. “You see the envelope is addressed simply ‘Miss Lucy James,’ and there is no postmark or return address.”

  Holmes looked briefly at the letter. “He signs himself as simply ‘your trustee.’ Now, you mentioned a direction of Mr. Worth’s that he requires you to obey?”

  “He wants me to ‘cultivate a relationship,’ as he put it, with Johnny Rockefeller. When I told him—told Mr. Worth what I told you yesterday, about not being interested in all that high-society life—well, that’s when he threatened me. He says he’ll have Mr. Carte dismiss me from the company. He said he can fix it so that none of the other theaters will hire me. He says singing talents like mine are a dime a dozen.”

  “And what does he hope to accomplish by putting you together with Johnny?”

  “I don’t really know. But he seemed . . . inspired by the idea, somehow. Like he’d dreamed about it. If that kind of man can dream about anything.”

  “Did you point out that Johnny may not have a romantic relationship with you in mind?”

  “I did. He said he knew I had a superior intellect that could accomplish difficult tasks. I remember thinking how preposterous that sounded.”

  “Preposterous?”

  “As if romance was an intellectual problem. As if love was something that could be swayed by reason. All that stuff that everybody writes about.”

  “Everybody?”

  “I was thinking of Shakespeare, actually, but there are lots more. Didn’t you read Shakespeare when you were in school?”

  “I did.”

  She nodded. “But now you don’t clutter up your mind with such things.”

  Holmes smiled briefly. “Does Mr. Worth require anything else of you?”

  “He asked about Johnny’s father.”

  “What about him?”

  “About his coming to London Monday. Johnny says Mr. Rockefeller—Johnny calls him ‘Senior’—has chartered a steam-liner—one of the fastest, Johnny says. There’s a big meeting here, with very important people. Johnny told me when we had supper at the restaurant last night.”

  I stared, shocked at her casual tone. Here was a meeting whose very existence we were bound by the harshest penalties of the law to keep secret, and Miss James spoke of it as though it were a holiday dance or some other perfectly ordinary social gathering.

  Holmes remained calm. “Did he say where the meeting was to be held?”

  She shook her head. “That was what Mr. Worth wanted to know, too.”

  “He knew about the meeting?”

  She nodded. “He knew Johnny’s father was coming and that J. P. Morgan would be there. When I couldn’t say where it was, he said I should try to find out from Johnny and then tell him. I think that’s wrong, so I told him I wouldn’t and that’s when he said those awful things about making me a homeless pauper. I must get free of that man, Mr. Holmes.”

  14. THE IRREGULARS

  Holmes stood up abruptly and went to our front window. Parting the curtain, he gazed intently at the street below. Then he drew the shade down to the windowsill and returned to his chair. “How did Mr. Worth say you were to communicate with him?”

  “I’m to leave a message at the front desk of the hotel telling him when I can meet him in the lobby.”

  “And when will you meet young Mr. Rockefeller again?”

  “Later this afternoon. He wants to take me shopping and then to tea. I can stay out with him until our six o’clock call—before tonight’s performance.” Her eyes clouded and she shook her head. “But that’s not important.” Her voice caught and her next words came nearly in a whisper. “Will you help me find my parents, Mr. Holmes? Will you help me?”

  Holmes leaned forward in his chair to meet her gaze. “Do you know the date and place of your birth?”

  “I don’t. Not for sure. But according to my school records I will be twenty-one this January seventh, and I have received a gold sovereign as a birthday present from my trustee the first week of every January that I can remember.”

  “I will look into the matter.”


  Her face lit up. “Oh, thank you!”

  His voice took on a cautionary tone. “But I believe you are in danger, Miss James.”

  As if to underscore Holmes’s words, there came from below the sound of our front door knocker, soon followed by Mrs. Hudson’s voice.

  Holmes went on, “Moreover, I cannot tell you the reasons for my belief. You will have to trust me.”

  “It’s because Mr. Rockefeller and J. P. Morgan are coming here, though. Isn’t it?”

  Holmes remained silent, but I thought I detected a hint of an approving nod as he got up from his chair.

  From the stairs came light, rapid footfalls.

  “I have arranged to have you watched. For your protection.”

  Our entry door opened, and a small, ragged boy burst into the room and stood before us. The boy drew himself up to attention and said, “I saw the shade come down, sir.”

  Fear and delight mingled on Miss James’s lovely face as she saw the new arrival. She whispered, “The Irregulars!”

  After Holmes made the appropriate introductions, he instructed Flynn, for that was the name of the boy, as to the procedure he was to follow and the terms of employment that he was to offer to the other Irregulars, who were always in need of money and eager to assist Holmes.

  “A shilling a day to each, through this coming Wednesday and possibly later,” said Holmes. “But take care to remain unobserved, both when following Miss James and watching the entrances to the Savoy. That is extremely important. It is imperative that you not reveal yourselves, for you may otherwise be in serious danger.”

  Young Flynn shrugged his frail shoulders and nodded at this warning with the offhand courage of youth and the bravery of one accustomed to scratching a living each day from whatever opportunities he could find in the streets of London. Holmes then said good-bye to Miss James, taking both her hands in his and looking directly into her eyes while urging her to remain on her guard and, if she met Worth again, to claim she had learned nothing more from Johnny about the impending conference. I escorted her down the stairs. Before we went outside I saw to it that she draped her head in a shawl borrowed from Mrs. Hudson. When we were on the sidewalk I hailed a hansom cab for her, taking care not to select the first or the second that offered itself. The driver looked surprised when Flynn scrambled up onto the seat beside Miss James, but a shilling pressed into his palm immediately changed his attitude. “The Savoy Hotel,” I told him. As the cab pulled away, I noted with approval that Miss James had closed the curtain.

  I turned back to our doorway. To my surprise, Holmes was coming out, pulling on his tweed cap and wearing his brown tweed ulster. “Quickly, Watson. Another cab!”

  I hailed a hansom and it pulled over. “Bank of England, Threadneedle Street,” Holmes told the driver. As we got in he added, “But with a stop at Somerset House.” Then he remained silent.

  15. SOMERSET HOUSE

  After two chilly miles in the hansom we arrived at Somerset House on the Strand. Holmes asked me to wait in the cab. I did so with some impatience, for he had not told me the reason for his stopping there, nor how long he expected to be occupied, and the uncertainty made the minutes crawl by.

  I watched hundreds of Saturday strollers walk along the shops of the Strand and through the tall arched passageway from the north wing of Somerset House that led to the magnificent, spacious courtyard. As I waited I scanned the faces of those who passed, wondering what Holmes could be doing, or if he had emerged in disguise and one of the faces now before me might be concealing his own. However, at last I saw him coming toward me. His face was set in that expressionless manner he adopts when his mind is occupied by a problem that is particularly perplexing.

  He climbed in and sat beside me. I remarked, “You did not meet with success?”

  “On the contrary. I have found important evidence in the matter of our most recent client.”

  “Mr. Rockefeller?”

  “Miss Lucy James. I have found her name in the registrar general’s index of births and deaths. She was born Lucy James in Linton Hill, county of Kent, January seventh, 1875, weighing eight pounds, seven ounces. I have applied for a copy of the birth certificate. It should be available in two weeks’ time.”

  “So she is a British citizen. I wonder why she was educated in America.”

  “As her trustee, Mr. Worth would know. But we are hardly in a position to ask him.”

  “Did the index show the names of her parents?”

  “Both the father and mother are listed as ‘person unknown.’ The name of the witness is listed as ‘Mr. Adam Worth.’”

  16. THREADNEEDLE STREET

  For the remainder of the ride, about a mile and a half along Fleet Street, Holmes remained silent. We arrived at Threadneedle Street and mounted the wide, expansive steps to the main entrance of the Bank of England. I drew in my breath as I glanced up at the soaring columns and Grecian-temple facade. I took comfort in the silent architectural message that the Bank, like the classical roots of our civilization, would endure for many centuries after our own generation had concluded its mortal struggles and given way to the next.

  Llewellen Perkins, chief clerk, gave us an apprehensive glance when, having been alerted by the guard, he came to the doorway. He was a small, officious, and tidy man, with a well-trimmed, waxed black mustache and pomaded black hair. His small dark eyes moved rapidly from me to Holmes as he spoke.

  “I received your message, Mr. Holmes. I regret that pressing matters of business prevented Chancellor Hicks Beach from joining us. He has interested himself in your inquiry and would have been glad to assist you in person. Of course, any inquiry in which the Chancellor of the Exchequer takes an interest is also of interest to the Bank. Please come to my office, both of you. Mr. Holmes, your brother awaits us there with a policeman. I believe the policeman’s name is Lestrade.”

  We walked through the magnificent front entry hall amid its gilded Greco-Roman columns, and then down a long corridor where clerks hurried along with their bundles of papers. From one room a constantly clicking din of machinery emanated, and as we passed I glanced in the partially open door to see five tall black boxes, each with a crank being turned by a clerk at a slow pace. Since we were late, however, I did not take time to ask what banking activity was being performed but rather continued along with the group until we had reached Perkins’s office.

  There we found Mycroft and Lestrade, who, while awaiting our arrival, had sent out for roast beef sandwiches. Two remained. I gratefully picked one up and Holmes declined the other.

  Lestrade nodded solemnly. “We have some news for you.”

  “I think that should wait,” Mycroft interposed, “until we have finished our business with Mr. Perkins, if you have no objections, Inspector Lestrade. We have already imposed on his hospitality longer than he expected.”

  “Most appreciative, I’m sure,” said Mr. Perkins, beaming effusively. “Well, Mr. Holmes. And you, Mr. Holmes—the younger Mr. Holmes, of course. I, too, have a bit of news about the subjects, the gentlemen, that I was requested to pursue. Pursue figuratively, of course. Yes, I have not been entirely unsuccessful. Would you like me to begin with Mr. Carte? Very well. I have been able to ascertain that his theater has not been as profitable as in the past, and that he has indeed received financial backing from a syndicate headed by Mr. Adam Worth as recently as last year.”

  “So he was telling the truth about Worth,” said Holmes.

  “Not entirely, Mr. Holmes!” Perkins preened with satisfaction as he continued, “For Mr. Carte is now quietly seeking new financial backing—in order to buy out the interest of Mr. Worth! It seems that their relationship is not amicable!”

  “Reflects well on Carte,” said Mycroft. “Now, what can you tell us about Adam Worth?”

  Perkins opened an oxblood-colored calfskin folder and extracted a sheaf of notes. “W
e have done a bit of research, as you can see,” he told Mycroft proudly. “We had expected the Chancellor to be present and we wanted to be as thorough—”

  “Most industrious, I’m sure. Now, what do you have there?”

  Savoring his moment, Perkins lifted a lorgnette to his eyes and fluttered the papers. “Let me see. He came from America. Served in the Union Army in the American Civil War, during which he was wounded in the shoulder. He banks at the Union, County, and Westminster banks—that we know of, you understand. There may be more that we do not. His income is sporadic, consisting of deposits of cash from time to time in various currencies. The sums have been substantial, but by no means immense. He has been suspected of coming by these funds dishonestly. Nothing has been proven. He is not known to be a gambler and is not a member of any club—that we know of, of course.”

  “When was his most recent deposit?” asked Holmes.

  “Two hundred pounds in the Union Bank, October 16.” Squinting at one of the papers, Perkins added, “A Wednesday.”

  “Is that significant?” Holmes asked.

  “You gentlemen must judge that for yourselves. I merely mention it for the sake of completeness.”

  Holmes nodded. “How long has Worth been in London?”

  “Since at least January 1888, when he rented what is known as The Western Lodge, a respectable estate on the west corner of Clapham Common. It is a curious fact, however, that he has never lived there in the usual sense, for according to our information the house is nearly bereft of furnishings and servants. He spends most of his time in a flat that he rents in Westminster. I do not know the address.”

  Holmes nodded. “So he rents a flat and an estate. Have you found any other significant expenditures?”

  “There is a yacht.”

  “Indeed?” I could tell Holmes’s interest was aroused. “Where?”