The Return of Moriarty (20 page)

When Paget took his leave, his head was filled with facts of exceptional value. From the intelligence Paget could now furnish, the Professor would be able to make his own carefully calculated decision regarding an investment in Fisher, Clark and Gay's proposed robbery.

Paget did not hurry himself, and it was almost eight in the evening before he arrived back at Paddington. On his way to catch the train to Limehouse, he paused to purchase the latest edition of the
Evening Standard,
for a penny piece, from one of the urchin paperboys who was shouting, “Adair murderer dead in jail … Colonel Moran poisoned … Murderer murdered.…”

It was not until he was on the train to Limehouse that Paget read the report. It was lurid in parts but accurate:

 

Colonel Sebastian Moran, who was arrested by Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard last night and committed for trial this morning for the murder of the Honourable Ronald Adair of 427 Park Lane and the attempted murder of the detective Mr. Sherlock Holmes, has been found dead in his cell at Horsemonger Lane Jail.

The discovery was made this afternoon by one of the prison turnkeys. Moran was found on the floor of his cell, his body twisted and the face “horribly contorted,” as though he had died in great anguish. It appears that he had just eaten a portion of pie and drunk some wine which was brought to him early in the afternoon by an unidentified servant girl.

Inspector Lestrade told our reporter that the matter is being treated as one of murder.

The Adair case baffled detectives for some time, but it is understood that Inspector Lestrade discovered the truth yesterday evening when Moran was arrested in the act of trying to shoot Mr. Holmes from a house in Baker Street.

The report went on to give further details of the Adair murder and to describe the various comings and goings at Horsemonger Lane.

Paget smiled to himself. The Professor was certainly back with a vengeance, he thought. The man was not one to let the grass grow under his heels, and that was as well, for things had been getting out of hand for a long while.

There were a number of people in the “waiting room” when Paget got back to the warehouse. Lee Chow and Terremant were sitting in one corner, glasses of spirits in front of them. At the other end, nearest the stairway to the Professor's chambers, the other punishers were sprawled around, Spear and Ember with them, also two men, bound and gagged in upright chairs.

Paget scowled, recognizing the men as Fray and Roach.

“With the Peg?” He inquired of Spear.

“Both of the bastards.”

“No others?”

“Not yet. But they'll all go down like horse droppings before long.”

Ember gave a chuckle.

“Is he back yet?” Paget inclined his head toward the Professor's quarters.

“Any time now. He's out shuffling things, and we're waiting on him.”

“Been busy enough anyway.” Paget tapped the headlines of the newspaper.

He did not see the quick exchange of looks between Kate Wright and her husband, Bart, behind the serving counter. But something drew his eyes up toward the couple.

“Is there some food left for me?” he asked Bart Wright. “I'm so hungry it's dropping out of my nose.”

“Thought you'd be well filled with country pie,” leered Ember.

“A few gills of ale and bread and cheese's all I've had, Ember. And a lot of Shanks' pony.”

“Fanny's in the kitchen.” Mrs. Wright motioned toward the door behind the serving counter. “There's plenty in there.”

Spear gave a small laugh. “Plenty enough for our Pip in there, eh?”

The others laughed and Pip Paget, usually good-natured when it came to being chaffed, felt a spring of annoyance rise inside him, but he knew better than to tangle with any other member of the “Praetorian Guard,” particularly in front of the punishers and prisoners. He nodded, making his way behind the serving counter and through the door that led to the kitchen.

Fanny was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a mug of cocoa. She rose as soon as Paget entered, a blush flushing her cheeks.

“Oh, Pip, you're back. I've been so worried about you.”

He held her in his arms and could feel her heart beating under his hand as she pressed close; like a frightened bird, he thought.

“There was no call for you to be worried, Fan. No cause.”

“There's been dangerous things going on, Pip. I was afraid for you.”

“No danger for me today, lass. None at all.”

She looked up at him and he kissed her gently on the lips. She responded, wanting desperately to have him take her, to calm her fears and to act as a kind of reassurance.

“I've had an exciting day, Pip,” she said at last. “I've met the Professor. Pip, he was so kind and nice to me, and I ran an errand fo him.” She dropped her voice in exaggerated breathless excitement, like a small girl.

Paget smiled down at her. “Oh yes?”

“I've been inside a prison, Pip. I took a basket of victuals to the colonel in Horsemonger Lane.”

Paget felt his heart leap and stomach turn over at one and the same time: a sickening twist of horror.

“To Horsemonger Lane, Fan. Christ.”

He drew away from her, his face drained and body shaking.

“Pip? What's the matter? What's wrong?”

Paget paused for a moment, not knowing how to tell the girl. Yet she would learn soon enough if he did not speak now.

“Sit down, Fanny,” he said, dry-mouthed.

“But Pip,” she said, a half-smile fading on her lips, “you're not angry, are you? You're not cross with me?”

“No, Fanny, but there are things you have to know.”

She slowly seated herself, erect, hands folded in her lap, still looking up at the tall, hard-faced man, adoration in her eyes.

Quietly he told her, explaining that the Professor demanded favors from all those who worked and acted for him. Sometimes those who were asked did not even understand what the favor meant or what repercussions it might have, but that the Professor always looked after his own people. He then, gently, told her about Colonel Moran.

It took a few moments for the truth to sink in. Then … “Oh God, Pip, I'm a murderess. I killed him.”

“No, Fan. You only delivered the basket, and if it had not been you, it would have been someone else. We who serve the Professor ask no questions. Remember that.”

There were tears running down Fanny's face.

“Does it always have to be so, Pip? Always?”

“Always is for long, Fanny. He made a home for me and I've served him well. I cannot give up now, and neither can you, Fanny. It is serious, and you'd be a dead woman within the week if you left—that or in the 'Steel.”

She nodded quietly, her face gray with fear, and was about to speak when there was an increase in sound from the “waiting room,” a shuffling and louder murmurs.

“He's back, Fanny. Go to our chambers and I will be with you as quickly as I can. Oh, and take me some cold meats and bread, then I'll tell you how it's been today.”

*      *      *

Moriarty stood looking down at the bound Roach and Fray.

“Scum,” he mouthed. “Evil, treacherous scum. “You're only fit for a vegetable breakfast—an artichoke and caper sauce with the hangman.”

Paget came through from the kitchen and joined them, Moriarty acknowledging his appearance with a curt nod.

“What are we to do with them, Professor?” asked Spear.

“Do with them? Put 'em on the everlasting staircase, that's the way. But I am a merciful man.”

He turned to face Roach and Fray, squarely. Their eyes were wide with fear, for, it must be recalled, they had believed Moriarty to be long dead.

“A merciful man.” The Professor laughed. “I'm willing to let the pair of you live out the remainder of your natural lives, but only in return for information. You will tell the good Spear all that you know of the vermin Michael Green and his scabrous friend the Butler—details of their haunts, their associates, their plans. If you tell the truth, then I will see you are placed somewhere safe.” He turned to Spear. “And if they prove difficult, use Lee Chow. Our Chinese friend has ways of extracting truth which he claims will make the dumb talk.”

Moriarty turned and began to mount the stairs. Halfway up he stopped, twisting his head down toward the assembled company.

“Lee Chow, I'll talk with you. Then Paget. After that Mrs. Wright can make things ready in my chamber. I am expecting company.”

Moriarty was pleased with the way in which Lee Chow had handled John Tappit.

“He no throw acid anymore.” The Chinese grinned.

“You have done well, Lee Chow, and you will be rewarded. Go now and help Spear, and you may send Paget to me.”

Paget recited the information gleaned at Harrow. Moriarty, still in the guise of his dead brother, sat listening attentively.

When he had finished, the Professor said, “Then you think it is a safe crack?”

“I think it looks good.”

“Mmm.” Moriarty nodded. “Would you be prepared to go in with them? They are three, they want a fourth.”

“I'd rather not, having already been seen there and talked to people who work at Beeches Hall. I think that would be dangerous.”

“But…?”

“But if you insisted, then I would go.”

“We shall see. I'll take it on and we shall see.” He raised his head and smiled thinly. “I have used your woman, Fanny Jones.”

“I know, sir.”

“Ah, and does she yet know what it is about?”

“She knows Moran is dead and that she was an instrument.”

“And?”

“She was upset, but I have explained the necessities of such things.”

“Good man, Paget. She's a downy piece all right.”

“I've done my balls on her, Professor.”

Moriarty raised quizzical eyebrows.

“I had no idea you were such a romantic. But these things happen. Is it to be marriage?”

“I would like it so.”

“And her?”

“I have yet to ask.”

“Well, ask, and if it is to be, then I will give the breakfast, Paget. She must understand, though, that you will both go on in my service.”

“She understands.”

“And the high position you hold with me?”

“She knows that I respect you, sir; that you gave me my first real home.”

“That you are my most trusted?”

“I am not certain of that myself, Professor.”

“And why not?” The head oscillated dangerously.

“I was sent to Harrow today, and you expressly told me that you planned to meet Fanny tomorrow—that you were too busy today. I return to find that you have used her on a mission of great personal danger, of murder. Naturally I wonder if I am to be trusted.”

“It was expedient, Paget, not planned. You are my most trusted. Now go and ask the wench to be your bride; it is not often the Moriarty family has a wedding.”

When Paget was gone, the Professor changed, taking off the trappings of his disguise. He washed and donned a long dressing gown of dark blue silk, exotically patterned with military frogging on the cuffs and fastenings. By the time he walked back from the bedroom into his main chamber, Mrs. Wright had arranged a table with a cold collation—tongue and ham with various salads, plenty of celery and cheese and a bottle of Wachter's Royal Charter champagne.

Downstairs, as it neared eleven, the punishers, Lee Chow, Ember and Spear, removed Roach and Fray into one of the many side chambers that were cunningly built into the secret framework of the warehouse.

In their chamber at the back of the building, Paget clasped Fanny Jones tightly to him in their small bed.

“Then will you marry me, Fanny, my love? Will you be my bride?”

She smiled, her eyes glistening.

“It's a bit late to be talking of brides, Pip Paget, but yes, I love you, rogue that you are. I'll marry you, though I shouldn't doubt we'll both end up dangling from Jack Ketch's apple tree one fine morning.”

Mary McNiel arrived on the dot of eleven and was escorted up to the Professor's chamber by Mrs. Wright. Moriarty smiled as he heard their footsteps on the stairs and looked at the gold pocket watch that had once been worn by the other Moriarty.

Mary looked as beautiful as she had on the previous day, and when the door was closed behind her and the Professor had removed her cloak, she allowed him to run his fingers gently through her hair. Reaching up, she took out the pins and let the tresses tumble down, shaking them out as she did so.

“You would like to sup, Mary, my dear?” he asked.

She gave him a coy smile.

“We can sup when you wish, sir. I want to sample the delights I have heard you can so readily supply for it is considered an honor among Sal's girls to be called to service here.”

Moriarty threw back his head, laughing loudly.

“By God, Mary, you're the girl for me. Come then and I'll take Nebuchadnezzar out to grass with you.”

Angus McCready Crow was forty-one years of age and had spent twenty-two of those years with the Metropolitan Police Force. In that time he had followed a varied and interesting career. In the late 1870's he was a constable in B Division, which at that period covered the Westminster area. And, like so many of his colleagues, he had been shocked by the events (known now as the de Goncourt case
^*
) that shattered the small detective force of the time, sending three of its number to prison and causing a somewhat drastic reorganization.

By the 1880's the large, craggy Scot had himself become a member of the detective force, working as a sergeant, close to the famous Inspector Abberline, who goes down most unfairly in history as the man who failed to catch Jack the Ripper.

Crow was now an inspector, a very confused and concerned inspector in the early hours of Saturday, April 7, 1894. The world, together with weighty responsibilities, had fallen in on Inspector Crow.