The Infernal Device & Others: A Professor Moriarty Omnibus (11 page)

             
"You, of course, have no idea how they got there."

             
"They weren't there when I left my room," Barnett insisted. "Whoever struck me on the head must have shoved the papers into my pocket; although why anyone would want to do such a thing is beyond me."

             
"The motives of men," Moriarty said, "are often quite beyond rational explanation. Although, in this case, the reason seems quite clear."

             
"Clear to you, maybe," Barnett said. "I've been beating my brains trying to figure it out for these past weeks."

             
" 'Beating your brains,' although a fascinating idiom, hardly seems a way to induce profitable ratiocination," Moriarty commented. "However, continue. You were accused of this crime?"

             
"This crime?" Barnett laughed hoarsely. "What you mean, Professor, is those crimes! I was accused of the crime of murdering Lieutenant Sefton and of the crime of being a spy. For good measure, what they'd also like to believe is that I blew up their precious submersible. That's what they've been trying to get me to admit when they question me, hour after hour, until I think I'm going mad."

             
"There you are," Moriarty said, shaking his head. "If you are not beating your own brain, you are having someone else do it for you.
"

             
"
Look—" Barnett said.

             
"Now, now," Moriarty said, putting his hand on Barnett's shoulder. "I assure you I do take this seriously—very seriously, indeed. I am willing to help you—if you believe and understand that no one else can."

             
"What do you mean?" Barnett asked, staring at the professor.

             
"There was a trial?" Moriarty asked.

             
"You could call it that," Barnett said. "I wanted to wait until I could get legal help, but they weren't buying that. Three days after the murder I stood before a magistrate. I asked for the American minister to aid in my defense. An American counsel came as a spectator; the minister was otherwise engaged. I asked the
World
—my paper—to get me a lawyer. He hasn't shown up yet. Meanwhile, I was tried and convicted in something like three hours, and I've been here ever since."

             
"The trouble is, you see, that they also believe you to be guilty."

             
"You mean the American minister and my paper? How can they?"

             
"Why not? You were found alone in the room with Sefton. There were signs of a struggle. Obviously you fought over the plans, you struck him with your stick, and then he knocked you unconscious before falling back in a swoon on the bed. After all, the plans were in your pocket."

             
"But the open window?"

             
"It was inspected by the police. Nobody leaped to the ground— or at least, there were no marks."

             
"But what would I want with the plans?"

             
Moriarty shrugged. "What do spies ever want with the plans, or the papers, or the treaties, or whatever they steal? In any case, that's of no concern to the police."

             
"So you think my people are not going to help me?" Barnett asked.

             
"Your people are going to forget about you as rapidly as is decently possible."

             
"But you believe me innocent?" Barnett asked. "And you are willing to help me?" He shook his head and stared at the wall. "How can you help me? How can
anyone
help me?"

             
"I know you to be innocent, as it happens," Moriarty said. "And I
can
help you."

             
"How?" Barnett asked.

             
"First you must realize that I am your last hope," Moriarty said. "And then you must agree to my terms.
"

             
"
Terms?
"

             
"
Correct."

             
"What is it that you want? No—first tell me how you know me to be innocent."

             
"As you may remember, when you saw me last I told you I was going to Odessa."

             
"Yes."

             
"While there I had access to some secret files of the Russian government—never mind how. What I read in the files, combined with some knowledge of my own, led me to the conclusion that you were not guilty of the murder of Lieutenant Sefton, the theft of the plans, or the destruction of the Garrett-Harris submersible."

             
"But then—you heard of all this in Odessa?"

             
"No, I heard of it quite by accident when I arrived back in Constantinople. But the chain was immediately clear to me."

             
"I see," Barnett said. "Well, then, couldn't you take this information to the proper authorities and convince them of my innocence? Or is that what you are proposing 'terms' for? You want to extract some promise from me in return for getting me released from this foul prison? Of course I'll agree to anything—but what assurance have you that I will fulfill the terms of our bargain once I get out? A promise issued under these conditions is not considered binding in any court of law west of the Suez."

             
"You misunderstand," Moriarty said. "I cannot get your conviction overturned by appealing to any authority. My conclusion is based on an assortment of random facts, connected only by my inference. No authority, east or west of Suez, is going to release a convicted felon because of a chain of inference concocted by a defrocked professor of mathematics. Besides, you must understand that the Osmanli authorities have a strong vested interest in seeing that you remain guilty of these crimes: they have already so informed
Sultan Abd-ul Hamid, and one does not easily confess an error to the Shah of Shahs."

             
"Well then," Barnett said, "for my own piece of mind, tell me: What is your evidence?"

             
Moriarty took a large handkerchief from an inner pocket and fastidiously wiped his hands. "Before I left London," he said, "someone tried to kill me. Then again, when I arrived here in Constantinople, as you know, an attempt was made."

             
Barnett nodded. "I thought you didn't know why you were attacked," he said.

             
"I did not at the time," Moriarty said. "But when I arrived in Odessa I discovered that the Russian principal I had come to see wished to hire me to apprehend a dangerous man who is fanatically devoted to the Russian cause."

             
"The Russians want to hire you to catch someone devoted to their own cause?" Barnett asked.

             
"I will explain at some future time—if ever," Moriarty said. "For the moment, accept the fact."

             
"Go on," Barnett said.

             
"The Russian agent was aware that an attempt had been made to solicit my aid before I left London," Moriarty said. "It clearly was he who tried to kill me, both in London and here."

             
"Okay," Barnett said.

             
"Therefore, he followed me here. He did not follow me to Odessa, since I was taken aboard an Imperial steam-frigate for the trip there and back. Therefore, he was in Constantinople when the submersible exploded. Therefore, he was in Constantinople when Lieutenant Sefton was murdered and you were blamed.

             
"You have seen him?" Barnett asked.

             
"I have no idea who he is or what he looks like. It may not have been the subject himself, but one of his henchmen. I am assured that he has henchmen."

             
"But why would this mysterious man have done this thing to me?" Barnett demanded.

             
"Ah, but you see, he did not do this to you," Moriarty said. "He did this to the Ottoman Empire, the traditional enemy of Russia for these past hundred years. You merely happened along at the opportune moment."

             
"To be charged with murder."

             
"Yes."

             
"You mean that, with no preparation, on the spur of the mo-ment, he was able to arrange for the destruction of the Garrett-Harris submersible and the theft of the plans?"

             
"Why not? I could have done the same." Moriarty refolded his handkerchief and replaced it in his pocket. "I must assume that Lieutenant Sefton somehow became aware of this agent's activities, and that is why Sefton was killed. I assure you that the casual murder of one man means no more to our Russian friend than the swatting of a fly.

             
"The sections of the plans were thrust into your pocket to give the authorities a convenient scapegoat, so they would look no further for the culprit. And this was successful. I imagine he took those plans he thought would be useful and left you only with those he didn't need." Moriarty smacked his hands together. "All this executed, as you say, on the spur of the moment. The man is capable, courageous, and cunning. Truly a fit antagonist."

             
"I'm convinced," Barnett said. "So how do you plan to get me out of here, and what do you want from me in return?"

             
"I plan to arrange for your escape," Moriarty said, "and quickly, before the authorities tire of attempting to obtain from you information which you do not possess. For on that day you will die."

             
Barnett shuddered. "Cheerful," he said.

             
"What I want from you," Moriarty told him, "is two years of your life. I would like to employ you. I shall endeavor to remove you from this place, and in return you will work for me for two years."

             
"Why?"

             
"You are good at your profession, and I have use for you.
"

             
"
And after the two years?"

             
"After that, your destiny is once again your own.
"

             
"
I accept!"

             
"Good!" Moriarty stood up and looked around the cell. "Bear up and be patient! You shall not be here much longer." He shook hands with Barnett and then strode out of the cell.

             
The stocky warder slammed the door behind him, and Barnett heard the heavy bolt sliding into place.

Gawd knows, an' 'E won't split on a pal.

— Kipling

             
It
was scant minutes after dawn, and the sun was still pushing its way up out of the Black Sea as the
Mu'adhdhin
was preparing to call the faithful to Friday morning prayer. Five brown-clad monks came down the Street of Venyami the Good and presented themselves at the East Gate of the ancient Prison of Mustafa II. "We have come to shrive such of the prisoners as are of the Christian faith," the spokesman for the monks told the gate guard in heavily Greek-accented Turkish. "It is Shrove Friday."