The Infernal Device & Others: A Professor Moriarty Omnibus (29 page)

             
"It is my opinion," Tolliver said, "that the gent lurking behind the statue and the gent atop of the hansom are working together."

             
"Interesting," Moriarty said. "On what do you base this observation?"

             
"Their hats," Tolliver said.

             
Barnett looked at his small friend. "Hats?" he said.

             
"Yes. Caps, actually. They both have the same cap, and it's a queer one, it is. Long beak, coming to a point almost, in front. With a little strap in the back with a buckle. Never seen one like it before, and here's two in one evening. That's why I think they're related, those two."

             
"Very good work, Tolliver," Moriarty said. He turned to Count Gobolski. "If you don't mind my asking, Your Excellency, where are you going from here?"

             
"To the house of—a friend—south of Kensington Gardens," Gobolski said. "Why do you ask?"

             
"Please write down the address and give it to Tolliver here," Moriarty said. "They will follow you when you leave here, but they will be prepared for someone attempting to follow them. That is, if it is the group I suspect. However, if Tolliver picks them up when you arrive at your friend's house instead of following them directly, we may catch them off guard. In that case we may be able to trace them back to their lair. Perhaps back to Trepoff himself."

             
"You believe this is possible?" Gobolski asked.

             
"I think it is, yes."

             
"You think this little man can do such a job?"

             
"Tolliver?" Moriarty said, turning to the Mummer.

             
"I ain't perfect," Tolliver said, "but I'm good."

             
Count Gobolski shrugged, obviously far from convinced, and wrote an address down on the back of one of his cards. He handed the card to Tolliver.

             
"I wants to change clothes for this job," the Mummer said, indicating his checked suit and high collar. "This ain't a suitable disguise. Give me a moment."

             
"We'll give you twenty minutes," Moriarty said, "ten minutes to change and a ten-minute head start."

             
"Twenty minutes?" Count Gobolski pulled out his pocket watch and inspected its face. "It is now ten twenty-five. I am already late."

             
"Patience, Your Excellency," Moriarty said, waving the Mummer out of the room, "there is much at stake here. Perhaps I could interest you in a brief game of chess to pass the time?"

             
"Chess?" Count Gobolski looked interested. "You play chess?"

             
"Barnett, hand down that board on the shelf behind you, if you will." Moriarty said. "And the Persian pieces in the box next to it."

             
The game went on for forty minutes, with the two men engrossed in the board between them, and Barnett an interested, if not engrossed, spectator. Finally, Moriarty pushed a black pawn forward and straightened up. "Checkmate, I believe, Your Excellency," he said. "A good game."

             
Count Gobolski stared at the board. Then he took a small notebook from his pocket and jotted down the sequence of moves in a quick, nervous hand. "Brilliant!" he said. "So fast and so sure. And you an Englishman!"

             
"Thank you," Moriarty said, taking the delicate ivory pieces and replacing them carefully in their box.

             
"Well!" Gobolski said, rising and putting his notebook away. "Now I am incredibly late. I hope it is to the good." He shook hands with Moriarty. "I will send your list of questions to St. Petersburg tomorrow," he said. "Perhaps you would play chess with me again some time?"

             
Moriarty rose and bowed. "My pleasure," he said.

Life must be lived forward, but can only be understood backward.

—
Kierkegaard

             
The cripple, squatting on his little body cart, pulled himself through the London streets with surprising speed, aided by his two short India-rubber-tipped sticks. Early risers on this Sabbath morning saw him pass and felt a touch of pity, a twinge of undefinable guilt (emotions his whole garb had been carefully designed to evoke), and more than one hand reached toward a pocketbook as he passed. He did not stop for alms, however, but pressed determinedly on, scurrying through the streets of Bloomsbury until he passed the British Museum and then hopping his cart dextrously up the steps of 64 Russell Square.

             
Mr. Maws opened the door upon hearing a persistent knocking, and looked stolidly down on the mendicant on the stoop. "Yes?"

             
The cripple rubbed the side of his nose with his right forefinger.

             
Mr. Maws stepped aside. "Enter," he said. "You may wait in the front room. He will be down directly."

             
Ten minutes later Professor Moriarty strode into the front room and glared down at the mendicant. "Well?" he demanded.

             
The cripple once again rubbed the side of his nose with his right forefinger. Then he ponderously winked at Moriarty, his face screwed up in an awful expression, and waited.

             
"Yes, yes," Moriarty said impatiently. "I already know that. Well?"

             
The cripple looked unhappy. "The Kensington Wheeler, they calls me," he said finally.

             
"And well they should," Moriarty agreed. "Why are you here?"

             
"Twist, 'e tells me right enough to come see the professor—you the professor?—and bring 'im a message."

             
"I am the professor," Moriarty said, as patiently as he could manage. "What is the message?"

             
"Twist, 'e says as how you'll stand a quid for this 'ere message," the Kensington Wheeler said firmly.

             
"I'll make it a guinea," Moriarty said, reaching into his waistcoat pocket, "if you'll get on with it." He held some coins out, which were grabbed and disappeared in an undefinable manner into the mendicant's rags.

             
The Kensington Wheeler tucked his sticks under him and assumed a narrative stance. "I 'as a spot," he announced, "to the right 'and side o' the doors o' the Church o' St. Jude on the south side o' River Thames, over in Lambeth. Sundays, that is. Rest o' the week I wheels about Kensington."

             
Moriarty nodded. "I see."

             
"Well, sir," the Kensington Wheeler continued, "no sooner 'as I assumed my spot this 'ere morning when a growler pulls up to the corner and two gents gets out dragging a third gent between them."

             
"This third gentleman was unconscious?" Moriarty asked.

             
"No, sir. 'E were right lively. 'E didn't want to go with those other two gents no ways. But 'e were a little chap, and they was considerable bigger."

             
"I see."

             
"Well, sir, these two big gents they pays me no mind, like I was part o' the wall, which is a usual reaction what people 'as. But the little chap, 'e sees me, and right off 'e gives me the office. Which weren't easy, what with these other two 'olding 'is arms, but 'e manages. And 'e calls out to them—but really to me, dontcherknow— 'what you want to bother the Mummer for? The Mummer never 'urt you'—so I'd know who 'e is, like."

             
"Ah!" Moriarty said.

             
"Well, sir, these other two gents, they gives me the once-over, but I makes like I'm part o' the wall, which is what they thought in the first place, so they leaves me alone. As soon as they is out of sight, I 'eads out for the guild-'all, even it being the start of the 'eaviest time o' the day for me, cause the little chap gave me the office. Twist tells me to bring the tale 'ere, and you'd make it worth my while."

             
"Very interesting," Moriarty said. "You did well. You should have taken a cab here, though. I would have reimbursed you."

             
"Ain't no cab going to stop for me, Professor, even if I waves the money at the jarvey. Which I 'as done."

             
"I see. Well, you shall leave here in a cab. I'll have one here to take you wherever you wish to go. Can you tell me which way they took the Mummer as they left you?"

             
"Better 'n that," the beggar said, "I can show you what building they took 'im into."

             
"Excellent!" Moriarty said. "And so you shall. Go into the kitchen and tell Mrs. H to feed you. I'll be along presently, and we'll take a trip together. We must be quick about it, though."

             
"I'll be quicker than quick, Professor," the Kensington Wheeler said. "I'm not much of a one for eating, but if I could 'ave a drop o' something before we leaves, it would restore my spirits like."

             
"Whatever you like," Moriarty said. "Tell Mrs. H." He crossed the hall to his study while the Kensington Wheeler propelled himself to the rear of the house. After ringing for Mr. Maws, Moriarty touched a concealed stud on the left side of the bookcase behind his desk, and it promptly slid forward. Moriarty swung the bookcase aside and opened the cabinet behind it.

             
"You rang?" Mr. Maws stood by the door.

             
"Yes. Have you seen Mr. Barnett this morning?"

             
"I believe that he has just come down to breakfast, sir," Mr. Maws volunteered.

             
"Good," Moriarty said.
"I
shall require him—and you, Mr. Maws, if you would be good enough to accompany me." He slid open a door in the cabinet and contemplated the row of revolvers contained therein.

             
"Is it about Mr. Tolliver, sir?" Mr. Maws inquired.

             
"Yes. The Mummer seems to have fallen into the hands of the opposition. I have no idea what they plan to do with him, but I rather fancy it would be a good idea not to give them the time to do too good a job of it."

             
"Very good, sir," Mr. Maws said. "If we are to go armed, sir, I would prefer one of the Webley-Fosbery .455-caliber revolvers."

             
Moriarty handed over the requested weapon and a box of shells. "Change clothes into something a bit less butler-like," he said. "And ask Barnett to step in here as you pass the dining room."

             
"Very good, sir," Mrs. Maws said.

             
A minute later Barnett came into the study. Moriarty quickly informed him of what was happening and handed him a Smith &c Wesson hammerless revolver and ammunition. "This is for self
-
protection," he said, "and, if necessary, a show of force. I don't know what we'll be coming up against, but if Trepoff is any part of it we'd best be prepared. He is a violently dangerous man."

             
Barnett loaded the revolver and thrust it into his belt. "Won't your London police object to gunplay of a Sunday afternoon?"