The Infernal Device & Others: A Professor Moriarty Omnibus (30 page)

             
"It may require a bit of explaining," Moriarty admitted. "We could always tell them we are rehearsing an amateur theatrical. On the whole, it would be best if we don't have to use these
weapons. Besides, I would like to speak with Tolliver's captors in some detail, a task which will be rendered easier if they are still alive."

             
"And," Barnett added, "if we are."

             
"True," Moriarty replied, buttoning his jacket and selecting a walking stick from the rack. "Let us be on our way. Oh, there you are, Mr. Maws. See about capturing us a growler, if you will, while I retrieve the Kensington Wheeler from the kitchen."

             
It was just past noon when the four-wheeler turned into Little George Street and pulled up at the Church of St. Jude. "We'd best stop here," Moriarty said. "Mr. Maws, if you would help the Wheeler down, we'll make sure we have the right building."

             
"I'll point 'er out to you, Professor," the Kensington Wheeler said, "but I ain't going inside with you. That there is your affair."

             
"Good enough," Moriarty said. "Just point the house out to Mr. Maws and you'll have more than earned your money." He closed the door of the cab. "Wait around the corner," he told the driver. "I don't know how long we'll be."

             
The driver touched his whip to his hat, and the four-wheeler clattered off.

             
Mr. Maws walked off alongside the wheeler and was back in a minute. "Fifth house down on the right, just as the gentleman described it," he said. "Far as I can tell there's no one at the windows. The blinds are drawn. How are we going to get in?"

             
"I've been giving it some thought," Moriarty said. "I could impersonate a gas man, but even a Russian wouldn't believe that if he remembered it's Sunday. Also, there may or may not be some urgency, depending on what plans they have for Tolliver. All in all, I'm afraid, the direct approach is the best."

             
"Then let's go!" Barnett said.

             
"Remember," Moriarty said, "an absolute minimum of violence. We want prisoners."

             
With that, the three of them walked at a measured rate down the street to the fifth house and mounted the stoop. Moriarty knocked gently on the door.

             
" 'Oo's there?" a voice came through the closed door after a minute.

             
"It's Father Banion," Moriarty said in a deep, melodious voice, his face pressed close to the door. "I understand there's a sick man in there who requested my presence."

             
The bolt was pulled and the latch lifted. "There's no one sick in here, Father," the man inside said, opening the door slightly to pass the word.

             
Mr. Maws hit the door solidly with his shoulder and sprung it open. In a flash Moriarty was inside and had grabbed the man and wrapped an arm around his mouth. "There'll be someone very sick if you try to make a sound," he whispered. "I'll break your neck!"

             
The man struggled for a moment and then was still. His reaction was not one of belligerence, but rather of great surprise.

             
"Who are you?" Moriarty asked softly. "Don't raise your voice!" He released his hold on the man's neck enough for him to catch his breath and reply.

             
"I'm the porter, sir," the man squeaked. "And who are you? Sir?"

             
"Scotland Yard," Moriarty said. "This house is surrounded."

             
The man's mouth fell open. "The p'lice!" he said. "It's them foreign-looking gentlemen, ain't it?"

             
"What do you know about them?" Moriarty demanded in an undertone. "Speak quickly!"

             
"Nuffin', sir. They been here about a fortnight, sir. I didn't do nuffin', sir, whatever
they
did. There's a whole bunch of them upstairs now."

             
"I see," Moriarty said, "And how many to a bunch, my man?"

             
"I didn't watch them come in, you know. They don't like it if they think I'm watching them." The porter sniffed and wiped the back of his hand across his nose. "I'd say maybe a dozen, maybe a few more'n that."

             
Moriarty released the porter and turned to his two companions. "We seem to have bitten off a hefty morsel," he said.

             
"We could rush them," Mr. Maws said, flexing his shoulders.

             
"We could, indeed," Moriarty agreed. "Which would put us somewhat in the position of the fox rushing the hounds. But it is an option." He turned to the porter. "I'm afraid there's going to be some excitement here for the next little while. Have you a room? Good. Go to it now, and don't come out of it for the next half-hour."

             
When the man had gone, Moriarty stepped to the foot of the stairs and listened. The sound of subdued conversation came from above. "It doesn't sound like an interrogation," Moriarty said. "They probably have Tolliver locked up in one of the upstairs rooms while they discuss other matters."

             
"Perhaps one of their number is heating the hot irons even now, while the rest of them talk," Barnett suggested.

             
Moriarty shook his head. "They've only had him here for a few hours," he said. "And this must be a regularly scheduled meeting. Or, rather, a specially scheduled meeting, since these people usually don't assemble in groups larger than three. But at any rate, it must have been set in advance of their capturing Tolliver."

             
"It must be important, then," Barnett said.

             
Moriarty nodded. "Assuming our conclusions are correct," he added, "and this doesn't turn out to be a gathering of the Lithuanian branch of the Young Men's Christian Association." He pulled his pince-nez glasses from one pocket and a cloth from another and began assiduously polishing the lenses. "I'd give quite a lot to listen in on that conversation," he added.

             
"I could sneak upstairs," Barnett offered. "Perhaps I could overhear something."

             
Moriarty shook his head. "The chances of your being apprehended," he said, "are much larger than the chances of their speaking English."

             
"I hadn't thought of that," Barnett admitted.

             
Moriarty put his pince-nez back into his pocket. "We could get reinforcements," he said, "but that would take longer than we can afford. They may decide to transfer Tolliver to a safer place, since this house is undoubtedly going to be abandoned after this meeting. Indeed, Tolliver may already have been taken away."

             
"Then what do we do?" Barnett asked.

             
"We rush them, as Mr. Maws has suggested," Moriarty said. "But in such a fashion as to create an air of moral, if not numerical, superiority. I see that this house is constructed with a back stairs. Ideal for our purposes."

             
"How's that?" Barnett asked.

             
"We have to leave them a way out," Moriarty said, "or they'll come out over us."

             
Mr. Maws pulled his revolver from under his jacket. "Shall we go then, sir?"

             
Moriarty nodded and pulled a police whistle from his trouser pocket. "When I blow this," he said.

             
Mr. Maws smiled. " 'Under the shadow of Death,' " he said firmly, " 'Under the stroke of the sword, Gain we our daily bread.' "

             
Barnett turned to him. "What's that?"

             
"Kipling," Mr. Maws explained. "Are we ready?"

             
"Don't use that weapon unless they fire first," Moriarty instructed. "What we're after is a maximum of noise and confusion, but preferably without gunfire." He thought for a second, and then continued. "Mr. Maws, you take the stairs. Barnett, start on this corridor, but keep away from the back stairs. We have once again become Scotland Yard," he said. "And there are at least fifty of us. But somehow we've forgotten to cover the back exits."

             
"How careless of us," Barnett said.

-

             
At that instant an upstairs door opened and footsteps sounded over their heads. The murmur of voices grew louder.

             
Moriarty put the whistle to his lips and blew a triple blast. "All right up there!" he yelled. "This is the police. All of you come down with your hands over your heads. Resistance is useless!"

             
There was a moment of shocked silence from upstairs and then the murmur turned into a babble and the sound of footsteps increased in number, volume, and tempo.

             
Barnett started opening and slamming doors and shouting official-sounding instructions. "Simmons," he yelled, "take your men around the back! Dwyer, check these rooms out!"

             
Mr. Maws stomped up the front stairs with the stolid tread of the invincible English policeman. "You are all under arrest," he bellowed in a deep voice. "It is my duty to inform each of you that anything you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence. Come along quietly, now!"

             
The milling footsteps upstairs broke into a panicked scurrying, as one of them found the back stairs and reported the fact to the others. A heavy sofa was pushed out into the upstairs hall facing the front staircase, and two men squatted behind it, pointing a brace of long-barreled revolvers at the advancing figure of Mr. Maws.

             
Mr. Maws dropped as someone's gun went off, and the bullet crashed through a print of
Mercy Interceding for the Vanquished,
which hung on the wall behind him. Mr. Maws's answering shot smashed into the door frame above the sofa.

             
There was a hurried whispering from behind the couch, and then a sliding sound, and then all was silent from above. Professor Moriarty climbed the stairs to where Mr. Maws lay and peered amusedly at the couch barrier. "The birds have flown," he said. "And a good thing, too."

             
Mr. Maws got up and dusted himself off. "Disgraceful!" he said. "I shall have to speak to that porter. I don't believe they clean this stair carpeting at all."

             
Barnett came up to join them. "Gone?" he asked.

             
"We have the building to ourselves," Moriarty said. "Except for the porter, and, I hope, Tolliver. You two go look for him. I wish to examine that meeting room and see if our friends left anything of interest in their haste."

             
"I hope those shots don't bring the real police," Barnett said.

             
"They may," Moriarty acknowledged. "In which case we are injured innocents. British stoic heroism. Saved a man from kidnappers—if Tolliver is here—but want no reward. After all,
we
didn't run away." He went up to the landing and boosted himself over the sofa. "But I'd better get a look at that room before they arrive."

             
Mr. Maws searched the rooms on the floor they were on, while Barnett climbed the last flight to the top floor and checked those rooms out. It was Barnett who found Tolliver. The third door he pushed open led to a lumber room full of disused furniture, Tolliver was securely trussed up and tied to a bed frame which rested against the far wall. Barnett cut the ropes with his pocketknife and released the brave little man.