The Infernal Device & Others: A Professor Moriarty Omnibus (54 page)

             
"That, and the unusual shape of the paper, do offer a field for speculation," Moriarty said, pushing himself to his feet, "but there is no point in indulging in that pernicious habit when the object of our speculation awaits us in the drawing room."

             
"You wish me to be present at the interview?"

             
"If you like."

             
"Thank you, but I think not. I really should get to the office."

             
"I thought the admirable Miss Perrine was handling the affairs of the American News Service."

             
"She is, and very well," Barnett said. "She controls a staff of nine reporters, four secretary-typists, three telegraphists, and assorted porters, page boys, errand boys, and the like with a hand of iron. A very exceptional young lady."

             
"She enjoys this position of authority?" Moriarty asked.

             
"Her only regret, or so she has informed me, is that her administrative duties leave her little time for writing."

             
"Well, you'd better leave, then," Moriarty said, "before the young lady discovers that you are dispensable. I will take care of the potentially lucrative Mr. Singh."

             
"I am going to put a couple of my reporters to work on those murders," Barnett said. "I am convinced that there's a story there."

             
"There well may be, Barnett," Moriarty said, smiling down at him, "but are you quite sure it should be told?"

Deceit, according to him, was an impossibility in the case
of
one trained to observation and analysis. His conclusions were as infallible as so many propositions
of
Euclid.

— Dr. John H. Watson

             
Sherlock Holmes waved his visitor to a seat. "Come, this is most gratifying," he said. "Welcome, my lord. I have sent the page boy down for some tea. In the meantime, what can I do for you?"

             
The Earl of Arundale looked with distaste around the cluttered sitting room of the world's foremost consulting detective. The basket of unfiled clippings on the desk, the jumble of chemical apparatus atop the deal-topped table to the right of the fireplace, the stack of envelopes affixed to the mantelpiece by a thin-bladed oriental knife; could genius indeed exist amid such disorder? He pulled the tails of his morning coat around him and gingerly sat on the edge of the aged leather sofa. "Gratifying?" he asked. "Surely a man of your repute has had noble clients before."

             
"I was referring to the problem that brought you, my lord," Holmes said. "It is gratifying to have a case that exercises the intellect. Those which have come my way for the last few months have indicated a sad decline of imagination among the criminal classes. As for my clientele, we entertain all sorts here. The last person to sit where you are sitting was a duke, and the person before that, if I remember correctly, was a woman who had murdered her first three husbands and was plotting the death of her fourth."

             
"Interesting," Lord Arundale murmured.

             
"Much more interesting than the duke," Holmes agreed. "The reigning monarch of a European kingdom has sat in the chair to your left, and a dwarf who does water colors has sat in the seat beside
you. The king was a boor; the dwarf is quite possibly a genius. How may I serve you, my lord?"

             
"Well, you would seem to know already," Lord Arundale said, nettled at Holmes's attitude. "You are gratified by the problem that brought me here before I've had a chance to tell you what it is. I was told that you had a sort of clairvoyance that enabled you to detect the actions of criminals in the absence of clues visible to the regular police. I was not, however, informed that you could predict the problem that a client would bring to you before he had the opportunity to elucidate it to you. Frankly, sir, the exercise strikes me as pure hocus!"

             
"No, no," Holmes said quickly. "I do apologize if I seem a trifle sharp. Put it down to the effects of the medication I am taking, my lord. My medical man, Dr. Watson, has prescribed a little something for my bouts of lethargy, and it sometimes has the effect of making me seem a bit testy."

             
"Then you don't claim to exercise clairvoyance, or other psychic abilities?"

             
"Not at all, my lord. Whatever abilities I have are founded firmly in a knowledge of the appropriate sciences, an extensive study of the history of crime, and a sharply honed faculty for deductive reasoning."

             
"Then," Lord Arundale pressed on, "you don't actually know what brought me here, and were merely making a general assumption that I would offer an interesting, ah, case?"

             
"On the contrary, my lord. I know exactly why you're here. You've come to consult with me regarding last night's murder in Regent's Gate. Ah, here's Billy with the tea. How do you like yours, my lord?"

             
Lord Arundale allowed his tea to be poured and milked and sugared while he thought this over. "You are right," he said finally. "And if it's hocus, it's clever hocus indeed. For the life of me, I can't see how you know. You must admit that it smacks rather of clairvoyance, or the cleverer sort of conjuring trick."

             
"Not at all, my lord," Holmes said. "It is, after all, my profession to deduce hard facts from what would seem to others to be scanty evidence."

             
Lord Arundale sipped his tea thoughtfully. "What other deductions have you already made?" he asked.

             
Holmes leaned back in his armchair, his thin, sensitive fingers laced together under his chin. "Only the rather obvious facts that you've come from one or more officials of high government rank, probably cabinet ministers, to request that I take over the investigation; that you've been to Scotland Yard already and received the approval of the Commissioner of Police, although the detective inspector in charge of the case feels that I'll only get in the way."

             
"Astounding!" Lord Arundale said. "You must have agents in the police."

             
"I assure your lordship—"

             
Lord Arundale put his teacup on the tray and shook his head. "No need," he said. "Is there anything else?"

             
"Only that there is some fact or clue of major importance which has been withheld from the public that you have come to acquaint me with."

             
"By God, sir!" Lord Arundale said. "You must explain to me how you deduced all of that from the mere presence in your sitting room of a middle-aged peer in a morning coat."

             
"Every trade must have its secrets, my lord," Holmes said, rubbing his hands together. "I learned from my friend Dr. Watson, who shared these rooms with me before his marriage, not to reveal too easily how I attain these effects. The explanation moves them from the miraculous to the mundane. I would draw your attention, however, to the few additional facts that I noted."

             
"And they are?"

             
"First, I happened to notice the carriage in which you arrived; not your own, but one of those at the service of Scotland Yard. Next I observed the distinctive red-brown clay adhering to the instep of your right shoe. Surely acquired earlier today, since it seems unlikely that your valet would not see to it that your shoes are polished every night. There are several places around London where you might have picked it up, but the most likely is the east end of St. James's Park, across from the government offices."

             
"I begin to see," Lord Arundale said. "But I still think it's deucedly clever. Fancy knowing every bit of mud in London."

             
"In perpetrating a crime, the astute criminal strives to eliminate or disguise the facts surrounding his act," Holmes said. "Where he is most likely to go astray is in the small details, like the dirt on his shoes or the dust on his clothing. Therefore, my lord, you can see that the professional investigator must make a study of such details."

             
"Fantastic," Lord Arundale said. He picked up the small leather case that he had brought in with him and extracted an envelope from it. "How much do you know of the murder of Lord Walbine?"

             
"No more than what was in the morning papers, my lord."

             
"Here then is a
précis
of all the relevant facts," Lord Arundale said, handing the envelope to Holmes, "as prepared by the inspector in charge of the police investigation. Also included are accounts of the murders of the Honorable George Venn and of Isadore Stanhope."

             
"I shall read it immediately, your lordship," said Holmes. "I should also like to examine the rooms in which the three crimes were committed."

             
"Arrangements have been made," Lord Arundale said. "Inspector Lestrade said you'd want to, as he put it, 'crawl around the rooms on hands and knees with a reading glass.' "

             
"Ah, so it's Lestrade, is it?" cried Holmes. "That is somewhat helpful."

             
"You know Inspector Lestrade, then. I was favorably impressed with him. He seems to have a good command of his job. Claimed to be running down several promising leads, although he was rather vague as to what they were. Said that he thought arresting the butlers would produce results."

             
"What sort of results?" Holmes inquired.

             
"He didn't say. He did say that he thought that bringing you in on the case was quite unnecessary, although he admitted that you've been of some help to the regular force in the past. 'Special circumstances,' he put it. If it weren't that the P.M. feels that a quite out of the ordinary
finesse is required in this instance, the Home Secretary and I would feel quite sanguine in leaving the case in his hands."

             
"Normally he is quite adequate," Holmes agreed. "But then the usual case is just that—usual. A crime of brute force committed without forethought, requiring neither specialized knowledge nor ratiocination to solve."

             
"Faint praise indeed," Lord Arundale said. "Don't you think Lestrade is capable?"

             
"As a bulldog, yes. The man is tenacious, unrelenting, brave, honest, and loyal. But as a bloodhound, I'm afraid the more subtle odors of crime escape his nose."

             
Lord Arundale held out his teacup to be refilled. "That is basically what the Prime Minister said," he told Holmes. "The Home Secretary is convinced that the Metropolitan Police can, and should, handle the problem, but the P.M. felt that it might be too sensitive for the bulldog approach. And you came highly recommended by, if you will excuse my being vague, a member of the Royal Household."

             
Holmes nodded. "Please thank her majesty for me," he said. "I gather that it is this 'special circumstance,' of which I am as yet unaware, that makes these crimes sensitive and commends me to the attention of Lord Salisbury, the Prime Minister."

             
"True," Lord Arundale said. "The Marquess of Salisbury is indeed concerned over these murders. He is concerned, to be more precise, with whether or not he has cause to be concerned."

             
"I see." Holmes looked thoughtful for a moment. "Am I to understand that the crimes may have some political significance, but it is not known at present whether they actually do or not?"