The Infernal Device & Others: A Professor Moriarty Omnibus (90 page)

             
"If you must—" Moriarty said.

             
Holmes turned to Barnett. "Dealing with Professor Moriarty creates in me an attitude that is destructive of my manners and my sentiments," he said. "I want you to know that I am aware of your attachment to Miss Perrine, and I fully sympathize with the sense of loss that you must be feeling now."

             
Barnett nodded his thanks. "It is more a sense of futility," he replied. "There is little I can do that is useful. I can keep busy, which keeps my mind off the problem but brings me no closer to finding Miss Perrine."

             
"I and my temporary associates of Scotland Yard are doing everything we can to locate and rescue the girl. I pray we will be successful," Holmes nodded to Moriarty. "Don't bother showing me out."

             
With a final glance around the room, Holmes stepped purposefully to the front door and threw it open.
"Au revoir,
Professor," he called, striding through the door and slamming it behind him.

             
"A unique man," Barnett commented.

             
"True," Moriarty agreed. "For which I am profoundly grateful. More than one Sherlock Holmes on this planet at the same time is an idea that I do not wish to contemplate."

             
"Tell me, Professor," Barnett said, "is that statuette from the robbery?"

             
"Yes," Moriarty said.

             
"Can Holmes prove it?" asked Barnett.

             
"That remains to be seen," Mor
i
arty replied.

             
A loud clattering sound came from the street outside the house, followed almost immediately by a great crash. Moriarty and Barnett jumped to their feet. Before the sound of the crash had died away, the voices of several people yelling and the shrill sound of a woman screaming joined the cacophony.

             
Barnett rushed to the front door and ran outside, with Moriarty right behind him. There on the pavement in front of the house a large poultry cart had overturned; its wheels were still spinning in the air. The horse had apparently broken free, and was racing off in a maddened frenzy down the road. Right behind it raced a small covered chaise, its driver whipping its horse to even greater effort.

             
" 'Megawd!" an elderly woman screamed, pulling her shawl about her as bystanders started to gather around the scene. "I ain't never seen nothing like it. " 'E done it on purpose, 'e did. Rode right up on the pavement, right at the poor man. 'E never 'ad a chance! It were murder!"

             
"Calm down, woman!" Moriarty ordered. "Who murdered whom?"

             
"The Johnny what were atop of the cart," the old lady sobbed. "The Johnny what leaped into that other gig and ran off after 'e'd started the cart toward the pavement. 'E deliberately aimed the cart right for that poor gentleman there!" She pointed. On the ground, almost buried under crates of terrified geese, lay the unconscious body of Sherlock Holmes.

Truth, like a torch, the more it's shook it shines.

— Sir William Hamilton

             
With the assistance of the curator of the Egyptian Collection of the British Museum and a retired sergeant of marines, both of whom were passing at the moment of the accident, Moriarty and Barnett carried Sherlock Holmes up to the front bedroom and placed him gently on the bed. Holmes's face was bloody, but his breathing was regular and even. Moriarty checked his pulse and pulled an eyelid back to examine the eye.

             
"How is he?" Barnett asked.

             
"Alive," Moriarty replied. "Unconscious—perhaps suffering from concussion. No broken bones that I can tell. My expertise in medical matters goes no further." He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed tentatively at Holmes's bloody face. "Thank you gentlemen for your assistance," he said to the sergeant and the curator. "You'd best leave your names, as the police may wish to question you about the incident."

             
The two men both protested that they had not actually observed what happened, but allowed Barnett to write down their names before bustling off downstairs.

             
Mrs. H appeared in the bedroom doorway with a basin of warm water and a sponge, and shooed Moriarty and Barnett aside. "I'll take care of him," she said. "I have sent Mr. Maws off to Cavendish Square to fetch Dr. Breckstone."

             
"I don't know what I'd do without you, Mrs. H," Moriarty said.

             
She sniffed. "I don't either, professor, and that's the truth!"

             
"A wonderful woman," Moriarty told Barnett as they headed downstairs to the study. "She is both secure and humble in her certain knowledge of her proper place, which is most assuredly on God's right hand." He took the bronze statuette, which he had retrieved from where it had fallen alongside of Holmes, and replaced it on the corner of his desk. "Very curious," he said. "Very curious, indeed."

             
"Mrs. H?" Barnett asked.

             
"No, no; the, ah, incident."

             
"It certainly is," Barnett agreed. "Who could have done a thing like that? I don't imagine that there is any doubt that it was deliberate?"

             
"I wouldn't think so," Moriarty said dryly. "One doesn't usually prepare a getaway from an accident. The question is, why was Holmes assaulted, and why at this peculiar place and time?"

             
"I'm sure the man has many enemies," Barnett said.

             
"I am amazed that he has any friends," Moriarty commented. "There is always his faithful hound, Dr. Watson, of course; but you'll notice that Holmes has never married."

             
"Neither have you, Professor," Barnett said.

             
Moriarty glared at Barnett for a minute, then he nodded.
"Toucher'
he said. "But, nonetheless—" He broke off and stared, musingly, at the windows for a minute.

             
"What is it?" Barnett asked.

             
"It occurs to me that we have probably just had the first response to our advertisement," Moriarty said slowly. "We have?"

             
"Indeed. It came in the form of an attack on Sherlock Holmes."

             
"You think that was the killer out there?"

             
"No," Moriarty said. "That's what had me puzzled at first. It's not his method. Curiously enough, I believe we have taken a tree with more than one apple. Someone else was frightened by the advertisement, frightened enough to feel the need for direct and drastic measures. He must have come along to see if the advertisement meant what he feared it meant. Perhaps he meant to come inside, but that proved unnecessary. He found out what he needed to know from the outside, and he was prepared to take instant action."

             
"But why against Holmes?" Barnett asked.

             
"That was his clue," Moriarty said. "The presence of Holmes must have signified something to him—clearly something that it does not signify to us. He recognized the detective as a part of the menace."

             
"Farfetched," Barnett said. Moriarty merely smiled. The front door slammed, and Mummer Tolliver came limping into the room. " 'E got away," he announced. "Too bad," Moriarty said. "Who?"

             
"The bloke what I was following. The bloke what drove that cart against poor Mr. Holmes."

             
"You were following him?" Barnett asked, surprised.

             
"Well, I were out there to follow Mr. Holmes. But when that cart 'it 'im, I didn't think as 'ow 'e were going anywhere for a while. And I thought the professor might be interested in the bloke what did it. So I 'opped aboard the trunk rack on the rear of the chaise what 'e jumped into. I tell you, Mr. Barnett, that were a ride!"

             
"I'll bet it was, Mummer," Barnett said, picturing the little man clinging to the trunk rack, inches off the roadway. As the chaise careened down the road behind a galloping horse. The experience had deprived the usually nonchalant Tolliver of his painfully acquired aitches.

             
"How did you lose him?" Moriarty asked.

             
"I fell off," the Mummer said belligerently. "But it weren't my fault. 'E went around a corner like no carriage has any right going around a corner, and then bumped against the curb in the process. But it ain't no big deal, on account of I got 'is name."

             
"You have his name?" Moriarty patted the little man on the back. "Very good, Mummer. Indeed, excellent work. I am proud of you. What is it?"

             
"I 'eard 'is driver call 'im 'Deever,' " Tolliver said.

             
"Deever?" Barnett repeated doubtfully.

             
"D'Hiver," Moriarty said. "The Count d'Hiver. How very odd. You're sure, Tolliver? You heard him say d'Hiver?
"

             
"
Right as a puffin. Deever it were.
"

             
"
Not
Count
d'Hiver?
"

             
"
No."

             
"Curious. But it must be he; coincidence can only stretch so far. That is very valuable information, Tolliver, you have done well. Now I have another job for you. Notify the Amateur Mendicants that I wish the Count d'Hiver to be followed from this moment on, wherever he goes; and I want his residence and any other place he frequents to be put under constant surveillance. Tell Colonel Moran that he is in command, and that I will hold him responsible for any slipups." Moriarty scribbled on a slip of paper. "Here is the count's address. Tell Moran that those who follow the count are not to be seen. I want him to send me reports every three hours, or more often if the situation warrants."

             
"I got it, Professor," Tolliver said. "I'm on my way. I won't even stop upstairs to change my suit, which 'as suffered somewhat in the past 'alf 'our—I'll be off!"

             
Moriarty shook the little man's hand, and Tolliver limped rapidly from the room.

             
"The Count d'Hiver?" Barnett asked: "The man who was at the Hope mansion the night Cecily disappeared?"

             
"That is my assumption," Moriarty told him.

             
Barnett stood up. "Do you suppose—"

             
"I try never to suppose," Moriarty said. "We shall find out."

             
"I must help," Barnett said. "What can I do?"

             
"As it happens," Moriarty told him, "I have another task for you. One more particularly suited to your talents and abilities."

             
"Please, Professor, don't try to fob off some meaningless job on me just to keep me busy," Barnett said.