Moriarty

‘I think you will find it was actually from Beeton’s Christmas Annual,’ Jones corrected me. ‘It is from Chapter Three of A Study in Scarlet. But that does not make it any the less mysterious. I take it this is not what you expected to find.’

‘It was the last thing I expected.’

‘It is certainly very puzzling. But I have been here long enough. I suggest we retreat from this grim place and fortify ourselves with a glass of wine.’

I took one last look at the dead man on the slab then turned and together we climbed back up, Jones limping heavily.

THREE The Midnight Watch

Athelney Jones had taken a room at the Englischer Hof and suggested that I do the same. We headed there together after we had parted company with the Swiss policemen, walking through the village with the sun brilliant in a cloudless sky and everything silent apart from our own footsteps and the occasional jangle of a bell coming from the sheep or goats that were grazing in the nearby hills. Jones was deep in thought, reflecting on the document we had discovered in the dead man’s pocket. What on earth was Moriarty doing with an extract from a Sherlock Holmes story hidden about him as he travelled to Switzerland? Had he perhaps been seeking some insight into his adversary’s mind before the two of them met at the Reichenbach Falls? Or was it actually the communication I had described, the reason for my long journey to Switzerland? Could it have some secret meaning unknown to both of us? Jones did not address these questions to me but I could see that they were plainly on his mind.

The hotel was small and charming with shapes cut into the wood and flowers hanging around the windows; the very image of a Swiss chalet that every English traveller might dream of finding. Fortunately, there was room for me, and a boy was dispatched to the police station to collect my luggage. Jones and I parted company at the stairs. He had the page in his hand.

‘I would like, with your permission, to hold onto it a while longer,’ he said.

‘You think you can make some sense of it?’

‘I can at least give it my full attention and … who knows?’ He was tired. The walk from the police station had not been a long one but, combined with the high altitude, it had almost drained him.

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Will we meet again this evening?’

‘We can dine together. Shall we say eight o’clock?’

‘That will suit me very well, Inspector Jones. Apart from anything else, it will give me time to walk to the famous Reichenbach Falls. I never thought I’d find myself in Switzerland of all places, and this village — it’s quite delightful, like something out of a fairy story.’

‘You might perhaps ask about Moriarty. If he didn’t stay in a hotel or a guest house, he might have taken a room in a private home. And someone may have seen him before he met up with Holmes.’

‘I thought the Swiss police had already made these enquiries.’

‘Wachtmeister Gessner? An admirable man doing the best that he can. But it won’t hurt to ask again.’

‘Very well. I’ll see what I can do.’

I did as I was asked and strolled through the village, talking to those inhabitants who spoke my language, not that there were many of them. There were two words though that they all understood: Sherlock Holmes. At the mention of his name, they became serious and animated. That such a man had visited Meiringen was extraordinary; that he had died here beyond belief. They wanted to help. Sadly, though, none of them had seen Moriarty. No stranger had taken a room in their midst. They had nothing to offer me but broken English and sympathy. Eventually, I returned to my own room. On second thoughts, I had no desire to walk to the falls, which were at least two hours away. The truth was that I could not even think of them without shuddering and visiting them would have told me nothing I did not already know.

Athelney Jones and I dined late that night and I was glad to see that he had recovered his strength. We sat together in the snug hotel restaurant with the tables packed closely together, animal heads on the wall, and a roaring fire quite out of proportion to the size of the room. It was needed though, for with the darkness a torrent of cold air had come twisting through the mountain passes and settled on the village. This was, after all, only May, and we were at an elevation of almost two thousand feet. There were only a few other diners around us and we had chosen a table close to the inglenook so that we could talk together undisturbed.