Moriarty

It took us the best part of an hour to reach Richmond Park, entering through Bishop’s Gate which I had chosen as it was not actually intended for public use. I wanted an open space and the park seemed ideal for what I had in mind. We drove into the largest field we could find with views all around us, the river concealed by the rise of the hill but the village clearly visible and the city far beyond. It was a glorious day, the spring sun finally shining and only a few puffs of cloud floating above the horizon. At last we stopped. Colonel Moran climbed down and walked round to the horses, at the same time stretching his arms.

‘Did you have to go so damned far?’ he demanded.

Ignoring him, I went to the back and opened the door. Clarence Devereux knew what his fate was to be. Even as the glare of the sunlight burst into the interior, he huddled away, hiding in a corner, covering his eyes. I did not speak to him. I climbed inside and dragged him out. I was certain that he carried no weapon and once he was in the open, he would be helpless, no better than a fish on dry land. Finally, I signalled to Perry who led the horses over to a clump of trees where a second carriage stood waiting. I had, of course, concealed it there earlier. It would now be his task to unhitch the horses and then to reconnect them. We had a long journey ahead of us, all the way to the south coast.

I stood there with my enemy grovelling on his knees. I knew that he could feel the breeze upon his cheeks. He could hear birdsong and understood well enough where he was even if he didn’t open his eyes. I still had the gun that I had used to kill Athelney Jones. Perry, too, was armed. There was little chance that we would be disturbed by strollers for the park was huge — two thousand three hundred and sixty acres, to be precise — and I had deliberately chosen an area that was remote. Nor did I intend to be here long.

Moran stood beside me, examining our prisoner with his usual blend of cruelty and contempt. With his bald forehead and huge moustache he did rather unfortunately resemble a villain out of a pantomime, but he was quite unaware of his appearance or perhaps indifferent to it. It struck me that although he had not been a pleasant man when we first met, he was getting worse, more irascible, as he grew older.

‘So what now, Professor?’ he asked. ‘I imagine you must be quite pleased with yourself.’

‘It all worked out very much as I expected,’ I admitted. ‘There was a moment when, despite everything, I thought the minister was not going to give his secretary over to us. Why do these people have to be so officious? Fortunately, the late Inspector Jones was able to circumvent this with one last display of genius. I will be forever grateful to him.’

‘I take it … this nasty little man … you’re going to kill him?’

‘Of course not! Do you really believe I would have gone to such extremes had that been my intention? I need him very much alive. I have always needed him alive. Otherwise my task would have been a great deal easier.’

‘Why?’

‘It will be some years before I can operate again in England, Colonel. First, I have to rebuild my organisation and that will take time. But even when that is done, I have a problem …’

‘Sherlock Holmes?’

‘No. He seems to have left the stage. But as surprised as I am to admit it, I must learn to beware of the police.’

‘They know who you are.’

‘Precisely. It won’t take them very long to work out what happened — even Lestrade might be able to bring the pieces together. And they’ve all seen me.’

‘You’ve sat amongst ’em and they’ve seen your face. You’ve killed one of their own. They’ll search for you, high and low.’

‘Which is why I must leave the country. The Vandalia leaves the port of Le Havre for New York in three days’ time. Perry and I will be on board and Mr Devereux will come with us.’

‘And then?’

I looked down at Devereux. ‘Open your eyes,’ I said.

‘No!’ He was a criminal mastermind, the greatest evil to have emerged from America. He had almost destroyed me. But at that moment he sounded like a child. His hands were pressed against his face and he was rocking back and forth, moaning to himself.

‘Open your eyes,’ I repeated. ‘If you wish to live, you will do it now.’ Very slowly, Devereux did as I said but he remained still, staring at the grass, too afraid to lift his head. ‘Look at me!’