Moriarty

‘You will forgive me, Inspector,’ I remarked, as we were preparing to go our separate ways. ‘I know it is not for me to say, but I wonder if you should not reconsider.’

‘Reconsider what?’

‘This entire adventure — by which I mean the pursuit of Clarence Devereux. I may not have made it clear to you quite how ruthless, how vicious this man is. Trust me when I say that you would not choose to have him as your enemy. He left a trail of bloodshed behind him in New York and if he is in London, as I believe, he will certainly do the same there. Look at what happened to poor Jonathan Pilgrim! It is my task to hunt him down and I have no dependants. The same is not true for you and I feel uncomfortable bringing you into imminent danger.’

‘It is not you who has brought me here. I am merely pursuing the enquiry that was given to me by my superiors at Scotland Yard.’

‘Devereux will have no respect for Scotland Yard or for you. Your rank and position will not protect you.’

‘That makes no difference.’ He stopped and looked up at the dull afternoon sky, for London had welcomed us with clouds and drizzle. ‘If this man has come to England and plans to continue his criminal activities as you have suggested, then he must be stopped and that is my duty.’

‘There are plenty of other detectives.’

‘But I was the one who was sent to Meiringen.’ He smiled. ‘I understand your sentiments, Chase, and I will say that they do you credit. It is true that I have a family. I would not do anything that would threaten their well-being and yet the choice is not mine. For better or for worse, you and I have been thrown together and that is how we shall remain. If it sets your mind at ease, I will add, in confidence, that I would not want Lestrade, Gregson or any of my other friends and colleagues stealing the credit for hunting this man down. But here is a cab approaching. I must be on my way!’

I can still see him hurrying away with the ball in one hand and the blue-uniformed doll hanging limply over his arm. And I wonder now as I wondered then how Dr Watson could have turned him into such a fool in his own account. I have read ‘The Sign of the Four’ since then and can say that the Athelney Jones in that adventure bears very little similarity to the man I knew and who was, I would have said, unequalled by any at Scotland Yard.

There were several hotels close to the station in Northumberland Avenue but their very names — the Grand, the Victoria, the Metropole — warned me they would not fit the bill in any sense of those words and in the end I found somewhere on the Embankment, close by the bridge … so close, in fact, that the whole place rattled every time a train went past. Hexam’s Hotel was grimy and ramshackle. The carpets were threadbare and the chandeliers lopsided. But the sheets were clean, it only cost two shillings a night, and once I had wiped the soot off the window, I was rewarded with a glimpse of the river and a coal ship gliding slowly past. I had dinner in the hotel’s restaurant, alone but for a scowling maid and a disgruntled Boots, then sat reading in my room until midnight when I eventually fell into a troubled sleep.

Inspector Jones and I had arranged to meet at twelve o’clock the following day outside the Café Royal on Regent Street, a full hour ahead of the assignation. After much consideration — we had, after all, spent thirty hours together on the train — we had devised a plan that seemed to cover every eventuality. I would wear the red tulip, posing as Moriarty, while Jones would sit at a table, close enough to overhear any conversation that ensued. We had both agreed that it was highly unlikely that Clarence Devereux would appear in person. Apart from the unnecessary risk of his exposing himself to danger, there was the question of his agoraphobia that would make his journey down Regent Street, even in a closed carriage, highly impractical. He would surely send a confederate and that person would expect to find Moriarty alone.

And then? There were three possibilities.

Hopefully, I would be met by someone who would escort me to the house or to the hotel where Devereux was staying. In that event, Jones would follow quietly behind, to ensure my safety and also, of course, to make note of the address. Alternatively, Devereux’s accomplice might know what Moriarty looked like. He would see immediately that I was a fake and walk out. In this event, Jones would slip out of the restaurant and follow him to wherever he had come from, which might at least give us a clue as to where Devereux might be found. And finally, there was a chance that nobody would show up at all. However, Moriarty’s survival at Reichenbach had been widely reported in the London newspapers and we had every reason to hope that Devereux would suppose him alive.