Moriarty

‘The Bostonian is the home of almost every wealthy American in London,’ Gregson continued. ‘It’s owned by two brothers — Leland and Edgar Mortlake. They have their own chef and they create their own cocktails. There are two floors, the upper one of which is used for gaming.’

‘Is it not obvious?’ Bradstreet exclaimed. ‘If Clarence Devereux is anywhere in London, surely that is where he is to be found. An American club with an American name, run by a known felon.’

‘I would have thought, in that case, it would be the last place he would present himself,’ Hopkins said, quietly. ‘Surely, the whole point is that he doesn’t want to make himself known.’

‘We should raid the building,’ Lestrade said, ignoring him. ‘I myself will arrange it. A surprise visit with a dozen or more officers this very day.’

‘I would suggest the early evening,’ Gregson said. ‘For that is when it will be busiest.’

‘Perhaps we will find this Clarence Devereux at the card table. If so, we will make short work of him. We are not going to be colonised by criminals from foreign countries. This gangsterish violence must stop.’

Soon afterwards, the meeting came to an end. Jones and I left together and as we made our way down the stairs, he turned to me.

‘Well, it’s agreed,’ he said. ‘We intend to mount a raid on a club which has but a tenuous link with the man we are seeking and a man whose existence several of my colleagues are inclined to doubt. Even if Clarence Devereux happens to be there, we will be unable to recognise him and going there will only tell him that we are on his tail. What do you say, Chase? Would you not call it a complete waste of time?’

‘I would not be so bold,’ I replied.

‘Your reticence does you credit. But I must return to my office. You can spend the afternoon seeing something of the city. I will send a note to your hotel and the two of us will meet again tonight.’

NINE The Bostonian

In fact, Jones was wrong. As things turned out, the raid on the Bostonian did prove useful in one small but significant respect.

It was already dark when I left my room at the hotel and as I stepped into the corridor I was aware of the door next to mine swinging shut. Once again I did not see the occupant beyond a shadowy figure who vanished immediately as the door closed but it occurred to me that I had not heard him go past, which I should surely have done as the carpet was threadbare. Had he been waiting outside as I made my preparations? Had he left when he heard me approach? I was tempted to challenge him but decided against it. Jones had been precise about the hour of our meeting. There might be a perfectly innocent explanation for the behaviour of my mysterious neighbour. At any event, he could wait.

And so we found ourselves, an hour later, standing beneath a gas lamp on the corner of Trebeck Street, waiting for the signal — the scream of a whistle and the tramp of a dozen leather boots — which would announce that the adventure had begun. The club was in front of us: a narrow, quite ordinary white-fronted building on a corner. But for the heavy curtains drawn across the windows and the occasional snatch of piano music jingling into the night, it could have been a bank. Jones was in a strange mood. He had been virtually silent since I had joined him and appeared to be deep in thought. It was unseasonably cold and damp — it seemed as if the summer was never going to arrive — and we were both wearing heavy coats. I wondered if the weather was accentuating the pain in his leg. But suddenly he turned to me and asked, ‘Did you not find Lestrade’s testimony to be of particular interest?’

The question had taken me by surprise. ‘Which part of it?’

‘How did he know that your agent, Jonathan Pilgrim, had a room at the Bostonian?’

I thought for a moment. ‘I have no idea. It could be that Pilgrim was carrying the key to his room. Or I suppose he could have had the address written down.’

‘Was he a careless man?’

‘He was headstrong. He could be reckless. But he was very aware of the danger of discovery.’

‘My point exactly: it’s almost as if he wanted us to come here. I hope we are not making a grave mistake.’

He lapsed once again into silence and I took out my watch. There were another five minutes until the raid began and I wished we hadn’t arrived so early. It seemed to me that my companion was avoiding my eye. He always stood awkwardly and I knew that he was in fairly constant discomfort and needed his walking stick. But as we waited there, he was more awkward than ever.

‘Is there something the matter, Jones?’ I asked at length.

‘No. Not at all,’ he replied. Then: ‘As a matter of fact, there was something I wished to ask you.’

‘Please!’