Moriarty

We could not argue. The official showed us into an office where, I presumed, visiting members of the public might find themselves, for it was sparsely furnished with a table and three chairs. A picture of Benjamin Harrison, the twenty-third President of the United States, hung on one wall and a large window looked out onto Victoria Street with the beacons still alight below. The door closed and we were left on our own.

Jones sat down heavily. ‘This is a bad business,’ he remarked.

‘And one that is entirely my fault,’ I said, adding quickly, ‘I cannot tell you how much I regret the impulse that brought us here tonight.’

‘All in all it was probably futile. But I will not blame you, Chase. It was my own decision and there is some significance in the fact that the brothers Mortlake were both here.’ He shook his head. ‘That said, I do not care to think what may ensue.’

‘They will not fire you.’

‘They may have no choice.’

‘Well, what does it matter?’ I exclaimed. ‘You have the most remarkable mind I have ever encountered. From the moment we met in Meiringen, I saw that you stood apart from Lestrade and the rest of them. In all my years with the Pinkertons, I have never met an agent like you. Scotland Yard may choose to dispense with you, but let me assure you, my dear Jones, that they will come searching for you, wherever you are. London needs a new consulting detective. You were saying the same only yesterday.’

‘It was in my mind, it is true.’

‘Then you should make it an actuality. And maybe I will stay here a little longer myself, just as your wife suggested. Yes — why not? I can become your very own Watson, but I can promise you I will cast you in a more flattering light!’ He smiled at that. I went over to the window, looking out at the footmen and the waiting coaches. ‘Why must we wait here?’ I asked. ‘The devil with it, Jones, let us be on our way. We can face the consequences tomorrow.’

But before Jones could reply, the door opened and the official returned. He walked towards me and drew the curtain, deliberately blocking the view.

‘Are we to be allowed to leave?’ I demanded.

‘No, sir. The third secretary wishes to meet with you in private.’

‘Where is he?’

‘He will be here presently.’

No sooner had he spoken than there was a movement at the door and the secretary walked in. I recognised at once the short, grey-haired man I had seen in the entrance hall. Now that we were in close proximity, he seemed even smaller than I had first thought, putting me in mind of the puppet that Jones had purchased for his daughter. He had a very round face with the eyes, nose and mouth grouped tightly — almost too tightly — together. His hair was thin and wispy, showing through to a skull that was peppered with liver spots. Most peculiar of all were his fingers, which, though perfectly formed, were too small for his hands, perhaps half the length they should have been.

‘Thank you, Mr Isham,’ he said, dismissing the official in the queer, high-pitched voice I had noted earlier. ‘Shall we sit down, gentlemen? This is an unfortunate business and we need to be brief.’

We sat down.

‘Let me introduce myself. My name is Coleman De Vriess and I hold the position of third secretary here at the legation. You are Inspector Athelney Jones of Scotland Yard?’ Jones nodded and he turned to me. ‘And you …?’

‘My name is Frederick Chase. I am an American citizen, an agent with the Pinkerton Agency in New York.’

‘Why are you here?’

It was Jones who replied. ‘You will be aware of the outrage that took place two days ago at Scotland Yard. I believe that I was the target of an attack that left three men dead and many more wounded.’

‘And your enquiries brought you here?’

‘We believe that the man responsible may be hiding behind the protection of the legation, yes.’

‘And who might that man be?’

‘His name is Clarence Devereux.’

De Vriess shook his head. ‘Apart from the envoy and his wife, this legation has only twelve permanent members of staff,’ he said. ‘I can assure you I have never met the man of whom you speak. And of course we are aware of what happened at Scotland Yard. How could you think otherwise? Mr Lincoln himself sent a message of condolence to your Commissioner and I can understand your desire to apprehend the perpetrator by any means at your disposal. At the same time, however, I cannot stress too highly the impropriety of what you have done, coming here tonight. You are aware, sir, of the principal of extraterritoriality, that the residence of the envoy is protected from British law and that for a police officer to come here in this manner is a flagrant abuse of international protocol.’