Moriarty

‘We moved in here. It was my idea to reopen the barber’s shop and — you’ve got it in one — to do everything in my power to prevent customers from entering. In the entire time we’ve been here, I’ve only had to give half a dozen haircuts — and didn’t do too bad a job, though I say so myself. I’ve been underground with Archie as my lookout and it’s been the devil’s own work, I can tell you. Mudstone, limestone, chalk! Whatever happened to good old-fashioned London clay?’

‘After the murder of Scott Lavelle, did you hear from Clarence Devereux?’ Jones asked.

Clay shook his head. ‘Not from Devereux. I read about the death in the newspapers and Archie and I went out and celebrated with a bottle of gin. I thought it was too good to be true. The next day we had a visit from an even nastier piece of work. I’ve never been a nark, but I’ll make an exception for these fine fellows. His name was Edgar Mortlake. He was tall, well-dressed with oily black hair.’

‘We know him.’

‘You don’t want to know him! He gave us another two weeks to get into the vault. After that, he said, we’d lose another toenail.’

‘You didn’t lose a toenail!’

‘You know what I mean, Archie. That was what he said and we’ve been working night and day ever since.’

‘And what was the arrangement to be, once you had broken into the vault?’

‘Mr Mortlake said he would communicate with us personally.’

‘You are to hand over the proceeds to him?’

‘Oh yes. He wants to see it all for himself. They trust no one, these Americans. You can forget your honour among thieves. Archie and I even wondered if they would be content with half. They might draw us into a trap and cut both our throats.’

‘There will be a trap,’ Jones muttered. ‘But it will not be you who falls into it. And now, I would very much like to see this tunnel of yours. It must be quite a feat of engineering. And I would be interested to know how you intended to break through the walls of the vault itself.’

‘It is only London brick. There is steel plating on the first floor but the safes are less well protected below. Mr Devereux had made the necessary enquiries, I’ll at least give him that.’

We got up from the table, leaving the tea unpoured, and made our way down a steep and narrow staircase that brought us into a cellar beneath the shop. There was barely enough room for the four of us as most of the floor was taken up by mounds of soil and broken brickwork. One of the walls had been battered through and, crouching down, I saw a circular tunnel disappearing into the distance, lit by oil lamps and held up by rough planks of wood. It amazed me that John Clay would have been able to breathe in there. Even in the cellar, the air was warm and dank. He would only have been able to progress on his knees, with his body bent forward, passing the loose soil behind him as he went.

‘You have been more than forthright with me, Mr Clay,’ Jones remarked, the oil lamps casting dark shadows across his face. ‘And whatever crimes you may have committed in the past, they are not, for the time being, under consideration. A great evil has come to this country, just as I was warned, and here is the opportunity to be rid of it once and for all. Come, Chase. Let us return to the surface. We have been in the dark for far too long and little time remains.’

We climbed the stairs and left the barber’s shop. I had never seen Jones more determined nor more confident, leaving me in no doubt whatsoever that although he seemed to hold all London in his grip, Devereux’s time would soon be done.

FIFTEEN Blackwall Basin