Moriarty

‘Will it surprise you to learn that I grew up with the strongest disinclination ever to eat meat myself? From the moment I was able to make my own decisions, I became what has come to be called a vegetarian — a word that originated here in England, you might like to know. The lifelong condition from which I have suffered I also blame on my childhood. I used to have nightmares about the animals trapped in their pens, awaiting the horrors of the slaughterhouse. I saw their eyes staring at me through the bars. And somehow their fear transmitted itself to me. In my young mind, it occurred to me that the animals were safe only while they remained locked up, that once they were removed from their cages they would be butchered. And so I in turn became afraid of open spaces, the outside world. As a child, I drew the covers over my head before I could sleep. In a way, those covers have remained in place ever since.

‘I ask you both for a moment to consider the suffering and cruelty inflicted on animals simply to sate our appetite. I mean this quite seriously, for it has a bearing on your immediate future. Let me show you …’ He walked over to the tables and gestured at the objects on display.

I could not help myself. For the first time, I examined the saws, the knives, the hooks, the steel rods and the branding irons that had been laid out for our benefit.

‘Animals are beaten. They are whipped. They are branded. They are castrated. They are skinned and thrown into boiling water and I do not believe that they are always dead when this is done. They are blinded and they are brutalised and at the very end, they are hung upside down and their throats are cut. All of this will happen to you if you do not tell me what I wish to know. How did you find me? How do you know so much about my business? Who do you actually work for?’ He held up a hand. ‘You, Inspector Jones, are with Scotland Yard. And you, Mr Chase, are with Pinkerton’s. But I have dealt with both these organisations in the past and I know their methods. The two of you are different. You break international conventions by entering the sanctity of a legation and I begin to wonder which side of the law you are actually on. You interview Scotchy Lavelle and the next day he is murdered. You arrest Leland Mortlake and seconds later he dies with a poisoned dart in his neck.

‘I take a great deal of risk in dealing with you in this manner and, believe me, I wish it could be otherwise. I am above all a pragmatist and I know that the forces of the law — both in England and America — will redouble their efforts after your deaths. But I have no alternative. I must know. The one thing I can offer you, if you will co-operate and tell me the truth — is a fast and painless end. The smallest blade, inserted into the spine of a bull, will kill it instantly. The same can be done for you. There is no need for violence. Tell me what I want to know and it will be much easier for you.’

There was a lengthy silence. Far away, I heard the sound of metal striking metal but it could have been a mile away, above or beneath the surface of the road. We were utterly alone, surrounded by the six men who were preparing to do unspeakable things to us. And our screams would do us no good. If anyone did chance to hear us, we would simply be mistaken for animals being slaughtered.

‘We cannot tell you what you want to know,’ Jones replied, ‘because your assertions are based on a false premise. I am a British police officer. Chase has spent the last twenty years working with the Pinkertons. We followed a trail, albeit a strange one, that led us to the legation and to Chancery Lane. It is possible that you have enemies of whom you are ignorant. Those enemies led us to you. And you yourself were careless. Had you not communicated with Professor Moriarty in the first place, our investigation would never have begun.’

‘I did not communicate with him.’

‘I read the letter with my own eyes.’

‘You are lying.’

‘Why would I lie? You have made my situation perfectly clear to me. What do I have to gain by deceit?’

‘The letter may have been written by Edgar or Leland Mortlake,’ I cut in. ‘Perhaps it came from Scotchy Lavelle. But it was just one of many mistakes that you made. You have the upper hand, but do what you will with us, others will come after us. Your time is over. Why do you pretend otherwise?’

Devereux looked at me curiously, then turned back to Jones. ‘You are protecting someone, Inspector Jones. I do not know who they are, nor why you are prepared to suffer so much on their account, but I am telling you that I know it. How do you think I have survived so long, untouched by the law and unhindered by those rivals who would gladly see my downfall? I have an instinct. You are playing me false.’