Moriarty

Robert Lincoln I have already described. Large and ungainly though he was, I had found him an impressive person when he had been the host at his reception, graciously acknowledging the many guests who wished to speak to him while ensuring that any conversation took place on his own terms. He was the same now, sitting in a high-backed chair with an antique table beside him. Even in this quieter and more confidential setting, he commanded the room. He did not need to speak. He thought long and hard before he made any pronouncement and his sentences were brief and to the point. White seemed to be the more worried of the three, sitting to one side and examining us with ever watchful eyes. It was he who had begun the conversation.

‘I must ask you, Inspector Jones, quite what you had in mind when you came here a few days ago, masquerading under a false name and carrying an invitation which you had purloined. Were you unaware of the seriousness of your conduct?’

‘It has been made very clear to me and I can only extend my apologies to you and to the envoy. Let me say, though, that the situation was a desperate one. I was in pursuit of a dangerous gang of criminals. There had been much bloodshed. They attempted to kill me … an explosion that claimed more than one life.’

‘How can you be sure that they were responsible?’ Lincoln asked.

‘I cannot, sir. All I can say is that Chase and I pursued them to this address. A brougham driver brought them here directly from Scotland Yard immediately following the outrage.’

‘He could have been mistaken.’

‘It is possible, but I do not believe it. Mr Guthrie seemed quite certain of himself. Otherwise, I would not have entered in the manner that I did.’

‘That was my suggestion,’ I said. I was not feeling well and knew that I presented a disagreeable sight. The ill treatment that I had received at the hands of Mortlake’s thugs had been more serious than I had thought: the whole side of my face was swollen, my eye blackened, my lip cracked so that I spoke with difficulty. Jones looked little better. Smartly presented though we both were, I was aware that we must resemble the victims of a train wreck. ‘I was responsible,’ I continued. ‘I persuaded Inspector Jones to come.’

‘We are well aware of the methods of the Pinkerton Agency,’ Isham muttered. He had been unsympathetic from the start. ‘Inciting riots. Attempting to incriminate hard-working men because they had chosen, quite legitimately, to go on strike—’

‘As far as I am aware, we have been guilty of none of those things. Certainly, I was not involved in the Chicago railway strikes or any others.’

‘That’s not in question now, Charlie,’ Lincoln said, quietly.

‘We acted unlawfully,’ Jones continued. ‘I admit it. But as things turned out, we were … I will not say justified, but at least we were proven right. The criminal known as Clarence Devereux was indeed seeking refuge within these walls, using the assumed name of Coleman De Vriess. Or perhaps that is his real name and Devereux is his alias. Either way, we discovered him here. And that was what led him to strike back at us in a way that was unparalleled in all my years as an officer of the law.’

‘He kidnapped your daughter.’

‘Yes, Minister,’ Jones said, addressing the envoy formally. ‘His men took my six-year-old child and used her as bait to capture Chase and myself.’

‘I have two daughters,’ Lincoln muttered. ‘And only recently I lost a son to sickness. I understand your anguish.’

‘Last night, in the catacombs beneath Smithfield meat market, Clarence Devereux threatened us with torture and death. We are only here thanks to a miraculous escape, which we are still hard-pressed to explain. Well, that is for another time. But right now, sir, I can swear that the man who assaulted us and who is responsible for a catalogue of crimes in both your country and mine is the same man whom you call your third secretary. I am here to request — even to demand — that we be allowed to question him and, in due course, bring him to face justice in a court of law.’

There was a lengthy silence after this. Everyone was waiting for Lincoln to speak but instead he nodded at his councillor who stroked his beard pensively and then addressed us thus: ‘I regret that it is not quite as simple and as straightforward as you would like, Inspector Jones. Let us set aside, for a moment, your personal testimony and whether or not it is to be believed.’

‘Wait!’ I began, already outraged by the position he had chosen to take. But Jones raised a hand, cautioning me to stay silent.