by Seamas Duffy
‘Precisely, Watson.’
‘Then if his statement is true, the only possible explanation is that he committed the murders himself!’
‘Very good, Watson, but slightly wide of the mark. Let me tell you what happened last night. When I went down to the street, I noticed that the man had hailed a hansom straight away. That was a blow, for I was at too great at distance to hear the address he shouted up to the jarvey, though I did get the number of the cab. However, as I was fairly certain of his destination, I merely waited for another cab to come along a few minutes behind. I got off at Park Lane and walked round the corner and there was the same cab waiting outside Titchfield’s, so I waited concealed in the shadows until our man came out. I managed this time to get close enough to hear the address he shouted up: the Piccadilly Hotel. The night porter there, stimulated by some gentle right persuasion, was able to tell me that our visitor goes under the name of Edward Miller-Beach.’
‘The name means nothing to me.’
‘Nor me. Then I stood down our forces at Titchfield’s and also at the picture gallery; I can see no further use for them now. Then I came back and sat here upon the sofa and tried to puzzle out the meaning of it all. I emptied my tobacco pouch and yours, too. I flatter myself to believe that I now understand what is going on, though I am unable to fill in quite all the gaps yet. The story he told us was a mixture of half-truths and lies, and it was not until he betrayed himself over that small detail that my suspicions were confirmed. That is the clever part: the best propaganda contains more than a kernel of veracity, so that a million lies may thus be concealed.’
‘It seems to me that the people who populate these secret government departments live in such a different world from the one we inhabit; a nether world of perpetual intrigue, of deception, propaganda, and double agents, where one’s allies of today are the enemies of tomorrow. The very existence of the concept of truth seems to be in doubt.’
‘Sad to say, not only truth, but justice also. You suggested Miller-Beach may have committed the murders himself, but though a man in his position would rarely dirty his hands with such a task, I am convinced that he not only knows who the murderer is, but that he is the directing mind behind the murders.’
‘What is his motive?’
‘You recall that Titchfield was listed as having held some anonymous office in Whitehall; I am sure now that it was in the same shadowy organization as Miller-Beach. I had also checked up on the ownership of the premises at number nineteen and managed to discover that the building is owned by Titchfield, and leased to Newland. We now have all the pieces of the jigsaw: Miller-Beach, Titchfield and the gallery. Miller-Beach told us that the motive for the murders was that one or more of the victims knew about what was going on in a certain house in Cleveland Street: that is true, but it was not number thirty-two, it was the picture gallery! He also said that the paraphernalia of ritual murder were used to imply some Masonic conspiracy that was devised to throw everyone off the track. That was true also, but the trail was laid by Miller-Beach and his associates, who had found out about the Fenian plot, then decided to use the City Murders to implicate the men who had been conspiring to assassinate Lord Salisbury. I suspect that the girl Harvey was singled out for that purpose: to make the story ring true of her being eliminated for having recognized Corcoran and knowing about the safe house – they needed to have someone with an Irish connection.’
‘How can you be certain about this?’
‘Because, there is no plot involving any so-called safe house.’
‘But we both saw the notes and the boxes of dynamite!’
‘Pshaw! We saw what we, or rather what Miller-Beach’s men were meant to see: some incriminating notes written in a code; some boxes containing explosives. I went back there again last night. What do you think those boxes in the cellar contained? Harmless fog signals for railway companies, which are labelled as explosives!’
‘Incredible!’
‘That whole business at number thirty-two was but a clever conjuring trick, designed to deflect attention. This so-called plot to kill the Prime Minister at the Mansion House on Saturday is a mere decoy.’
‘I do not understand.’
‘After what Miller-Beach had told me, last night I was forced to reconsider the entire question of the interview between myself and Moriarty a few years ago. I recalled in detail the occasion that the Professor walked into my sitting room. I can only imagine that, due to my overwrought state, my powers must have somewhat temporarily deserted me – you afterwards wrote that I seemed uncharacteristically pale, drawn, and nervous at the time. The man who visited me on that day purported to be a brilliant professor, the author of a thesis so complex and innovative that it received international recognition, and a man whose gift for organization is unequalled in the annals of crime. Consider this, Watson: this apparent genius was obliged to refer to a memorandum-book simply in order to recall four recent dates – none of which was older than three months! I had never met the man before, of course, and as he had taken me by surprise, it was all the easier for the impostor to deceive me. It is impossible now to say if that was the same man I wrestled with on the edge of that gorge in Switzerland, for he wore a hat which obscured most of his features. But there can be no doubt now, though, that it was not Moriarty.
‘There is an old proverb that Abrahams, the pawnbroker, used to quote. “Fool me once,” he would say in that forlornly comical way of his, “shame on you: fool me twice, shame on me!” I was determined not to be fooled twice. Could I really imagine that this undoubted genius would have engineered such an amateurish plot as this, with notes supposedly written in a code which would not deceive a schoolboy? Could I believe that his accomplices would leave boxes of dynamite lying around for days in advance for anyone to stumble over? I could not, and I did not – for I know that Moriarty is always likely to be at least one step ahead. So I went back to Cleveland Street and opened the boxes. I also took the trouble to look amongst the papers in the drawer where we found the messages. You recall how thoroughly we searched the place at the time. According to Miller-Beach, no one from the cell had visited the house since we did. In that case, how could this be explained?’
Holmes handed me the note which he had transcribed: ‘Patsy Harvey, ten o’clock, Sunday evening, Haymarket’.
‘This was in the drawer. It had been planted there, I am sure, by one of Miller-Beach’s agents to incriminate the members of the cell.’
‘I think I see now,’ I said.
‘Beach gave himself away by being rather too eagerly curious as to what had led me to the picture gallery in the first place – that alone aroused my suspicion. I should say there is no longer room for any doubt that he went to Titchfield’s last night to warn him that we were on his track.’
‘Is Sir James also implicated in this?’
‘I suspect not. Miller-Beach will have been allowed free rein to pursue the case as he sees fit. I’m sure there is a lot Sir James does not get to hear about.’
‘Then we must move heaven and earth to expose this deception!’
‘Indeed, Watson, we must and we shall, but first we have a practical problem to solve. I told you that the real assassination has been kept a complete and genuine secret.’
‘Of course! What, or rather who, is the object of their campaign then?’
‘I am sure it remains the Prime Minister, all right, along with his nephew – the man tipped to become the First Lord of the Treasury.’
‘Balfour?
‘Bloody Balfour as he is known in Ireland: they have not forgotten his persecution during the Land War. Clearly this plan must go off before it becomes evident that the Bankers’ Dinner is a mere subterfuge; therefore, I consulted the Gazette in order to ascertain which other engagements the Prime Minister has between now and Saturday.’
‘Good Lord, we have only two days!’
‘You are aware of Lord Salisbury’s interest in foreign affairs. Tomorrow, accompanied
by his nephew, he is engaged to address the Friends of the Balkans Society on the Bosnia-Serbia question. The meeting is being held at Beograd House, in Hampden Terrace adjacent to the park. I walked the entire terrace from end to end this morning, and checked the lanes to the rear for manholes, lampposts, refuse bins and so on – the sorts of places a bomb might be easily concealed or planted. I found nothing. I considered whether some of the domestic staff might be implicated, and then the solution rather jumped out at me. The park is heavily wooded and the lines of sight from there to the terrace and the house are wide open – perfect conditions for a concealed sniper. At 2.45 on Friday, then, the Prime Minister’s entourage will arrive; once he alights from the carriage, he will have a twenty-five yard walk from the edge of the carriage drive to the door of the house. I believe that the finger on the trigger will belong to one of the best shots in the country.’
‘Colonel Sebastian Moran?’
‘And I have no doubt that the weapon he intends to use will be a replica of the silent, powerful Von Herder air-gun which currently resides in the Police Museum. For a man of Moran’s ability, the two statesmen would be sitting ducks.’
‘What do you intend to do now?’
‘I have no intention of passing my discovery to either the official police or to our friend of last night. As Mycroft remains abroad, I am afraid there is nothing for it now but to confront the man himself, and so I intend to go around to Conduit Street this morning immediately after breakfast. It would be of great service to me, Watson, if you would accompany me.’
‘I absolutely insist!’
‘Then it would be as well for you to bring your service revolver as this may turn out to be the second most dangerous undertaking of my career. I have a presentiment that the Colonel will fail to be amused at what we have to say to him.’
Holmes handed his card at the door, and was shown straight into the drawing room. Presently the man himself appeared. ‘I shan’t bother to direct you to a seat, you shall not be staying long,’ he growled.
At Holmes’s mention of an assassination plot, Moran laughed loudly, a sadistic mocking snort, and rather rubbed it to my friend about his failure to secure a conviction against him on the charge of murdering Ronald Adair.
‘Not another one of your trumped-up charges, Holmes,’ he said scornfully. ‘Really, this is becoming tedious now. You know, I rather thought that you and your Scotland Yard cronies would have learned your lesson after the last time. Should you persist in this, I must warn you that I will use every inch of the law to protect my reputation.’
‘Your reputation, Moran? What an interesting idea!’ Holmes replied. ‘Are you referring to your reputation for cheating at cards in the Bagatelle Club? Or the rumour of your murder of Mrs Stewart? Oh yes, I know about that, too. And then there was the sudden disappearance of Jeremy Harcourt, apothecary, lately of Fetter Lane. Yes, my researches on your behalf have been quite thorough.’
Moran’s smile was viciousness personified.
‘Grasping at straws again I see, Holmes. If you had the slightest evidence in any of these, you would have sent that buffoon Lestrade to arrest me. Now, if you have nothing more important to say, Benson will show yourself and Dr Watson out,’ he said, as he reached to touch the bell.
‘Your sympathies are as well known to the authorities as your criminal proclivities. You see, the safe house in Soho has been discovered, along with the messages which have passed between New York and London regarding the assassination of the Prime Minister at the Mansion House.’
‘I have told you that I have nothing to do with any such plot, Holmes,’ said Moran with exaggerated smugness.
‘No, that’s right; you have told the truth for once. Actually, I had come to tell you that we soon discovered that there is no plot.’ Moran looked up sharply, as Holmes continued. ‘At least there is no plot which involves the Bankers’ Dinner. Whilst I admittedly found the arrangement of the stage properties in number thirty-two rather cunning at first, they were on the whole somewhat unconvincing, not to say disappointing, especially for gentlemen – to stretch a word – of yours and Moriarty’s calibre.’
Moran’s demeanour seemed to change, and his cruel eyes narrowed viciously, at which warning sign I cocked my revolver in my pocket.
‘It rapidly became obvious that the whole business there was intended to draw attention from the real plot, which will come to fruition when a certain statesman and his kinsman make a visit to Hampden Terrace tomorrow afternoon. I have no doubt that you had already selected your vantage point. You may have been clever enough to fool the gentlemen from Whitehall for a time, but you did not fool Sherlock Holmes.’
Moran’s face suddenly turned pale with rage. I had occasion once before to observe the man’s wrath at close quarters, yet that was nothing compared to his reaction now. He snarled like a wild beast and leapt for the poker, but my friend had already slipped out his own revolver and now held it openly before him. Moran halted by the fireplace, still blazing and breathing fury, and he and Holmes stood there for a moment face to face, those savage eyes burning like a brazier, the murderous hand poised to strike. I had drawn my own revolver and swear that I was quite ready to press the trigger. He realized that the game was up and flung down the poker.
‘You must call it off, Moran,’ Holmes said evenly. ‘There is no other course of action open to you. Your every move is known, the entire area will be swarming with police, and I will be there myself to ensure that nothing goes wrong. Over a hundred plain-clothes men, armed and ready, will be patrolling the precincts of the park. At the moment the evidence against you is insufficient to justify your arrest, though a warrant to search the house for the air-gun could easily be procured. Ah, there was the flicker of what passes for a smile upon your countenance – the gun is held somewhere else. Still, you must realize that to attempt any violence tomorrow would result only in certain failure, capture, and an ignominious death upon the scaffold on a charge of high treason.’
‘It is not treason to right an ancient wrong.’
‘It is when you have accepted a commission in the Queen’s service.’
‘There will be another time, Holmes, and another again, if that fails. Now get out!’ he snarled with a vicious curse.
‘I almost forgot,’ Holmes remarked as we backed out of the room, ‘to ask you to give my compliments to Professor … sorry, I mean General Moriarty; such a pleasure to have him back. I was just saying to Doctor Watson this morning that things have been rather dull for far too long. You had better warn him, though, that I shall be looking into the recent spate of robberies with violence that has occurred. These outrages have all carried Moriarty’s signature and really cannot be allowed to continue.’
‘Do you think the bluff will work?’ I asked my friend on our way back to Baker Street.
‘Yes. He is not to know that I have said nothing to the official authorities. He will not dare to show his face. It is but from one problem to another, though, for we still have our murderer to trap, and I mean to bring him to justice. There is really only a small number of professional killers who would touch this type of work. My informant, Mercer, had drawn up a list of four suspects: Montague Parker was the first and most obvious, but as he works for Moriarty we can certainly eliminate him; then there is Teddy Hardwick, alleged founder of the Wife-Slayers’ Club, and Poldy Kratz the Bavarian – but neither man’s description matches that given by Hewlett as to the man in the back of the cab; and there is Ezra Meringer who, Mercer tells me, appears to have gone into hiding. He matches perfectly.’
‘Meringer?’ I asked, ‘I have not heard of him.’
‘You have indeed, Watson, only under a pseudonym. You will recall the name Merridew from the time of the Yiddish Music Hall murder. He began as a pickpocket in Petticoat Lane; graduated as a fence with Mossy Berg in Houndsditch, took over the Cable Street gang after Pascoe Faulkner was murdered; apparently he knifed one of the Odessans in broad daylight in revenge, but no one would
testify against him, such was the fear he instilled. He went to America after that and was deported once his reputation for villainy caught up with him. But not before he escaped a shootout with the Pinkertons in Anderson County, Carolina, where he murdered a sheriff and his deputy who had tried to arrest him. Reverting to his own name of Meringer, he reappeared in Bethnal Green about a year ago; word has it that it was he who garrotted the Bessarabian Tiger Maksimienko and his henchman, Kakarinov. The bodies were never found, but I suspect that the tunnels of East London Railway would be a good place to start looking.’
‘Nice character!’
‘Such a job would be a child’s play to a man of his antecedents. According to Mercer, he has not been seen in his usual haunts since the beginning of June, which corresponds to the time of the first murder. I suspect he will have been well-paid by Miller-Beach for the job, and my concern now is that he is already halfway back to America under yet another pseudonym, for he is a master at changing his identity. There is just the slightest chance that he may have decided to lie low and may have gone to ground in London rather than make a run for it.’
‘But you have Thisley, his accomplice.’
‘We do not, as yet, have a complete case against Thisley to go before a jury. Of Jacobs and Hewlett, only the former could give even the most tentative identification, whereas we may be certain that Titchfield would provide his man with a sound alibi. Show me the juryman who would take the word of a jarvey over that of a peer of the realm. In any case, to have Thisley arrested now – even to show the slightest suspicion of Thisley – would endanger our chances of tracking down Meringer. That is why I have kept Lestrade in the dark so far.’
‘What then?’
‘We are going to have to take the long way round. It remains now to find out what goes on at the Soho Picture Gallery, which would explain such an elaborate and deadly conspiracy.’