Professor Moriarty Omnibus

by Michael Kurland

  "I am going to kill you," the dark man said, striding across the room. "Don't vomit; none of the others have vomited."

  Chauvelin raised his right arm defensively before his face.

  From somewhere the tall dark man produced a cane. He looked down at Chauvelin almost compassionately. "I must do this, you understand," he said. "I am the wind."

  Chauvelin gagged and puked all over his white shirtfront.

  The tall man twisted the cane and pulled out a slim knife with a razor-sharp nine-inch blade. "The wind," he said. He bent over Chauvelin.

  THIRTEEN — THE PROBLEM

  Laws were made to be broken.

  — Christopher North

  For the past five days, since the evening of his return from the observatory, Professor Moriarty had remained in his room. Surrounded by a great pile of books, mostly on loan from one of the libraries of the British Museum, he spent each day wrapped in his blue dressing gown, stretched out on his bed reading, or pacing back and forth across the small rectangle of floor between the bed and the dressing table, drinking tea, and smoking a particularly acrid brand of Turkish cigarettes.

  "It is the cigarettes I object to mostly," Mrs. H told Barnett over breakfast the next Friday. "It will take months to get the smell out of the drapes and bed curtains. And when he is not smoking the wretched things himself, he cannot abide the smell."

  "I find these periodic retreats of the professor's to be very trying," Barnett said. "This is the fifth time in the two years I've been here that he has disappeared into his bedroom for an extended period, and it always happens at the most awkward times. Everything has to grind to a halt around here while Moriarty takes to his bed and reads about aardvarks."

  "You misunderstand," Mrs. H said, leaning forward and waving a buttered muffin in Barnett's face. "He is not retreating, no indeed! The professor is working this time. I've been with him for a good many years, and I can tell. It's his smoking those cigarettes that makes the difference. When it's lethargy or lassitude, Mr. Barnett, he smokes a pipe. When it's work, it's those vile cigarettes. And then he's asking for specific books to be brought to him. When he's in one of his sulks and in seclusion from the world, he merely works his way alphabetically through the collections in the Grenville Library or the King's Library of the British Museum."

  "So the professor's hard at work up there, pacing back and forth," Barnett said.

  " 'At's right enough," Mummer Tolliver said from his perch in the large armchair at the head of the dining table, where he was gorging himself from the platter of fresh, hot muffins and the stoneware jug of marmalade. "And it's a fine thing to see. Not that you can see the process — the wheels turning, so to speak — it's the results! Professor Moriarty is in his room, thinking; and the world had better watch its step!"

  Barnett poured some fresh cream into his coffee and stirred it with one of the delicate lace-pattern Queen Anne spoons from what Mrs. H insisted upon referring to as "the old service."

  "What do you suppose he spends his time thinking about while he's pacing back and forth and puffing Turkish smoke?" he asked.

  "Once it was about gravity," Mrs. H said. "About how it keeps all the stars and planets circling in their proper places. He was watching this asteroid through his telescope, what he calls a 'bit of rock flinging itself around the sun,' and it was just the slightest bit late in getting to where it was supposed to be. Well, the professor went up to his room and stayed there for weeks, pacing up and down and thinking about it. Other scientists might have just decided that their observations had been faulty, but not the professor! He wrote a paper on it when he came down that tells how all the parts of the universe relate to each other. Just from watching this tiny ball of rock out in space."

  "The Dynamics of an Asteroid," Barnett said. "I've seen it."

  "Another time he designed a safety gas mantle that would shut off the gas supply if the flame blew out. And then once he composed an epic poem in classical Greek in honor of a German archaeologist named Schliemann."

  "Was it any good?" Barnett asked.

  Mrs. H smiled. She carefully chewed and swallowed a bite of buttered muffin before replying, "It was Greek to me." Tolliver chortled. Barnett frowned.

  "It's when 'e 'as a real problem that the professor, 'e goes off like this," Tolliver offered. "Why, I remember one time when 'e figured out 'ow to make a whole building disappear without a trace."

  "Why would he want to do that?" Barnett asked.

  "It were a bank," Tolliver explained.

  "Ah!" Barnett said. "I wonder what sort of problem it is this time — a heavenly equation or an earthly conundrum."

  "I think it's something what might be considered in the line of business," the Mummer offered. "That Indian gent, says 'is name is Singh, has been to see the professor two afternoons this week. He's the only bloke what the professor will see."

  "Oh, yes," Barnett said. "The author of that strange note. What sort of fellow is he? Do you think he has a commission for Professor Moriarty?"

  Mrs. H rose from her seat, sniffed, murmured, "I must get about my work now," and left the room.

  "She doesn't like to hear about that sort of thing," Tolliver commented, pointing a silver spoon at Mrs. H's retreating back. "She likes to suppose as 'ow we is all living off wealth what we 'as inherited from deceased uncles. The fact that we occasionally break the law in pursuit of our 'ard-earned nickers is a consideration upon which Mrs. H don't like to dwell. A right proper lady, she is."

  "There are those of us who don't like to be constantly reminded of our iniquities, Mummer," Barnett said. "No matter how righteous we may feel about our particular morality, and no matter how strong a logical case we can build up for our actions, if that morality or those actions differ too strongly from those in which we were reared to believe, the struggle to convince ourselves fully will never be completely won."

  Tolliver looked up at Barnett with his head cocked to one side and his mouth opened, a pose that he firmly believed connoted awe. To Barnett it looked more as though the little man had just swallowed something that had unexpectedly turned out to be alive. "You talk pretty sometimes," the Mummer said. "Like the professor."

  "Your speech has a certain fascination also, Mummer," Barnett said. "You have the strangest mixture of dialects and street cant that I've ever heard."

  "That's 'cause of where I were brought up," the Mummer said. "Which were everywhere. My folks was traveling people, they was. Longest we ever stayed in one place, that I can remember, were about three months. And that were when my dad broke 'is arm. We missed the whole steeplechase circuit in the north of England that season."

  "Your father wasn't a jockey, was he?" Barnett asked.

  "Naow, course not. 'E worked the crowds, same as my mum. Real elegant-looking 'e were, too, when 'e were working. 'E were the best dip I ever saw. Didn't work with nobody, neither. Cleaned out the mark all by 'imself 'Lightfingered Harry Tolliver,' they called 'im."

  "I see," Barnett said. "Then you were just carrying on the family tradition when you became a pickpocket."

  "My dad taught me everything I know. 'E were better than what I ever been. 'Course 'e 'ad a natural advantage over me, being somewhat taller in stature."

  "I should think being short would be more desirable. You can sort of melt into the crowd and disappear while the hue and cry is being raised."

  "It don't work that way," Tolliver said. "Consider the respective sizes of the fox and the fox hunter."

  "At first glance," Barnett said doubtfully, "that appears to make sense."

  "Course it were great while I looked like a little innocent," Tolliver said. "Being pushed about in my pram, dipping into hip pockets as we passed the toffs. I mean, even if anyone had caught a glimpse o' the action, who would have believed it? I can hear it now: Lord Cecil turns to his neighbor and 'e says, "I say, Colonel, did you see that?'

  " 'What?' asked the colonel.

  " 'Sir Henry just 'ad 'is pocket picked!'
r />   " 'By Jove!' says the colonel. 'What a rum show! And where's the blighter what did it?'

  " 'There's the blighter, there,' says Lord Cecil, pointing into the pram.

  " 'What, the little bloke with the sunbonnet what can't be more than three years old?' asks the colonel. And pretty soon, you see, the subject is changed by mutual agreement."

  "You must have been a charming baby," Barnett said.

  "I was," Tolliver agreed. "For years and years."

  -

  Barnett finished his coffee and then went upstairs to see Professor Moriarty before leaving the house. He was meeting Miss Cecily Perrine for luncheon at Hempelmayer's. He had a question to ask her that could make this one of the most important occasions of his life, but there were some details to be taken care of first.

  Moriarty was up and dressed for the day, to Barnett's surprise. His tweed suit suggested a venture into the outside world, and probably in a direction away from the city. Moriarty described clothing as "mere costume," but nonetheless he was usually correctly attired. "One should always be in the right disguise," he had said. And since gentlemen did not wear tweeds to town, the professor was probably headed toward the country.

  "I was just coming down," he told Barnett. "There is a lot of work to be done in a short time. I have spent many years assembling, from among London's criminal classes, a talented and able crew of assistants. What Sherlock Holmes calls my 'henchmen.' These are men and women who, had they been better born or been given any sort of chance in life, would be serving England proudly now as statesmen, soldiers, or artisans. But they have had no such chance, so instead they serve me. And here is the job that is going to require all the talents, all the skills, all the brains that I have so painstakingly assembled."

  "I gather there's a job on," Barnett said.

  "A job!" Moriarty rubbed his hands together and looked satisfied. "My dear Barnett, we are going to commit the crime of the century, you and I."

  "I see, Professor," Barnett said. "Just the two of us?"

  "I fancy we will need a little assistance," Moriarty said. "Twenty-five or thirty people should suffice. And the artifices of all my skilled artisans. I have a task for Benlevi that should appeal to him; and old Roos the chemist, and Gilchester, the Mummers' gaff. And I need to find someone who makes uniforms."

  "It sounds extensive," Barnett said.

  Moriarty gathered together some drawings on sheets of foolscap that were loose on his bed and put them, together with some drafting and surveying instruments, in a small portfolio. "I venture to say that no other organization but mine could attempt this," he said. "And certainly no other brain than mine could have conceived the plan necessary to penetrate the interwoven nest of formidable defenses guarding our prize."

  "Which is?"

  Moriarty picked up the Morning Herald and tossed it to Barnett. "Examine page one," he said.

  "I thought you never read the newspapers," Barnett said.

  "Only in the way of business," Moriarty told him. "Never for pleasure."

  Barnett unfolded the Herald and looked over the stories on the front page. " 'Police Baffled at Latest Slasher Outrage,' " he read. "No doubt," Moriarty commented.

  Barnett looked at him, and then back at the paper. "That's not it, then." He studied the headlines. " 'French Official Detained by Germans in Alsace — Boulanger Protests.' "

  Moriarty strapped the portfolio closed without looking up.

  " 'Home Rule Bill Will Face Parliament Again.' "

  Moriarty chuckled.

  " 'Lord East Arrives on Drakonia.' "

  "Ah!" Moriarty said. "You might further peruse that article. It has certain points of interest."

  Barnett read: " 'Lord East, Viceroy of India until relieved February last by Sir Harry Wittington, arrived in Liverpool yesterday afternoon aboard the Anglo-Indian Line steam packet Drakonia. His lordship will proceed directly to London to make arrangements for the reception and transportation of the justly famous Lord East collection of Indian artifacts.

  " 'The collection, a vast assemblage of archaeological material, artwork, and precious metals and gems from all over the Indian subcontinent, has been placed by Lord East on indefinite loan to the Crown for display at selected locations throughout London on the occasion of her majesty's impending Golden Jubilee.

  " 'The Lord East Collection is due to arrive at Plymouth aboard Her Majesty's Battleship Hornblower for transport by rail to the five museums in London which have been designated custodians for the duration of the Golden Jubilee, after which a permanent exhibition site will be picked and proper housing for the collection constructed.

  " 'The special train which is planned for carrying Lord East's priceless treasure is to consist of twenty cars — ten goods wagons for the collection, and ten special troop cars for the military escort. Unusual precautions are being taken to safeguard the treasure, which our correspondent is given to believe has been threatened by an Indian secret society dedicated to the overthrow of the British raj.

  " 'Lord East has held the title of Viceroy for the past six years, and is generally considered to have been most effective in spreading British rule throughout the subcontinent and bringing the civilizing influence of British law and custom to every corner of this vast land.' "

  "He has also," Moriarty said, interrupting Barnett's reading, "succeeded in looting a five-thousand-year-old civilization of such items as were gaudy or valuable enough to catch his fancy, and in the process has damaged, defaced, or utterly destroyed everything he touched that he didn't covet or understand. The man is a vandal."

  Barnett put the paper aside. "I have an intimation of what the problem is that you have been pondering for the past few days," he said. "Considering this article, paired with the fact that a gentleman of Indian background has been visiting you of late."

  "Ah, Barnett, there is something of the investigator in you after all. Which is to the good, as that is what I've been principally employing you for during these past two years." Moriarty left the room and preceded Barnett down to his study. "I assume you wish to speak to me," he said, settling into the leather chair behind his massive desk.

  "A few words, Professor," Barnett said. "I have to leave the house shortly, but I thought I'd better apprise you of a decision I've made."

  Moriarty silently studied Barnett for a few seconds. "You have my approval and my blessings, for what they're worth," he said. "The state of matrimony is not for me. By its nature it cannot be an equal relationship, and I would take neither part of an unequal relationship. But I think you, if I may use a metaphor, are the sort of ship that needs a rudder."

  Barnett's face turned bright pink. "Come now, Professor," he said, staring down at Moriarty, "how can you possibly know what I intend to ask you before I have done so?"

  "An elementary problem, my dear Barnett. Our agreement terminates in a little over a month, I believe?"

  "That is so."

  "Yes. And it has been preying on your mind. You have made several oblique references to the fact over the past weeks. Usually during dinner. So, after two years of harmonious association, you wish to go your own way."

  "How do you know I don't wish to extend the contract for another year or two?" Barnett asked.

  "It seems clear that in that case it wouldn't occupy your thoughts. You know that I find our association satisfactory, so you can't be concerned as to whether I am preparing to throw you out. It must be that you are preparing to sever the connection. But by the same token, if you had already definitely decided to leave, you would certainly have informed me shortly after making the decision. You would, as you might say, get it off your chest."

  "Probably," Barnett admitted.

  "So, when my observations and deductions had taken me that far, I was faced with the following question: here is my trusted as-sociate planning to leave my service. But his plans aren't definite, or he would certainly have informed me. Therefore, his leavetaking is predicated upon some future event that might not
happen as anticipated. At first, I will admit, I contemplated the possibility that you had received an offer from some other organization; something perhaps entirely inside the law, something offering more remuneration or more interesting and varied assignments."

  "Professor—"

  Moriarty held up his hand. "But upon reflection," he said, "I realized that that could not be. You are not unhappy here. You are one of those who finds a necessary vitality in the practice of our endeavors. Quick thinking, fast response, the ever-present scent of danger; these things serve as anodyne and stimulant to you."

  "I admit to feeling more alert, even more vital, when I'm risking my life and liberty in your employ," Barnett said. "But I am not altogether sure that it is the most sensible way to achieve that result."

  "So far my logic took me," Moriarty said. "Some further reflection made it evident that you were preparing to propose marriage to Miss Cecily Perrine. If she accepts, you will wish to leave my employ, it being unchivalrous to ask her to wed someone who might conceivably be convicted of a felony."

  "That is so," Barnett said.

  "Therefore I offered you my approval and blessings."

  "It is pointless to try to keep a secret from you, Professor," Barnett said. "I am meeting Miss Perrine for luncheon, and I expect to broach the subject to her at that time."

  "I doubt whether you will surprise the young lady, either," Moriarty commented. "In my experience, although the man does the proposing, he is often the last to know."

  "I'm afraid that I shall have to give up my services to you, except for those which come through the American News Service," Barnett said. "This Indian venture will probably be the last effort in which I am directly involved."

  "Are you sure you desire to take part in this one?" Moriarty asked. "After all, with only a month left, and a marriage impending—"

  "The lady hasn't accepted me yet," Barnett said. "I certainly hope she will, but if not I will surely need something to keep my mind off her refusal. And if she does accept, well, I'm sure the marriage will be several months off. And, after reading the newspaper description—" He paused. "Well, let me put it this way. If you are planning to remove a treasure shipment from either the Hornblower or a troop train, that's something I wouldn't miss for the world!"