Anthony Horowitz - Moriarty

‘Wait a minute!’ I exclaimed. I held up a hand. ‘Stop right there! Have you been spying on me, Inspector Jones? Have you spoken to my office? I find it pretty bad that the British police should have gone behind my back and involved themselves in my affairs!’

‘You do not need to concern yourself,’ Jones returned, again with that same strange smile. ‘Everything I have told you I have deduced from my observation of you here, in this room. And I could add more, if you wish.’

‘Why not?’

‘You live in an old-fashioned apartment block, several floors up. You do not think your company looks after you as well as it might, particularly as you are one of its most successful investigators. You are not married. I am sorry to see that the sea crossing was a particularly disagreeable one—and not just because of the very bad weather on the second or perhaps the third day. You are thinking that your entire trip has been a wild goose chase. I hope, for your sake, it is not.’

He fell silent and I stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. ‘You are right in almost everything you say,’ I rasped. ‘But how the devil you managed it is quite beyond me. Will you explain yourself?’

‘It was all very straightforward,’ he replied. ‘I might almost say elementary.’ He chose the last word carefully, as if it had some special significance.

‘That’s easy enough for you to say.’ I glanced at the door that now separated us from the two Swiss policemen. Sergeant Gessner seemed to be on the telephone—I could hear his voice jabbering away on the other side. The empty counter stretched out, a barrier between them and us. ‘Please, Inspector Jones. Will you tell me how you reached these conclusions?’

‘Very well, although I should warn you that it will all seem painfully obvious once it is explained.’ He shifted his weight on the walking stick, trying to find a comfortable position in which to stand. ‘That you are American is evident from the way you speak and from your clothes. Your waistcoat in particular, striped and with four pockets, would have been extremely difficult to find in London. I take note of your vocabulary. Just now, you said, “I guess” where we would have said “I think”. My knowledge of accents is limited, but yours would suggest the East Coast.’

‘My home is in Boston,’ I said. ‘I now live and work in New York. Please, continue!’

‘As I came in, you were examining your watch and although it was partly covered by your fingers, I saw quite clearly the symbol engraved on the casing—an eye with, beneath it, the words “We Never Sleep”. This is, of course, the legend of the Pinkerton Detective Agency whose principal offices are, as I recall, in New York. That you embarked from there is evident from the New York Port Authority stamp on your luggage.’ He glanced a second time at my steamer trunk, which I had stood beneath the photograph of a scowling man, presumably some local ne’er-do-well. ‘As for your disdain of the Swiss police—why should you choose to look at your own watch when there is a perfectly good working clock on the wall just to one side? They have, I can see, been less than helpful.’

‘You are absolutely right, sir. But how do you know of my connection with Professor Moriarty?’

‘What other possible reason could there be for you to have come here to Meiringen? I would wager that, but for the events of the last week, you would never have heard of this unremarkable village.’

‘My business could have been with Sherlock Holmes.’

‘In which case you would have surely stayed in London and begun your enquiries in Baker Street. There is nothing here but the dead body of a man, and whoever he is, he is certainly not Holmes. No. From New York, your most likely destination would have been Southampton—which is confirmed by the folded copy of the Hampshire Echo protruding from your right-hand jacket pocket. The date on the masthead, I see, is Thursday the seventh of May which would suggest that you purchased it at the dock and were then compelled to travel at once to the Continent. And what was the news that could have brought you here? There was only one story of interest that day. It had to be Moriarty.’ He smiled. ‘I am surprised I did not see you. As you say, we must surely have travelled on the same train.’

‘You mentioned a communication.’

‘There is nothing Moriarty can say to you. He is dead. It is unlikely you could identify him—very few people have ever seen him face to face. Therefore it must be something he has that interests you, something you hope to find about his person—a letter or a parcel sent from America. I presume that this is what you were discussing with the police when I arrived.’

‘I was asking them to let me examine the body.’

‘There is a little more to add.’

‘The crossing?’

‘You were forced to share a cabin—’

‘How do you know?’ I exclaimed.

‘Your fingernails and teeth suggest to me that you do not smoke but I can still detect a strong smell of tobacco about you. This tells me that although your employers must surely have chosen the best man for whatever job this is—they have, after all, sent you halfway across the world—they were not prepared to pay for a single cabin. It cannot have been very pleasant for you, sharing with a smoker.’

‘It was not.’

‘And the weather made it worse.’ He lifted a hand, waving away my question before I could ask it. ‘That is a nasty cut on the side of your neck. It cannot have been easy shaving at sea, particularly during a storm.’

I laughed out loud. ‘Inspector Jones,’ I said, ‘I am a simple man. I have achieved what I have achieved by diligence and hard work. I have never come across techniques such as these before and had no idea that British police inspectors were trained to use them.’

‘Not all of us were,’ Jones replied, quietly. ‘But you might say that I received special instruction… and I learned from the best.’

‘There is just one last thing. You still haven’t explained to me how you know of my status and my living arrangements in New York.’

‘You wear no wedding ring, which might not be conclusive in itself but—you will forgive me—no wife would permit her husband to leave with such stains on his cuffs nor with shoes that cry out to be reheeled. As to the apartment, that is again simply a question of observation and deduction. I notice that the fabric of your jacket—the right sleeve—has been quite worn down. How could this have occurred unless you had become accustomed to climbing several flights of stairs, rubbing your arm against a metal banister? I would imagine your office has an elevator. An old-fashioned apartment block might not.’

He stopped, and I could see that all the talking had tired him for he rested more heavily on his stick. For my part, I was gazing with an admiration that I made no attempt to disguise and might have stood there for a while longer had the door not suddenly opened and the two police officers reappeared. They spoke rapidly in German and although the meaning was unclear, their tone was friendly enough, and I gathered that they were now ready to escort the Scotland Yard man to wherever the body lay. This proved to be the case. Jones straightened up and began to move towards the door.

‘Can I have a word?’ I said. ‘I am sure you have your instructions, Inspector Jones, but it may just turn out that I’m able to help you. Everything you said to me—that extraordinary demonstration just now—was absolutely right. I’ve followed Moriarty here because of a communication that was made three weeks ago and which may have serious consequences for you and for me. It is true that I cannot identify him, but it is of the utmost importance that I’m at least allowed to see the body.’