Anthony Horowitz - Moriarty

I knew that something terrible and unexpected had happened the moment I set eyes on Athelney Jones at Hexam’s Hotel the next day. His features, in which the long history of his illness was always written, were more drawn and haggard than ever and he was so pale that I felt obliged to lead him to a chair, for I was certain he was about to faint. I did not let him speak but ordered hot tea and lemon and sat with him until it arrived. My first thought was that his meeting with the Commissioner had already taken place and that he had lost his position with the Metropolitan Police, but knowing him as I now did and recalling our conversation in the rooms in Chiltern Street, I knew that such an event would hardly matter to him and that whatever had happened was much, much worse.

His first words proved me right. ‘They have taken Beatrice.’

‘What?’

‘My daughter—they are holding her ransom.’

‘How do you know? How can it be possible?’

‘My wife sent me a telegram. It was brought by a messenger for it will be weeks before our own telegraph room has been repaired. I received it in my office, this morning; an urgent summons telling me to come home at once. Of course I did as I was instructed. When I arrived, Elspeth was in such distress that she could barely make herself understood and I was obliged to give her a few drops of sal volatile to calm her down. Poor woman! What must have been going through her thoughts as she waited for me to return—alone and with no one to console her?

‘Beatrice disappeared this morning. She had gone out with her nanny, Miss Jackson, a good reliable woman who has been with us these past five years. It was their custom always to stroll together on Myatt’s Fields, quite close to the house. This morning, Miss Jackson’s attention was briefly diverted by an elderly woman, asking her for directions. I have interviewed her and I have no doubt that this old woman, whose face was hidden by a veil, was part of the conspiracy and served as a distraction. When Miss Jackson next turned round, Beatrice had gone.’

‘Could she not have simply strayed?’

‘It would not have been in her character, but even so the nanny tried to persuade herself of exactly that. It is human nature to cling onto one’s hopes, no matter how far-fetched they may be. She made a thorough search of the park and the surrounding area before she called for assistance. Nobody had seen our daughter. It was as if she had vanished from the face of the earth and, not wishing to delay any further, Miss Jackson hurried home in considerable distress. Elspeth was waiting for her. She did not need to be told what had happened for a note had already been slipped through the door. I have it here.’

Jones unfolded a sheet of paper and handed it to me. There were but a few words, written in block capitals, all the more menacing for their stark simplicity.

WE HAVE YOUR DAUHTER. REMAIN AT HOME. TELL NO ONE. WE WILL CONTACT YOU BEFORE DAY’S END.

‘This tells us almost nothing,’ I said.

‘It tells us a great deal,’ Jones replied, irritably. ‘It is from an educated man pretending to be an uneducated one. He is left-handed. He works in, or has access to, a library, though one that is seldom visited. He is single-minded and ruthless but at the same time he is acting under stress, which makes him impetuous. The letter was written in the heat of the moment. Almost certainly, I am describing Clarence Devereux for I believe him to be the author of this letter.’

‘How can you know so much?’

‘Is it not obvious? He pretends to misspell “daughter” but his spelling is correct in every other respect, even to the extent of including the apostrophe in “day’s”. Searching for a piece of paper, he has reached for a book on a shelf and torn out one of the flyleaves. You can see that two sides of the page are machine-cut while the outer edge is deckled. The book has not been read. Observe the dust and the discolouration—caused by sunlight—along the top. He used his left hand to tear it from the binding. His thumb, slanting outwards, has left a clear impression. It was an act of vandalism, the mark of a man in a hurry, and it would have been noticed if the book had been frequently used.’ Jones buried his head in his hands. ‘Why is it that my skills can tell me all this but could not forewarn me that my own child might be in danger?’

‘Do not distress yourself,’ I said. ‘Nobody could have foreseen this. In all my years as an agent I never encountered anything like it. For Devereux to have targeted you in this way… it’s an outrage! Have you informed your colleagues at Scotland Yard?’

‘I dare not.’

‘I think you should.’

‘No. I cannot put her at risk.’

I thought for a moment. ‘You should not be here. The note commands you to remain at home.’

‘Elspeth is there now. But I had to come. If they have set upon me in this manner, it is almost certain that they will try something similar with you. She agreed with me. We had to warn you.’

‘I have seen nobody.’

‘Have you been out of the hotel?’

‘Not yet. No. I spent the morning in my room, writing my report for Robert Pinkerton.’

‘Then I found you in time. You must return with me to Camberwell. Is it too much to ask of you? Whatever occurs, we must face it together.’

‘All that matters is the return of your daughter.’

‘Thank you.’

I reached out and briefly laid a hand on his arm. ‘They will not harm her, Jones. It is you and me that they want.’

‘But why?’

‘I cannot say, but we must prepare for the worst.’ I stood up. ‘I will return to my room and fetch my coat. I wish I had brought my gun with me from New York. Finish the tea and rest a little. You may have need of your strength.’

We travelled together on the train back to Camberwell, neither of us speaking as we made our way through the outer reaches of London. Jones sat with his eyes half-closed, deep in thought. For my part, I could not help but reflect on the much larger journey that we had undertaken together, the one that had started in Meiringen. Were we about to reach its end? Right now it might seem that Clarence Devereux had the upper hand but I consoled myself with the thought that he might finally have outreached himself and that, by striking at the detective’s family, he had made his first false move. It was the action of a desperate man and perhaps one that we might be able to turn against him.

The train seemed almost deliberately slow, but at last we reached our destination and hurried back to the house where I had been a guest, at dinner, only a week before. Elspeth Jones was waiting for us in the room where she and I had first met. She was standing with one hand resting on a chair. It was the same chair where I had found her sitting, reading to her daughter. She saw me and made no effort to conceal the anger in her eyes. Perhaps I deserved it. She had asked me for my protection and I had promised her that all would be well. How vain those words now seemed.

‘You have heard nothing?’

‘No. And there is nothing here?’

‘Not a word. Maria is upstairs. She is inconsolable although I have told her she cannot be blamed.’ Maria, I assumed, was Miss Jackson, the nanny. ‘Did you see Lestrade?’

‘No.’ Jones lowered his head. ‘God forgive me if I am making the wrong decision, but I cannot disobey their instructions.’

‘I will not allow you to face them alone.’

‘I am not alone. Mr Chase is with me.’

‘I do not trust Mr Chase.’

‘Elspeth!’ Jones was offended.

‘You are unkind, Mrs Jones,’ I began. ‘Throughout this business, I have done everything I can—’

‘You will forgive me if I speak openly.’ The woman turned to her husband. ‘In the circumstances, I cannot be expected to do otherwise. From the very start, when you left for Switzerland, I was afraid of something like this. I have had a sense of approaching evil, Athelney. No—do not shake your head at me like that. Do we not learn in the church that evil has a physical presence, that we may feel it like a cold winter or a coming storm? “Deliver us from evil!” We say it every night. And now it is here. Maybe you invited it. Maybe it was coming anyway. I do not care who I offend. I will not lose you to it.’