Anthony Horowitz - Moriarty

‘In just a few weeks you have reached the very heart of my organisation and you have left a trail of destruction in your wake. My friend Scotchy Lavelle was tortured and killed and, quite inexplicably, his entire household was murdered with him. Now, Scotchy was a very careful man. He had plenty of enemies in New York and he knew how to keep his head down. He had rented a quiet house in a quiet neighbourhood and it makes me wonder: how did you ever find him? Who told you where he lived? He was, I admit, known to Pinkerton’s and I have no doubt that you, Mr Chase, would have recognised him. But you had been in England less than forty-eight hours and yet you went directly to Highgate, and for the life of me, I cannot work out how you did it.’

I thought that Jones would explain that we had followed the messenger boy Perry from the Café Royal but he remained silent. Devereux, however, wanted a reply and it struck me that our situation, already bad, might become considerably worse if he didn’t get one.

‘It was Pilgrim,’ I said.

‘Pilgrim?’

‘He was an agent. He worked for me.’

‘Jonathan Pilgrim,’ Mortlake growled. ‘My brother’s secretary.’

Devereux looked puzzled. ‘He was a Pinkerton? We knew that he was an informer—we discovered he was telling tales and we made him pay for it. But I was of the understanding that he worked for Professor Moriarty.’

‘Then you were mistaken,’ I said. ‘He was working for me.’

‘He was English.’

‘He was American.’

‘And he gave you Scotchy’s address? It is possible he was working for you, I suppose, although it’s a shame we never thought to ask him ourselves. I did tell Leland that he had been in too much haste to be rid of him. Still, I wonder if you are trying to deceive me, Mr Chase, and would warn you most sincerely not to do so. It may be that you have underestimated me for you have seen me at my weakest. But if you lie to me, I will know and you will pay. You have nothing to add? Well, let us move on. Pilgrim told you the address. You came to Bladeston House. And that very same night Scotchy and his entire household were killed in their sleep. How did that happen? Why did it happen?’

‘That is not for us to answer.’

‘We shall see. Scotchy said nothing to you. Of that I am sure. He would have said nothing to the police and I am equally certain that he would have left no incriminating papers, no letters, no clues. He was, as I say, a careful man. And yet, the very next day you turned up at my club.’

‘Jonathan Pilgrim had written to me from that address. And the police knew that he had a room there.’

‘How could they have known? How did they even discover Pilgrim’s identity? Do you take us for amateurs, Mr Chase? Do you really think we would have abandoned the body without emptying its pockets first? There was no way the police could have connected Pilgrim with us but they did—and that in itself tells me that something is wrong.’

‘Perhaps you should invite Inspector Lestrade to this little gathering of yours. I’m sure he’ll be glad to give his side of the tale.’

‘We do not need Lestrade. We have you.’ Devereux thought for a moment, then continued. ‘And then, just twenty-four hours later, we find you in Chancery Lane at the scene of a robbery that has been weeks in preparation and which I expect to return many thousands of pounds in profit—not just the property of London’s wealthier classes, but their secrets too. Once again, I am trying to place myself in your shoes. How did you know? Who told you? Was it John Clay? I do not think so. He wouldn’t have had the nerve. Was it Scotchy? Unthinkable! How did you find your way there?’

‘Your friend Lavelle had left a note in his diary.’ This time it was Jones who had replied, speaking through broken teeth and lips that were stained with blood. He still had not touched his wine.

‘No! I will not accept that, Inspector Jones. Scotchy would never have been so stupid.’

‘And yet I assure you it is the case.’

‘Will you still assure me in half an hour’s time? We shall see. You were responsible for the failure of that particular enterprise and at the time I was prepared to accept it. It was, after all, just one of many. But what I cannot accept, what must be answered tonight, is your intrusion into the legation. How did you come to be there? What led you to me? For the sake of my future safety in this country, I must know. Do you hear what I am telling you, Inspector Jones? This is why I have taken such pains to bring you here. You came face to face with me in my own home. Taking advantage of my affliction, you humiliated me. I am not saying that I intend to punish you for this, but I must take steps to ensure that it never happens again.’

‘You have too great a belief in your own abilities,’ Jones said. ‘Finding you was simple. The trail from Meiringen to Highgate to Mayfair and to the legation was obvious. Anyone could have followed it.’

‘And if you think we’re going to tell you our methods, you can go to the devil!’ I added. ‘Why should we talk to you, Devereux? You plan to kill us anyway. Why not just get it over with and be done with it?’

There was a lengthy silence. Throughout all this, Edgar Mortlake had been staring at us with a silent, smouldering hatred, while the other men stood around, barely interested in what was being discussed.

‘All right. So be it.’ Devereux had been twisting the middle finger of his glove. Now his hands fell to his sides. He seemed almost saddened by what he had to say.

‘Do you know where you are? You are underneath Smithfield, one of the greatest meat markets in the world. This city is a ravenous beast that feeds on more flesh than you can begin to imagine. Every day, it arrives from all over the world—oxen, pigs, lambs, rabbits, cocks, hens, pigeons, turkeys, geese. They travel thousands of miles from Spain and Holland and much further afield, from America, Australia and New Zealand. We are on the very edge of the market here. We cannot be heard and we will not be disturbed. But not so far from where you are sitting, the butchers in their half-sleeves and aprons have arrived. Their carts and wicker baskets are waiting to be filled. Snow Hill is around the next corner. Yes. The market has its own underground station and soon the first train will draw in, direct from Deptford docks. It will be unloaded here… five hundred tons a day. All that life reduced to tongues and tails, kidneys, hearts, hindquarters, flanks and endless casks of tripe.

‘Why am I telling you this? I have a personal interest which I will share with you, before I leave you to your fate. My parents came originally from Europe but, as a child, I was brought up in the Packinghouse District of Chicago and remember it well. My house was on Madison Street, close to the Bull’s Head Market and stockyards. I see it all even now… the steam hoists and the refrigerator cars, the great herds being driven in, their eyes wide with fear. How could I forget? The meat market pervaded my life. The smoke and the smells were everywhere. In the summer heat, the flies came in their tens of thousands and the local river ran red with blood—the butchers were not too delicate when it came to the disposal of offal. Enough meat to feed an army! I say it quite literally for much of the produce was sent to feed the Union troops who were still fighting the Civil War.

‘Will it surprise you to learn that I grew up with the strongest disinclination ever to eat meat myself? From the moment I was able to make my own decisions, I became what has come to be called a vegetarian—a word that originated here in England, you might like to know. The lifelong condition from which I have suffered I also blame on my childhood. I used to have nightmares about the animals trapped in their pens, awaiting the horrors of the slaughterhouse. I saw their eyes staring at me through the bars. And somehow their fear transmitted itself to me. In my young mind, it occurred to me that the animals were safe only while they remained locked up, that once they were removed from their cages they would be butchered. And so I in turn became afraid of open spaces, the outside world. As a child, I drew the covers over my head before I could sleep. In a way, those covers have remained in place ever since.