Anthony Horowitz - Moriarty

Charles Isham still looked doubtful but Henry White glanced at Lincoln who came to a decision. ‘Where is Mr De Vriess?’ he asked.

‘He is waiting in the next room.’

‘Then perhaps you might ask him to step in.’

It was progress of sorts. Isham, the secretary, stood up and went to a pair of adjoining doors and opened them—and a second later, after a brief, murmured exchange, Clarence Devereux stepped into the room. I cannot quite express the strange thrill that I felt to see him, to know that he could do me no further harm. Certainly, he was meek enough, affecting that same self-deprecation that he had displayed when we first set eyes on him, barely noticing him, that night at the legation. He pretended to be startled to be in such grand company, blinking nervously in front of the envoy and his advisors. Nor did he seem to recognise Jones and myself, looking at us as if we were complete strangers. He was wearing the same coloured silk waistcoat that he had worn the night before but in every other respect he could have been a quite different man.

‘Minister?’ he queried, as Isham closed the door.

‘Please take a seat, Mr De Vriess.’

Another chair was made available and Devereux sat down, keeping a distance between himself and us. ‘May I ask why I have been summoned here, sir?’ He looked at us a second time. ‘I know these gentlemen! They were here on the night of the Anglo-American trade celebration. One of the guests recognised them as imposters and I was forced to eject them. Why are they here?’

‘They have made some very serious allegations about you,’ White explained.

‘Allegations? About me?’

‘May I ask where you were last night, Mr De Vriess?’

‘I was here, Mr White. Where else could I have been? You know that I am unable to venture out unless it is a matter of urgency and even then I can only do so with the most careful preparation.’

‘They claim they met you at Smithfield market.’

‘I will not call it a lie, sir. I will not say that they are seeking revenge for what took place here a week ago. It would be quite wrong to make such assertions in front of His Excellency. I will say only that it is the most dreadful error. That this is a case of mistaken identity. They have confused me with someone else.’

‘You do not know the name Clarence Devereux?’

‘Clarence Devereux? Clarence Devereux?’ His eyes brightened. ‘CD! There you have it. We share the same initials! Is this the cause of the misunderstanding? But no, I have never heard the name.’

Lincoln turned to Jones, inviting him to speak.

‘You deny that you imprisoned us last night, that you and your men abused us and would have put us to death if we had not managed to get away? Did you not tell us of your childhood in Chicago, your hatred of meat, the fear that led to your agoraphobia?

‘I was born in Chicago. That is true. But the rest of it is fantasy. Minister, I assure you… !’

‘If you were not there, then undo your collar,’ I exclaimed. ‘Explain to us the marks around your neck. I placed them there with my own hands and I’m glad I did it. Will you tell us how you came by them?’

‘It is true that you attacked me,’ Devereux replied. ‘You seized me by the neck. But it was not in any meat market. It was here, in this legation. You came here under false pretences and became violent when it fell upon me to eject you.’

‘Perhaps that is the motive for all this,’ Isham remarked. He was so fervent in his defence of Devereux that I began to wonder if he had not been in some way bribed or coerced. ‘There is clearly enmity between these three gentlemen. I will not impugn their motives but it seems very likely to me that a mistake has been made. And I would point out, Minister, that Mr De Vriess has been a good and loyal servant of the American government both in Washington for the past six or seven years and here. Certainly, there can be no doubt about his affliction. Is it likely, given his illness, that he could be the mastermind of an international criminal network? Looking at him now, is that what you see?’

Lincoln sat in gloomy silence, then slowly shook his head. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘It grieves me to say that you have not made your case. I will not doubt your word, for you are both honourable men, I am sure. But Isham is right. Without physical evidence, it is impossible for me to proceed and although I can promise you we will investigate this matter further, it must be done within the grounds of this legation and in keeping with its rules.’

The meeting was over. But suddenly Jones got to his feet and I recognised at once the energy and the determination that I knew so well. ‘You want evidence?’ he asked. ‘Then perhaps I can give it to you.’ He took out of his pocket a piece of paper with a jagged edge and a few words written in block capitals. He laid it on the table beside Lincoln. I saw the words: WE HAVE YOUR DAUHTER. ‘This was the note that was sent to me to entice me into the cemetery known as Dead Man’s Walk,’ Jones explained. ‘It was the means by which Devereux was able to capture both Chase and myself.’

‘What of it?’ Isham asked.

‘It has been torn from a book and the moment I saw it I knew it had been taken from a library just such as this.’ Jones turned to the bookshelves. ‘The sun hits these windows at a strange angle,’ he continued. ‘As a result, it falls onto very few of your books but I remarked, the moment I came in here, that a few volumes at the very end have been allowed to fade. The top of this page, as you can see, has also been damaged.’ Without asking permission, he went over to the shelves and examined them. ‘These books have not been read for some time,’ he continued. ‘They are all perfectly aligned… all except one which has been recently removed and which has not been replaced in its exact position.’ He took out the offending volume and brought it over to Lincoln. ‘Let us see…’ He opened it.

The frontispiece had been torn out. The jagged edge was there for all to see and it was obvious—indeed, it was unarguable—that it matched the edge of the page on which the kidnapper had written his note.

The open book was greeted by a silence that was profound and it occurred to me then that great trials have turned on less. Though Lincoln and his advisors gave nothing away, they stared at it as if they read in it all the mysteries of life, and even Devereux visibly shrank into himself, recognising that the game might, after all, be lost.

‘There can be no doubt that this page was taken from this library,’ Lincoln said at last. ‘How do you explain this, Mr De Vriess?’

‘I cannot. It is a trick!’

‘It would seem to me that you might, after all, have a case to answer.’

‘Anyone could have removed that book. They could have done so themselves when they were here!’

‘They did not come to the library,’ Isham muttered. These were the first words he had spoken on our side.

Devereux was becoming desperate. ‘Minister, you yourself argued just moments ago that I am protected from the criminal process.’

‘So you are and so you must be. And yet I cannot stand by and do nothing. Two officers of the law have identified you. It cannot be denied that grave events have taken place. And now they have evidence…’

Another long silence was interrupted by the councillor of the legation. ‘It would not be without precedent for a member of the diplomatic corps to be questioned by the police,’ White said. Even I was surprised by the speed with which these gentlemen were shifting ground—but then, of course, they were politicians. ‘If there is a case to be made against you, it is only reasonable that you should, at the very least, co-operate, for how else will we clear your name?’