Anthony Horowitz - Moriarty

‘Even outside the legation, you will still enjoy its full protection,’ Isham added. ‘We can extend to you the right of innocent passage— ius transitus innoxii . It will allow our friends in the British police the right to interview you whilst still placing you outside their jurisdiction.’

‘And then?’

‘You will be returned here. If you have been unable to explain yourself satisfactorily, it will be for the minister to decide what will be done next.’

‘But I cannot leave! You know I cannot venture outside.’

‘I have a closed wagon waiting for you,’ Jones said. ‘A Black Maria might strike fear into the heart of ordinary criminals but for you it will be a place of refuge. It has no windows and a door that will remain securely fastened—I can assure you of that. It will transport you directly to Scotland Yard.’

‘No! I will not go!’ Devereux turned to Lincoln and for the first time I saw real fear in his eyes. ‘This is a trick, sir. These men do not intend to interview me. They mean to kill me. The two of them are not what they seem.’ The words tripped out, faster and faster. ‘First there was Lavelle. They saw him and the very next day he was murdered in his own home, along with his entire household. Then Leland Mortlake, a respected businessman! Your Excellency will remember meeting him. He was no sooner arrested than he was poisoned. And now they have come for me. If you force me to leave with them, I will never reach Scotland Yard—or if I do I will die there. They will kill me before I step into this Black Maria of theirs! I have nothing to answer for. I am an innocent man. I am not well. You know that. I will answer any questions you put to me and allow you a complete examination of my life but I swear to you, you are sending me to my death. Do not make me go!’

He sounded so pathetic and so frightened that I would have been inclined to believe him myself had I not known that it was all an act. I wondered if Lincoln might not take pity on him but the envoy cast his eyes down and said nothing.

‘We mean him no harm,’ Jones said. ‘You have my word on it. We will speak with him. There are many, many questions that remain unanswered. Once we have satisfied ourselves on these—and have a full confession—we will return him to you according to diplomatic law. Lord Salisbury himself has agreed. It is indifferent to us whether this man faces justice in Britain or in the United States. Our only concern is that he should not escape the consequences of what he has done.’

‘Then it is agreed,’ Lincoln said. He got to his feet, suddenly tired. ‘Henry—I want you to send an envoy to Scotland Yard. He is to be present throughout the cross-examination—which will not begin until he arrives. I wish to see Mr De Vriess back at the legation before nightfall.’

‘It may take more than one day to arrive at the truth.’

‘I am aware of that, Inspector Jones. In that event, he will be returned to you tomorrow. But he is not to spend even one night behind bars.’

‘Very well, sir…’

Without another word, and without even glancing at Devereux, Lincoln left the room.

‘I must not go! I will not leave!’ Devereux grabbed hold of the arms of the chair like a child, tears welling in his eyes, and the next few minutes were as strange and as undignified as any I can remember. We had to call more officials into the room and prise him away by force. While White and Isham watched in dismay, he was dragged downstairs, a whimpering wretch who began to screech the moment he saw the open door. Only the night before, this same man had stood, surrounded by his cronies, sentencing us to a painful death. It was almost impossible to compare that man with the creature he had become.

A cover was found and thrown over his head and we were able to escort him out to the gate where the Black Maria was waiting. White had come with us. ‘You are not to begin your questioning until my representative arrives.’

‘I understand.’

‘And you will accord Mr De Vriess the respect due to the third secretary of this legation.’

‘You have my word on it.’

‘I will see you again this evening. Is it too much to hope that this business will be concluded by then?’

‘We will do what we can.’

These were the arrangements that Jones had made for the transfer of Clarence Devereux from the legation. Five police constables had come from Scotland Yard, all of them hand-picked by Jones himself. Nobody else was to be allowed to come close. There was to be no chance of a second poison dart being fired from somewhere in the crowd. Nor was the mysterious sniper who had come to our rescue at Smithfield market going to be presented with a target. Devereux himself was blind and unable to resist and we made sure that he was surrounded, protected by a human shield until he reached the Black Maria, which had been parked directly beside the gate. The vehicle—in fact it was dark blue—was a solid box on four wheels and it had been thoroughly searched before it set out: once Devereux was inside, Jones was fairly certain that he would be safe. The doors were already open and, with utmost care, we bundled him in. The interior was dark, with two benches facing each other, one on either side. To any ordinary criminal, it might have seemed a dreadful mode of transport but the irony was that, given his condition, Devereux would find it almost homely. We closed and locked the doors. One of the constables climbed onto the footplate at the back and would remain standing there for the entire journey. So far, everything had gone according to plan.

We prepared to leave. Two more police officers took their places next to each other, sitting behind the horses at the front of the Black Maria. Meanwhile, Jones and I climbed into a curricle that had been parked behind, Jones taking hold of the reins. The other two constables would walk ahead in the road ensuring that the way was clear. Our progress would be slow but the distance was not great. More policemen, the same men who had been watching the legation, would be waiting for us at every corner. It struck me that we resembled nothing so much as a funeral procession. There were no mourners standing in respectful silence, but we set off with almost as much solemnity.

The legation disappeared behind us. Henry White was standing on the pavement, watching us go, his countenance grave. Then he turned and went back the way he had come. ‘We’ve done it!’ I said. I could not disguise my sense of relief. ‘The bloodiest criminal who ever came to this country is in our custody and it is all thanks to you and your genius with that book! Finally, it is over.’

‘I am not so sure.’

‘My dear Athelney—can you not rest for one moment? I tell you, we have succeeded. You have succeeded! See—we are already well on our way.’

‘And yet, I wonder—’

‘What? You have your doubts even now?’

‘They are more than doubts. It does not work. None of it works. Unless…’

He stopped. Ahead of us, the police constable was pulling at the reins. A boy pushing a barrow laden with vegetables had turned across the street, blocking our path because one of the wheels seemed to have got stuck in a rut. Another policeman walked ahead to help clear the path.

The boy looked up. It was Perry, dressed now in a ragged tunic and belt. A moment before, his hands had been empty but suddenly he lifted them and the surgeon’s knife with which he had once threatened me was already there, glinting in the sun. Without a word he brought it swinging round. The second policeman fell in a welter of blood. At the same moment, there was a shot—it sounded like a piece of paper being torn—and the officer who had been holding the reins of the Black Maria was hurled sideways, crashing down into the road. A second shot and his companion followed. One of the horses reared up, knocking into the other. A woman emerging from a shop began to scream and scream. A carriage coming the other way veered onto the pavement, almost hitting her, and crashed into a fence.