Michael Kurland - Professor Moriarty Omnibus

"It has all the markings of a Moriarty crime," Holmes said, ignoring Barnett. "I can sense your hand in this undertaking just as an art connoisseur can recognize a work of Goya or of Vernet, whether or not the canvas is signed. And then when I learned that you were actually present at the loading of the goods wagons, how could I doubt further? Moriarty was present; a fortune was stolen: Quid hoc sibi vult?"

"I was there," Moriarty said. "I make no apologies for my presence. It was mere vulgar curiosity. And as a matter of fact, it was not gratified. We did not get to see the treasure, as I'm sure you know."

"That's true," Barnett commented. "I mentioned it at the time.

Loudly. How were we to know it was even in those boxes? Why wouldn't Lord East open them? What was he hiding? It is my duty as a journalist to ask these questions."

Holmes turned and favored Barnett with a scowl, then he returned his gaze to Moriarty. "I have indications of the method already," he said. "I believe the floor of the goods wagon has been tampered with. I have discovered that the train stopped twice on the way to London — both times briefly, both times accidentally. It is, perhaps, a flaw in my nature that I distrust such accidents."

"So?" Moriarty demanded. "Would you like to drag me off to prison now, or wait until you get some sort of proof that I was actually involved?"

"Don't ask me what I'd like to do, Professor," Holmes said, his long fingers tapping restlessly on the arm of his chair. "You know very well what I'd like to do."

"Pshaw!" Moriarty said. "Let us turn from the fanciful to the pertinent, Mr. Holmes." He reached down and, opening the bottom drawer of his desk, pulled out a thick handful of file folders. "I would like to discuss with you the seven murders which have taken place since the twenty-second of February."

Holmes stood up and pointed at the folders. "Those," he said, with a slight quaver in his voice, "are the official files!"

"Not quite," Moriarty said. "They are merely accurate transcripts of the official files. Certified duplicates of all the material contained in the files."

"Where did you obtain them?" Holmes demanded.

"From Giles Lestrade," Moriarty said. "There's no secret about it. I am, after all, working on the case."

"You're what?"

"I have offered my services to Scotland Yard, and have been accepted. Without a fee, of course. I have a private client, but there is no conflict of interest since my client's only concern is to have the murderer apprehended."

Holmes stared at Moriarty with fascination. "I don't believe it," he murmured.

"Why not?" Moriarty asked. "I am, after all, a consultant."

"Let us not discuss what you are, for the moment," Holmes said. "What I'm trying to figure out is what you'll be getting out of this."

"Paid," Moriarty said. "I will be collecting a fee from my private client."

"There is that, of course," Holmes said. "Frankly, Professor, I had just about concluded that you were not involved in the killings when I heard about the robbery. Then I was sure. Since you are so clearly involved in the robbery, you wouldn't really have had time to take part in the slaughter of the upper class."

Moriarty tapped the pile of folders in front of him. "I've been reading these reports, Holmes," he said. "And I would like to see how your conclusions compare with mine."

Holmes leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together. He stared thoughtfully at Moriarty over his cupped hands for a minute. "Go ahead," he said.

"We'll start with basics," Moriarty said. "One murderer."

"Agreed."

"Male."

"Agreed."

"Early forties."

"Most likely."

"Average to slightly above in height."

"That's all in my report!" Holmes said. "All you're doing is reading my own report back to me."

"What report?" Moriarty asked. "There is no such report in these files."

"Ah!" Holmes said. "I gave that report directly to Lord Arundale. I suppose he never bothered returning it to the Scotland Yard files."

"I have noticed this regrettable tendency myself," Moriarty said. "It would seem that the aristocracy has little regard for record keeping. Except tables of genealogy, of course. Tell me, what other observations about the murderer have you detailed on this absent report?"

Barnett, watching this exchange with interest, could see how speaking civilly to Moriarty, how volunteering information to this friend and mentor that he had turned into an enemy, caused the muscles in Holmes's jaw to tighten, forming his lips into an involuntary grimace. But Holmes, with an effort of will, conquered his feelings. "I believe he is a foreigner," the detective said. "Probably Eastern European."

"A logical interpretation," Moriarty agreed. "But if so, he almost certainly speaks English like a native."

"I truly dislike interrupting, and I wouldn't doubt either of you for the world, but from where are you two getting these notions?" Barnett asked. "I've been following these killings, as you know, and you lost me a while back, right after you decided it was a man. For me, even that would still be conjecture."

"Oh come now, Mr. Barnett," Holmes said, swiveling around to look at him. "These crimes all take place late at night, for one thing. A woman skulking around at such an hour would certainly be noted."

"A woman in man's clothing?" Barnett suggested, just to keep up his side of the argument.

"Then there is the matter of simple physical strength," Moriarty said, tapping his fingers on the desk. "Each of the victims would seem to have been easily overpowered by his assailant."

"Drugs," Barnett suggested.

"There is no sign that any of them ate or drank anything prior to their demise," Holmes said. "With several of them, it is certain that they didn't."

"All right," Barnett said, giving up on that point, "but what about the rest of it?"

"We presume a single murderer because the killings are idiosyncratic, each like the others down to fine detail," Moriarty said. "More than one person would surely have more than one opinion as to how to properly knife a man, at least in some small detail. And then, you note how easily our killer assumes a cloak of invisibility? Hard as it is for one man to vanish as easily as our killer has, it is at least twice as hard for two."

"The age is more of a probability," Holmes said. "Not an old man, because of the required physical strength in the murders and physical dexterity in the disappearances — however they are contrived. And yet not a young man because of the care taken in the crime, and the economy of savagery in what are clearly murders of passion."

"Passion?"

"Probably revenge," Moriarty said. "Which is why we put it to a foreigner."

"Englishmen, I take it, are incapable of acts of revenge?" Barnett inquired.

"Not at all," Moriarty said. "But they would usually use their fists, or some handy weapon, and do it immediately and in public. Englishmen do not believe, as do the Italians, that revenge is a dish best eaten cold."

"And your hot-blooded Latin races would probably not commit such a surgical murder as each of these has been," Holmes said.

"This, of course, is not conclusive, it merely indicates a direction for investigation."

"I'm not convinced," Barnett said.

"Luckily, that is not essential," Moriarty said.

"What about Miss Perrine's kidnapping?" Barnett asked. "How do you fit that in?"

Holmes pursed his lips. "That is a problem," he said. "It certainly doesn't coincide with the murderer's pattern, and yet it would be stretching the bounds of credulity to suggest that it could be unrelated." He chuckled. "Lestrade thinks it was the murderer returning to the scene of his crime. It makes one believe in competitive examinations for the rank of detective inspector."