Michael Kurland: Professor Moriarty Omnibus

"You've got me," Barnett said. "Someone else watching the house?"

"Perhaps," Moriarty said. "But he must be myopic, indeed, to need to watch it from so intimate a distance. How many more of our people have we here, Mummer?"

"Fourteen, at present," Tolliver said. "Scattered up and down the street in places of concealment."

"Good, good," Moriarty said. "That should suffice. Now let us settle ourselves down and try to remain comparatively dry. The, ah, membership should start arriving any time now. Mummer, do you think you can insinuate yourself close enough to that door to enable you to get a good view? I want to know what the entrance procedure is."

"One of the few advantages of being small," Tolliver said. "I can hide in half the space it would take a person of standard stature. I'll give 'er a try."

"Good lad, Mummer," Moriarty said, patting him on the back. "Remember, discretion is the watchword. It is more important for you not to be seen than for you to see every detail."

"Don't worry, Professor," the Mummer said cheerfully. "I may be seen, but I won't be caught. And they won't nary suspect nothing, either. Here, watch this!" Tolliver shrugged his coat off and twisted his jacket around. Then, taking the dripping-wet bowler hat off his head, he removed a cloth cap from its inner recesses. He put the cap on and pulled it tightly down around his ears. Slouching and throwing his shoulders forward, he tilted his head a bit to the side, and allowed an innocent expression to wipe the usual sly grin off his face.

Barnett blinked. Before his eyes a miraculous transformation had taken place: the dapper little man had become a street urchin. Fifteen years had been wiped off his appearance, and no one seeing him now would believe he could possibly have anything more on his mind than retrieving a stray ball.

The Mummer wiped his nose with his sleeve and stared up at Moriarty. "Wat'cher think, gov?" he demanded in the nasal whine of the slum child. "Do yer 'pose I'll do?"

"Mummer, you're an artist!" Moriarty exclaimed.

"It's nuffink, Professor," the Mummer said. "Now, if you'll 'scuse me, I'll go practice me art." And with a skip and a slosh, he ran off down the street.

-

The man who was the wind was in the cellar of the devil's house. He had stealthily unlocked a small window over a long-disused storage bin when he had delivered the casks of wine. And now he was among the casks. He could hear footsteps, faintly, overhead, as the devil's imps arrived upstairs one by one. It was good. He took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. There was plenty of time. Smiling a horrible smile, he reached for the nearest cask.

-

The Sons of Azazel began arriving at their clubhouse shortly after Moriarty and Barnett settled down to watch. One after another, at short intervals, the clatter of horses' hooves would sound over the rain, and a carriage would pull up somewhere along that block of Upper Pondbury Crescent. Two broughams, three hansoms, a quartet of four-wheelers, and an elegant barouche with a black canvas panel covering what must have been a crest on the ebony door — all arrived within the first half hour. From each vehicle one heavily cloaked man emerged and proceeded toward the front door of the Hellfire house. When one of these gentlemen arrived close on the heels of another, he would wait on the pavement, stamping his feet impatiently, while the first was received at the door.

Tolliver dashed back across the street as the latest hansom was disappearing around the corner. "I got a fix on 'er now, Professor," he said. "They goes up to the door and gives a pull on the bellpull. Then this little hole what is beside the door — over on the left — is opened from the inside. The gent what's outside sticks something in the hole for the gent what's inside to take a dekky at. I couldn't get a good look at the item, but I think it's one of them medals like you got. Then the gent what's inside hands the gent what's outside a mask, which he promptly sticks over his face. Then the door finally opens, and the gent what's outside goes inside. You got me, Professor?"

"I got you, Mummer." Moriarty turned to Barnett. "That explains one thing," he said. "I have been wondering why there have been no masks found in conjunction with any of the bodies, since they maintain the habit of going masked. A nice little solution to the problem. It means, also, that we won't have any trouble in entering the house."

"How are we going to do this, Professor?" Barnett asked. "I'm ready for whatever has to be done."

"It looks as though you and I will be the only ones entering directly," Moriarty said. "We each have a medallion, and we are, each, disguised as a gentleman. That should be enough to get us inside."

"Okay," Barnett said, raising the collar on his coat and adjusting his hat. "Let's go!"

"One at a time, remember," Moriarty cautioned him. "I shall go first, and await you in the inner corridor. If, for some reason, that should prove too conspicuous, I shall be in the first accessible room. Try not to speak."

"Excuse me, Professor, before you go," Tolliver said, "but when will you want me and the other lads to join in the festivities?"

"Keep close watch outside," Moriarty told him. "Here, take this; it's a police whistle. If I need you, I will signal by throwing something through one of the front windows. Then you blow the whistle to assemble our men and head right in through the front door. Otherwise, just be prepared to give support if we have to exit quickly."

"Right enough, Professor," Tolliver said. "I'll pass the word along to the lads to keep out of sight, but be ready to act if they hears the whistle."

"Who are these 'lads'?" Barnett asked.

"Colonel Moran," Tolliver told him, "and some of his pals from the Amateur Mendicant Society. The colonel 'as a look on him like he wants to hit something: and I'm sure squatting under a porch in the rain ain't doing his disposition no good, neither."

"Tell him how things stand," Moriarty said. "Tell him the answer to his problem is inside, and I shall bring it out. I'm depending on you, Mummer. Come along, Barnett, be right behind me now."

Barnett stood on the pavement in front of the house, fingering the small medallion and watching as Moriarty was admitted through the front door. Then it was his turn. His heart pounding loudly, he advanced to the door and pulled the wooden bell knob.

-

His preparations were just about complete now. One final check— couldn't have anything going wrong — and he would find his way upstairs and join the festivities. Festivities? He smiled. Eat, drink, and be merry, he thought, for it is almost tomorrow.

-

Moriarty waited for Barnett in a small room to the left of the entranceway, just out of earshot of the greeter at the door. Barnett looked around. "How prosaic," he whispered to the professor. "A cloakroom."

"The prosaic is ever intermingled with the bizarre and the frightful," Moriarty commented. "The Executioner of Nuremberg wears a dress suit and white gloves, and uses a double-bladed ax. The Mongol hordes invented the game of polo, but they used a human head in place of a ball. The castle of Vlad the Impaler was noted for its fine view of the Carpathian Mountains. I'll wager this place also has a washroom, and quite probably a kitchen."

Barnett shook his head slightly. "Has anything ever surprised you, Professor?" he asked.

"Everything constantly surprises me," Moriarty replied. "I think this is the direction we want to go."

They went down the hallway, peering into each room as they passed it. Barnett tried to look nonchalant under his mask, but he kept having the feeling that every pair of eyes that turned his way would immediately see right through his disguise, and that any second one of the well-dressed masked men strutting about the hall was going to point a dramatic finger in the direction of his nose and exclaim, "That man in the wrinkled suit is obviously not one of us! Apprehend him!"