Maxim Jakubowski - The Mammoth Book of the Adventures of Professor Moriarty

Moriarty waved towards the opposite chair, indicating the man might sit. He did so, blinking in the light cast by the angled lamp. He handed both stick and hat to Hawes, who left once more without needing to be bidden.

“Mr Leonard Eastman?” Moriarty repeated the name printed on the card.

The man inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Professor Moriarty. I am delighted to at last make your acquaintance.” There was the faintest trace of an accent.

It was the professor’s turn to nod. “I was unaware you had wished to make it, Mr Eastman. Your name is not familiar to me; are you associated with the field of astronomy?”

The man shook his head. “Not at all, Professor—”

“Banking, then?”

Again the visitor shook his head.

Moriarty fought to bury his faint smile: for all his irritation with the man’s facile deceits he was enjoying the game. “So. In what way might a simple professor of mathematics be of help to you, sir?”

The man hesitated, considering his next words. Moriarty leaned forward, careful not to enter the deflected pool of lamplight. “Whilst you debate what answer you will give, might I remark that I do not appreciate lies – or deceptions of any kind. Especially ones as transparent as this.” He raised the visitor’s card before tearing it in two, allowing the halves to fall on to his desktop. “Shall we begin again, Your Grace?”

The tall man flinched in his chair, face projecting his uncontrolled feelings. It was clear that, in his daily routine, he was unused to being challenged; his will questioned. Small wonder his attempts at deceit were so easily pierced. After a moment, he composed himself, straightening his still immaculate suit coat.

“You think you know me, then?”

“I flatter myself that I am one of the few men in Europe who might. You are The Most Noble Leofric, Duke of Granat- Östermann and Baron von Reichschliesser. You have many titles, but, alas, no land. What little money you do have is either wasted in self-indulgent attempts at political intrigue or lost at the gaming tables. You aspire to being a major piece on the chessboard of Germanic ambition, but are still nothing more than a pawn. You dream of an expanded German Empire – one to rival that of both Britain and Russia. One that may rule both across Europe, and abroad.” Moriarty settled back, enjoying the spectacle as the colourless face opposite him grew increasingly florid and sullen. “And more, despite your name, your rank, your infantile meddling, you remain a nobody in your homeland; less so abroad.”

Duke Leofric drew himself up. “Herr Doctor Professor, I did not come here for you to—”

Moriarty raised a hand. “Professor is sufficient. In England we do not aspire to more than one title at a time.”

The duke frowned and attempted to speak; Moriarty continued regardless, having no wish to endure whatever self-serving excuses the man might invoke.

“Your Grace, you came here under the most ludicrous of disguises – one a child might penetrate in moments. Little wonder your feeble attempts to influence Imperial German affairs remain frustrated: you have no imagination. No flair. To be frank, you have insulted me.”

“Herr Professor—”

“No, Your Grace – I will hear no more.” Moriarty dismissed the duke with an impatient flap of his hand. “I neither know nor care why you thought to seek me out. I permitted this charade merely so that I might express my opinion to your overindulged face. If the word ‘no’ had been applied more rigorously years ago, I fancy you would be a better man today. Good day.”

“Professor—!”

“Good day, sir!”

The study door swung open and Hawes stood framed between the door jambs, the duke’s hat and stick held ready for retrieval. Duke Leofric glanced first towards him then at Moriarty, who was fastidiously placing the torn halves of the visitor card into a waste bin.

“Professor, you accuse me of having no imagination. Of lacking flair. Perhaps this is true, but before you eject me may I just say one thing: the ensured death of Kaiser Wilhelm …”

Moriarty replaced the bin on the floor and dusted at his hands. He glanced once at Hawes and the man vanished from the study as silently as he had entered. The professor heard the faintest click as the door was prudently locked.

He gazed deep into Leofric’s eyes; the duke remained ignorant of the intense scrutiny. “Despite four assassination attempts, I think the emperor enjoys excellent health …”

“Indeed. Obstinately so. But I believe you to be in a position which may alter that.”

“I?”

“I am not the only man in this room who plays at charades.” The duke leaned forward, his face earnest. “We are neither of us who we claim to be. If I have insulted you, then I apologise unreservedly; please do not compound the error by seeking to offend my own intelligence – as wanting as you believe it to be.”

Moriarty settled against his chair. He templed his fingers and touched them against the smile he could no longer contain. “You prefer plain speaking, then? No more guises?”

“It will be refreshing.” The duke took a silver cigarette case from within his coat, offering one to Moriarty. The professor refused, but did not go so far as to forbid Leofric himself from smoking – much as he detested the stale smell of tobacco in his study. After lighting his cigarette, the duke appeared to relax: he settled into his chair, holding his smoke between thumb and forefinger. Its fragrance told Moriarty that the cigarette was of Balkan origin.

“The emperor is ninety years old,” the professor said. “It must surely be a matter of time before nature will take its course.”

“Wilhelm clings to life tenaciously. His son, Friedrich Wilhelm Nikolaus Karl, is seriously unwell and not expected to last out the year.”

“I believed the emperor well loved by the German people.”

The duke waved an impatient hand. “He is, but at heart he is still a Prussian. More, he has liberal tendencies, and poor advisers.”

“You speak of von Bismarck?”

“The chancellor has long demonstrated that he pursues pol icies of his own; it is no secret that he and the kaiser disagree on many subjects. But every time Wilhelm tries to rein him in, von Bismarck threatens to resign and His Imperial Majesty capitulates. They are like children arguing over a rattle!” Leofric took a long pull on his cigarette. “And there is his wife, of course …”

“Of course.” Moriarty thought carefully before again speaking. “If the Emperor were to outlive his son before dying – of whatever cause – the natural successor would be Friedrich Wilhelm Viktor Albrecht von Preussen. A man noted neither for a cool head, nor his tolerance for Chancellor von Bismarck’s policies – despite both men initially being close.” He rested his hands in his lap. “Such a man might not be content to allow Germany to rest on its laurels; or be persuaded to be less content.”

“You have it!” The duke sat forward again, his cigarette wielded as a fencing foil. “With the kaiser’s grandson at its head, the Fatherland will step free of von Bismarck’s overbearing shadow and pursue its manifest destiny.”

“Indeed? And why should I – a loyal servant of Her Majesty and the Empire – embrace such a scheme? I see little gain for Britain, and no small risk to it.”

The duke made an expansive gesture. “Is the prince not also the oldest grandson of your queen?”

“The bitterest rivals are most often to be found within the embrace of close family. Blood is no shield.”

“You are a cynic, Herr Professor …”

“I am a realist, Your Grace. But let us be clear.” He took a thin ledger from a desk drawer, dipped a pen into ink and began to write slowly and carefully upon a fresh page. “You are proposing that the kaiser should meet a premature end?”