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

That afternoon I went to my paid job. Loading boxes was dull work, but freed my mind for my calculations. An hour or so passed pleasantly enough, until I was amazed to see one of the shop-floor lads appearing, breathless, in my packing station. ‘Your college has sent for you, Owen – they say can you come quickly, a terrible thing has happened.’

I hurried through Bloomsbury, barely aware of the abating drizzle, the thin sunlight breaking through the clouds. At the college lodge, there was a crush of people, and I could see the uniforms of police officers amongst them.

‘He’s dead,’ someone said.

‘Who—’ I tried to ask.

‘Seamus.’ Roland was standing at my side. ‘He’s been killed. Felled by a punch to the throat. They found him in the alley behind the old staircase.’

After that, we all had to give statements. We were corralled into the porter’s lodge by the sergeant, and one by one dictated what we knew to a young police officer. Indeed, we knew very little, apart from our witnessing the strange fight of the day before. Roland and I looked up as Professor Moriarty emerged. His expression was fixed, his eyes dark pools against the pallor of his face. He gave a brief nod in greeting, then headed back to his study.

At this point Eveline appeared, ready to give her statement. She seemed hesitant and nervous. I thought of the conversation I’d overheard, and wondered if she would tell the police about it.

Eventually, I escaped and went to meet Angela, luckily only a few minutes late, and my excuse was so dramatic and interesting that she forgave me instantly. We passed a pleasant evening, with a bowl of soup for supper and a walk in the warm twilight. She told me that she’d met her father for tea that day, as he had business in town. ‘We met someone who knew your professor,’ she said. ‘A friend of my father’s, a retired doctor. They were in the same tennis club once and they’ve kept in touch.’ But I was only half listening, distracted by the charm of the City at dusk, and the disturbing events of the day.

The next day a strange calm had descended upon the college. The police were a quiet presence in the common room. ‘There was a brawl,’ the young sergeant said, when Roland and I had gathered for a morning cup of tea. ‘It concerns a man named Edmund Sweeney, an Irishman, who was apparently known to the deceased.’

We agreed we had seen the fight, but we knew nothing of this Mr Sweeney. I assumed that Eveline must have told them.

‘Fenians.’ Dr McCrae spoke up. ‘London is awash with them.’

‘The Rebellion,’ someone said. ‘Thank God for our Army.’

‘And it’s not over,’ Dr McCrae said. ‘I reckon there’ll be war in Ireland by the end of the year.’

‘Fellow feeling, perhaps, Dr McCrae?’ It was Moriarty who spoke. He had appeared in the doorway, and now helped himself to a cup of tea from the urn.

‘Not at all, Professor. Not at all. No love lost between the Scots and the Irish.’

‘At least these Fenians have had the good sense to have a mathematician at their helm.’ Moriarty stirred sugar into his tea.

‘You mean Eamon de Valera.’ Dr McCrae raised a bushy eyebrow.

‘Indeed. Rockwell College Tipperary. Isn’t that so, Dr Brennan?’ Moriarty turned to Eveline.

She flashed him a look. Then she shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t know, Professor.’

‘The fallen angel,’ Moriarty said, amused. ‘One always needs one’s Lucifer.’ He turned on his heel and left, his cup and saucer balanced on one hand.

I spent an hour or two in my room, working on Cartesian coordinate systems for describing three-dimensional space. ‘Show your workings,’ Moriarty would always say, and I was trying to make sure that I’d written everything down, that it all made sense. But the figures swam before my eyes, distracted as I was by these terrible events in the college, and in the end I gave up and went for a walk.

I passed the porter’s lodge, now occupied by a new chap, a war veteran with blinking blue eyes and a shock of white hair. He sat uneasily in Seamus’s place, nodding silent greetings to those who came and went. As I started down the lane that led out to the back of the college, I heard raised voices.

‘You must get away.’ It was a woman’s tone.

‘I came here for you. I won’t leave without you,’ a rough, male voice replied and, as I rounded the corner, I could glimpse Dr Brennan and the man from the brawl, half hidden by the kitchen dustbins.

‘You’re risking your life,’ she said.

‘I’d risk anything for you, Bren. You know that.’

‘I thought you were dead. That night by the barricades, when they dragged you away … and now all this time later you appear in my life …’ She took a step towards him, and he enclosed her in his arms.

After a moment, she said, ‘But, our porter—’

‘Seamus O’Connor.’

‘I’d heard of him,’ she said. ‘He went over to the others—’

‘So he did. And, when he was interned, he held me responsible. Swore vengeance ever since.’

‘So, when you came in here—’

‘He set about me. Took me by surprise. Luckily I know how to defend myself.’

‘Oh, Edmund.’ She put her arms around him. ‘But, you’re not safe.’ Her eyes searched his face. ‘They’ll arrest you for his murder. You must go.’

‘But I didn’t do it, Bren. I swear to you. You know, on Monday, after picking that fight, he came to find me. Invited me for a drink. Took me down to the river for a pint of cockles and a glass of stout. The Old Red Lion, where your Starry Plough boys always used to drink. I thought it odd, but I didn’t want trouble.’

They stood a while, her head on his shoulder. After a moment, he smiled at her. ‘So, is this your life, then? Sitting up there doing your sums?’

‘It’s what I’ve always wanted,’ she said.

‘You were always one to get what you wanted,’ he said. ‘Tougher in battle than any man.’

‘Don’t be hard on me, Edmund,’ she said. ‘We’ve all suffered. We’ve all seen comrades shot dead before our eyes. You can’t blame me for wanting peace.’

‘Then come with me, Bren,’ he said. ‘Come back to the farm. I’ve been running too long.’

She shook her head, staring at the ground.

‘You should have been a wife, a mother—’

‘Not now.’ She faced him, her fingers soft against his collar. ‘If not with you, then with no one.’

He took a step back from her, stumbled a little. His hand went to his eyes.

‘Edmund? Are you all right?’

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘You’re ailing – you look dreadful.’

‘I’m fine.’

Another embrace, then she said, ‘I had no idea. I had no idea that our college porter was the self-same O’Connor who swore vengeance on you.’

A brief laugh. ‘We Irish. We get everywhere.’

‘Edmund – you must go. They’ll arrest you.’

He shook his head. ‘Whoever killed Seamus O’Connor, it was sure enough not me. Even though the world is a safer place without him.’

‘No one will believe you, Edmund.’

‘People saw us drinking together—’

‘From what I’ve heard of that man, he’d pour you a drink with one hand and poison it with the other.’

He gave a weary smile, took her in his arms.

‘It can’t be, Edmund.’ She broke away from him. ‘We both know that.’

He took her hand. ‘One more day. One more day together. And then I’ll leave you to your numbers.’

He put his arm around her, and they walked away, out of the college towards the square, where the white blossom of the trees dazzled in the sunlight.

I stood, wondering about what I’d seen, what I’d heard. I walked back slowly, into the college, hearing the bell strike the hour, aware that I was due at Moriarty’s rooms.