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

I found him standing, gazing at the wall, at his own portrait. He turned to me as I came into the room.

‘Mr Gifford – what is the matter?’

I explained that I’d just seen our main suspect in conversation with Dr Brennan, and that they’d left together. ‘Should we tell the police, Professor?’ I asked him.

He smiled. ‘I think we should get on with our work, Mr Gifford. The police have their methods, after all.’

That afternoon Angela finished her work early, so she came to find me at Moriarty’s rooms. I introduced them, and she greeted him with her shy charm. He shook her hand with formal politeness.

‘My friend here knows someone you know,’ I said.

‘Oh, hardly,’ she said. ‘My father knows him. We went to Baker Street, called at his rooms.’

The words had a peculiar effect. ‘Baker Street?’ Moriarty was staring at her intently. ‘Who? Who was it?’

‘My father’s friend was a doctor—’

‘But Holmes? Did you see Holmes?’

‘I think that was the man, yes.’

‘You met him? You met Sherlock Holmes? And what did he say?’

‘We hardly spoke, sir. It was only because my father was talking to Dr Watson, at the doorway there—’

‘But Holmes? Did he mention me? Moriarty?’ He waited breathlessly for her reply.

Angela answered timidly. ‘I had in passing told my father that Mr Gifford here was a member of this college. Dr Watson turned to his friend, and said, “Did you hear that, Holmes?” I think that’s what he said. Really, I wasn’t paying much attention, my father and Dr Watson were comparing notes on the Maida Vale Tennis club …’

‘Still there.’ Moriarty shook his head. ‘Still there. After all these years.’ He looked up again. ‘Reptilian, that’s how he describes me.’ His voice was harsh. ‘Did he say that? Mr Holmes?’

Angela appeared flustered. ‘Really, Professor, I had no reason to—’

‘Peering and blinking … Weaving my head from side to side, did he say that? Oh, and the rounded shoulders.’ He straightened himself. ‘What do you think?’

He was addressing me directly, standing stiff-necked and upright.

I didn’t know what to say. ‘Really, Professor, Miss Blunt hardly saw this man—’

‘I hold Dr Watson partly responsible. His account of things, he over-eggs it all in my view. A drama of equals, both of us brilliant, one good, one evil. Of course, real life is never like that. And, as for this tussle on the edge of the cliff that was supposed to carry me off … Watson should have known that I would never have engaged in hand-to-hand combat in that way. The truth is, we were just men. Flawed, as men are.’ The rage seemed to have left him, and he sank wearily into his chair. ‘Mr Holmes was very clever, of course, and captured something of the imagination of his time. But we’ve had a war since then. We’re tired. The jubilant escapades of Empire, it all seemed a game. But not now. We’ve seen a generation lost in pointless battle, the boundaries of Europe redrawn.’ He looked grey, and somehow flattened. His gaze went to Angela. ‘How is he, Mr Holmes? Does he seem tired too?’

‘I don’t really know.’ Angela glanced at me. ‘I hardly saw him. He was standing in the shadows, trying to light a pipe.’ She tugged at my sleeve.

‘We really must be going,’ I interjected. ‘Thank you for your help today. I’m returning you those Göttingen papers on the Kepler equation.’

‘Ah. Yes. Thank you.’ He didn’t look up, but gazed towards the window, a faraway look in his eyes.

‘Baker Street,’ he murmured to himself, as we left the room. ‘Baker Street,’ we heard him say.

The next morning was a Thursday, and I had hurried into the college in the hope of catching a few words with Professor Moriarty before I embarked on my teaching for the day. But there was no sign of him. I was standing outside his locked door, when a man approached along the corridor. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Not in yet?’

He was short and stocky, with a lined face, blue eyes and stilldark hair. ‘Come all this way to see him and he’s not even there.’ He flashed me a warm smile. ‘I’m Jack. I’m his brother.’

I took the proffered hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, sir,’ I said.

‘Well, when I say Jack – we have a joke we’re all called James. All three of us. So I had to choose another name.’

We stood in comfortable silence. The sunlight flickered along the wood panels of the corridor.

‘Not the sort to be late,’ Jack Moriarty said.

‘No,’ I agreed.

‘Can’t be late in my job.’ He smiled. ‘Them trains don’t wait for no one.’ He tapped his foot against the floor. ‘I’ll be back home tomorrow. Thank goodness.’

There was another silence.

‘I think these events have disturbed him rather,’ I said.

‘Oh, ah.’ He nodded. ‘I’d heard. He always spoke well of that porter. I think he got him that job in the first place. He has his networks. Anything you need, he’ll find it for you. A hunting rifle. A particularly fine tea. A rare medicinal remedy …’

Again, he retreated into silence. Around us, the sounds of the college – footsteps along corridors, a snatch of conversation, the wheeling of the kitchen trolleys from the refectory below.

Jack Moriarty spoke again. ‘Takes a lot to disturb my brother, mind you. The things that man has seen, and all you get is that blank smile.’ He was still tapping his foot, gazing down at the polished parquet. ‘I suppose I was the lucky one,’ he went on. ‘Being the youngest. After our mother died …’

This time the silence was awkward. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I said.

He spoke slowly. ‘Jim joined the Army as soon as he could. Oldest brother, see, I always thought it was like family for a boy who’d never had a family. But James here …’ He looked up at me, his blue eyes clouded. ‘How can a man love, who’s never known love? That’s what I wonder.’

He said nothing more. After a moment I spoke again. ‘You had no parents?’

He sighed. ‘I was only a baby when she died. I was given away. Kindly couple, childless, showered me with affection. But James here was left with our father. And, let’s just say, he didn’t manage things very well. One day, he upped and left. Never saw him again. James came home from school as usual, he must have been about six or seven, a shy, quiet boy … and the house was locked up. Empty. His home, taken from under him. I heard later he was found, hours later, just standing there in the street, freezing cold, staring at the darkened windows.’

We were silent, thinking our own thoughts. Then, the sound of steps striding along the corridor.

‘Heavens, is that the time?’ Moriarty’s voice rang out. ‘I became entangled in a Manichean puzzle,’ he said. ‘I had no idea how late it had got.’ He greeted us with his characteristic smile. ‘You heard about our troubles here?’ he asked his brother, as we followed him into his rooms.

‘I had heard, yes. That poor porter of yours …’

Moriarty gestured for us both to sit down. ‘They’re hunting for his killer, I gather. An Irishman. Always the Irish, eh, Jack?’ He threw his brother a cheery smile.

‘Don’t we count as Irish, then?’ Jack sat down stiffly next to Moriarty’s desk.

‘A long time ago, perhaps. A long time ago. Now, where do you need me to sign?’

Jack opened one of the files and pulled out a document, cream foolscap tied with tape. ‘I hope this settles it once and for all,’ he said to his brother.

‘Oh, I’m sure it will,’ Moriarty said. ‘I know you have our best interests at heart.’

‘Jim has written to me. He’s in Afghanistan, apparently.’

‘Good luck to him. Those Pathans are nearly as bad as the Fenians.’ Moriarty laughed, and I wondered at his restored good humour.