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

When it was done, he started to work with the help of the driver, while the professor held the flashlight. It was going well until the artist dropped his end of the forged canvas. It hit the floor with a loud crash and the three men froze, listening for running footsteps. But they heard nothing so they continued until the exchange had been made and it was impossible to tell in the flashlight’s beam that the picture that now hung there in pride of place wasn’t the original. After the painting had been carried down the stairs into the waiting van, the professor entrusted his protégé with the task of ensuring all trace of their presence had gone and the doors were locked behind them.

As they travelled back in silence, the young man felt an unaccustomed glow of strength within him. He had ended the life of another human being. He was no longer a nonentity, a failed artist. He was the professor’s protégé and heir to the kingdoms of the earth. He had become as a god.

He was too excited to talk during the journey – until the van stopped and he saw that he was outside his brother’s flat.

‘It is best if you stay here tonight,’ the professor said. ‘To avoid suspicion.’

‘I did well, yes?’

‘You made a mistake. You let the painting drop. It could have been damaged and we might have been heard. It could have ruined the entire operation.’

‘But we succeeded.’

The professor said nothing.

‘When will I be paid?’

There was a long silence. ‘We will talk of that tomorrow. You must leave us and say nothing of this.’

The protégé didn’t argue. He climbed down meekly, wondering whether his brother and sister-in-law would notice a change in him. But when he let himself in, he found they were asleep. Perhaps it was for the best.

The next morning, he waited on the art gallery steps as usual to be picked up. But the professor’s carriage didn’t appear. After what had happened the previous night he felt a flash of anger. He was the protégé, the heir. He had killed a man to aid the professor’s project and it was wrong that he should be treated in such a manner. He waited in vain for another half-hour before taking the omnibus out to the suburbs. He now knew where the professor lived. And he was going to collect his dues.

After an omnibus journey and a lengthy walk, the protégé arrived at the lodge and, for the first time that day, he felt nervous. When he passed the clearing between the bushes at the side of the drive, he couldn’t resist investigating, and he found that the oblong of disturbed earth he’d thought he’d seen hadn’t been a product of his imagination. He wondered whether it might be the last resting place of the previous artist. Had that man too regarded himself as the professor’s protégé? And had he failed in some way that merited the punishment of death? He tried to banish these thoughts as he continued towards the house.

When he arrived at the portico there was no sign of life and all he could hear was birdsong. He took a deep breath and tugged the bell pull beside the front door. It was a full minute before the door opened to reveal a plump woman in black. By her appearance and manner he guessed she was a housekeeper but he’d never seen her before.

‘I look for Herr Professor,’ he said.

The woman shook her head. ‘Professor Moriarty has gone. He’s packed up and left.’ Realising he was a foreigner, she spoke slowly and clearly. ‘The van came for all his paintings this morning. He’s paid his rent for another month, but he said he has urgent business in America. He’s sailing at noon.’

‘With his paintings?’

She looked at him as if he was a particularly stupid child and he longed to take her by the throat and strangle the life out of her.

‘Of course, dear. That’s what he does for a living. He’s an art dealer.’

The news hit him like a physical blow. He had been tricked. He would receive no payment for what he had done unless he could find the professor before noon. That sense of power he’d experienced was slowly draining away. But he was determined that it would soon return. He had killed. He was not a man to cross.

He retraced his steps and ran all the way to the nearest tram stop. If he could get to the docks, he would tackle Moriarty and make him pay him what he owed. He was hurt by the thought that the professor hadn’t planned to take him to America as his protégé. But he would make the man change his mind or he would have his revenge. The young lion would challenge the ageing master of the pride.

The artist spotted the professor walking on the quayside and called out. Moriarty swung round. He was dressed in his usual immaculate black with his tall silk hat and ebony cane. He looked like a large and predatory spider.

He stood his ground as the younger man approached, his face an expressionless mask.

The artist stopped a few feet away. ‘You said you’d pay me.’ The words sounded more desperate and pleading than he’d intended.

‘We cannot discuss the matter here,’ the professor hissed, grasping the young man’s elbow and leading him to a quiet corner of the dock, well away from the bustle of passengers and goods being loaded on to the huge ship.

‘Where’s the painting? Is it on the ship?’

‘It is in a place of safety with the other works I have acquired over the years.’

‘Where?’

Moriarty smiled and said nothing.

‘Tell me.’

‘Why on earth should I do that, little man? It is none of your concern. Just be thankful I saw something in you that made me spare your life. Your predecessor wasn’t so fortunate.’

‘Answer my question. Where are the paintings?’

Moriarty tilted his head to one side, an amused smile on his lips. ‘They might be in England. Or I might have sent them to France. Or maybe Belgium. But one thing is sure, a nonentity like you could never amass such a collection. Now leave me. I have important business to attend to.’

The young man saw the contempt on the professor’s face. The contempt and distaste one might reserve for a particularly repellent insect. He felt fury rising inside him and his self-control began to slip away. All those hopes, all that power that had been dangled before him was vanishing now like mist on the river. Without thinking, he reached out his arm, gave the older man a mighty shove and watched as he staggered on the dockside cobbles before losing his balance and tumbling with a high-pitched scream into the grey water.

For a few seconds, he stood there frozen with horror. Then he suddenly became aware of shouts and running feet and he knew he had to escape before he was seen. He yielded to the temptation to take a last look at the old man struggling in the water, surfacing to take a desperate breath then sinking beneath the surface.

Once the old man was dead, the artist thought as he hurried away, someone would be able to take his place.

He arrived at his brother’s flat at one o’clock after running all the way from the dock.

‘Where’s Alois?’ He bent double, gasping for breath and only just managed to get the question out.

His sister-in-law looked at him suspiciously. ‘At work. Why? What’s happened?’

‘I’m leaving.’

‘I wish you’d learn to speak English properly. You’ve been here since November. It’s sheer laziness, that’s what it is.’

The young man regarded the woman with hatred. Maybe he should kill her and experience that thrill of god-like power again. But he knew that would be foolish. Once her body was discovered and they found that he’d fled, it would trigger a manhunt. And his plans didn’t include submitting to the hangman’s noose.

He put his face close to hers. ‘I am going to Germany. Munchen.’

‘The sooner the better,’ she spat. ‘I’m fed up with you. I just hope you work harder in Germany than you have done here. I’ve never known such a useless layabout.’