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

The prospect of going through the disordered pile again did not attract him, but hard work often bore fruit … He would try tomorrow.

But tonight he’d try to make use of other sources as well.

“Professor Galbraith! You look a little tired today. I hope you slept well.”

“I slept quite soundly, thank you. It must still be the travel,” Moriarty answered smoothly. He poured himself a cup of what they dared to call tea here.

In truth, he’d slept barely two hours. His excursion into the Prague criminal underworld, however, brought forth at least some results. There was a recent shift of status quo, some other player had entered the game and seized it firmly. The new king remained unseen, pulling the strings through his minions. His actions had made quite a splash, as the previously rival worlds of German and Czech criminals merged in some areas. What he’d heard that night truly left him wondering. Czech and Germans working together for a common goal. Efficiently, even, from what he’d learned. So moving. Had Moriarty been more inclined to displays of emotion, he might have shed some tears. Maybe state officials should consider building criminal enterprises as a way to bring together the ever-quarreling nations.

As it happened, he was not inclined to displays of emotion. Therefore, he only frowned slightly and noted the fact for later use.

It surprised Moriarty that there hadn’t even been any rumors about the new king’s identity. Was it possible that this mysterious figure had been the one to lure him here? But then he’d need to have access to Bolzano’s documents and at least a partial understanding of them …

Anyone from Zimmermann’s university department or with access to it could have gotten to the manuscripts. And Moriarty had a suspicion that Zimmermann, being as lax as he was, may have taken the precious papers home as well. His servants could have seen them too.

But who would find the signs he had spotted as well, and recognize their meaning?

He returned to going through the manuscripts, remembering where the spotted indications had been and trying to make more sense of them. When Zimmermann asked him to lunch, he politely declined.

He was left alone in the office.

Going towards Zimmermann’s despicable desk, Moriarty produced a set of small lock picks from his pocket. Chaotic as he may have been, Zimmermann didn’t leave most correspondence lying around, but, Moriarty noticed, put it in a desk drawer.

Click . The drawer opened readily.

He flipped through the correspondence. After a few letters, he understood why the otherwise reckless Zimmermann had paid attention to locking the drawer. He and a certain Josephine would undoubtedly find it most humiliating if their exchanges were made public. That would also explain his distractedness at the opera.

But petty human concerns like this were of no interest to Moriarty. He focused on the academic correspondence, notes from colleagues – and there was no match for the writing from his note, even taking deliberate alterations into account.

He closed the drawer and looked at the desk again. Could something have been left here? Ah, that pile: a few newer notices from colleagues, a note from sister, letters from Brünn and Vienna …

He almost failed to notice the approaching quiet steps. A second before the door opened, he put the pile back as it was and made a leap into the other room.

Just in time.

Eva Zimmermann entered, bearing a small basket. She stopped when she saw him through the open door between the rooms. “Oh, I didn’t want to interrupt your work, Professor Galbraith. I thought you were lunching with my brother. I … I brought him a snack for the afternoon.”

“Waiting for the moment he wouldn’t be here.” He nodded calmly.

A panicky expression flickered through her face. “Well, I … I meant to …”

He got up and walked slowly to her. “Just tell me the truth.”

She gave him a hopeless glance. He noticed she was wearing perfume and her day dress and jewelry were unusually ostentatious.

“H-Herr Galbraith, I d-don’t …” she stuttered.

“You thought you would find me here alone, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she admitted, her gaze firmly fixed on her toes.

“Well, I find this kind of attention very flattering from a beautiful and respectable young lady like you, but think of what others would say if they heard. You are a remarkable woman, Fräulein Zimmermann. Don’t let pointless rumor ruin your life. You deserve better.”

Now she was blushing to the roots of her hair. “Thank you, Herr Galbraith,” she managed. “That – that’s very wise of you. If you’ll excuse me now.”

She almost ran through the door.

Moriarty allowed himself a little chuckle and went back to work.

In spite of skipping lunch, he felt more energized than before. Absorbed in his search, he didn’t notice Zimmermann returning from lunch.

“Did anything happen while I was away?”

“Nothing at all,” Moriarty murmured, not taking his eyes off the old texts. Thus he spent the next hour, and the next …

… the theorem in reference … praying my work brings peace and understanding but so uncertain about this … pure mathematics, yet what others may do … if one prays to God, true and pure, where the Lord can see him, then he may know …

He stopped and almost broke into laughter. “I’m famished,” he said to the surprised professor. “Are you going to dinner?”

“Ahem, I’m very sorry, I have other plans for the evening though I could—”

“Do not worry, Professor. I will see you tomorrow!”

Or not, if I’m right , he added to himself.

Moriarty’s steps resonated in the empty church. It was long closed by now; however, he had means to enter places. He walked to the first carved bench, then knelt down as if to pray.

Where the Lord can see him …

There was a large statue of the Christ gazing down at his lambs. Moriarty moved a little to the right – yes, here. The statue seemed to stare right at him at this spot.

He began to fumble around the bench, hoping it hadn’t been replaced in several decades.

At the beginning of the century, Bernard Bolzano worked as a preacher at the St Salvator’s Church by the Clementinum. He’d been there for nearly fifteen years and remained a very pious man throughout his whole life. Where else would he turn to when hiding a work he considered dangerous in the hands of someone not as devout as himself?

Moriarty’s fingers found a strange shape under one of the carved ornaments, something that didn’t quite belong. He palpated it, pulled and pushed and, after a couple of minutes, it finally gave in. A small leather sheath fell out into his awaiting palms.

Yes! He hid it here, this is it …

Once safely outside, he couldn’t resist opening the sheath and unwrapping the frail paper. There it was, before his own eyes: the lost theorem!

He had already packed, all that was left to do was to take his belongings and catch the late night train to Berlin, from where he would continue to England.

He took a little detour and then returned to his hotel. The door didn’t look as if it had been tampered with. It should be safe to retrieve his possessions. He unlocked the door, entered the dark room—

The door suddenly closed behind him and the light went on. “Stay where you are. Hands up and turn around slowly.”

He obeyed, and saw Eva Zimmermann, clad in a dark grey practical dress and aiming a Webley pocket revolver at him. “You don’t look surprised to see me.”

“That’s because I’m not.”

She smiled coldly. “What gave me away?”

“A simple mistake, truly. You left a note in your handwriting lying on your brother’s desk. It was most likely that someone close to your brother – or he himself – had sent me the note that had brought me here. Why would I fail to check on you, so deep in the circle of suspects? Just because you’re a woman? I never underestimate anyone based on superficial characteristics. But it surprises me you didn’t use someone else to write the letter.”