David Davies - The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - The Veiled Detective

“What to expect...?”

“I think you know what we mean.”

Jones felt the barrel of the cold revolver press hard against his forehead. His mouth was now so parched with fear that he could hardly croak a response.

“What do you want of me?”

“It concerns a lodger of yours. In Montague Street.”

“A lodger?”

“Yes, a certain Mr Sherlock Holmes.”

Six

FROM THE JOURNAL OF JOHN WALKER

“Iam easily bored, Doctor Walker. You see, I am very successful at what I do, and with success comes a certain security, which is tedious. I abhor the dull routine of existence. Sometimes I long for the excitement and frustration of failure, so that I can rise to the challenge of overcoming it. For a man of my intellectual capacity, I am in constant need of such challenges, something to stimulate me, to strive for. Give me danger, give me risks, give me a puzzle, and I am in my element.’

Professor Moriarty leaned back in his chair and stared into the fire. Although he was talking to me, his expression and demeanour indicated that he was in essence merely using my presence to express thoughts that had been bound up within him for some time. Much of what he was telling me was a kind of confession, and who better to confess to than a stranger whose very existence you hold in your power? Strangely, I began to feel sorry for this man, trapped, as he seemed to believe, atop his own unique, rarefied ivory tower.

“Please do not think me arrogant when I refer to my intellectual capacity. I speak merely the truth. As I mentioned earlier, I am a strong advocate of the truth in the appropriate circumstances. That I have a refined intelligence is not a brag or boast; it is fact. I am not one of those who rate modesty amongst the virtues.”

He paused again and then suddenly his eyes narrowed, focused, and lost their dreamlike quality. He took a cigarette-case from his pocket and offered it to me. I declined with a shake of the head.

“Pity. They are a special Ukrainian blend. An excellent smoke.” He lit the cigarette and took a deep breath, and then allowed the grey tendrils to drift slowly from his mouth.

“So, you see, Walker,” he said at length, “my life is a continual search for stimulation, that sense of danger, that unique entertainment. Something to keep me from going mad. After all, madness is akin to genius. That lack of fear for the consequences that allows one to dare — and then do. Certainly, that is part of my genius.”

Moriarty drew on the cigarette again and smiled a secret smile to himself. “Something to keep me from going mad,” he repeated softly. “And do you know, I think I have found that stimulation. You will not have heard of a young man called Sherlock Holmes?”

I shook my head again.

“No, of course not. Very few people have — yet. But they will, I am sure, with your help.”

“With my help?” I parroted the words back at him.

“The full story, please, Walker. Questions later. Sherlock Holmes is a private detective. He is also a brilliant fellow. He is the greatest mind fighting on behalf of law and order in London today. His intellectual capacity is as great as mine. We are twins, he and I, and we stand like two colossi facing each other across the great divide. He solves crimes, and I commit them. He is younger than I — by some five years — and so I have a march on him at present, but his greatness will come. This delights and also concerns me. His activities, so beautifully crafted and shrewdly conceived, are a delight to perceive, but at the same time he causes me problems. Already, he has ‘interfered’ in a number of my schemes, causing them to fail. The nature of this paradox fascinates me. I could easily dispose of this thorn in my flesh, of course. A word from me and he would soon be shuffling off this mortal coil. However, not only would that be too easy, but it would also remove the challenge and the problem. And they are so stimulating. A nice dilemma, eh, Walker? I have thought long and hard about this situation. I felt sure that I could come to some delicious compromise regarding myself and Mr Sherlock Holmes, who, by the way, I am sure, at present at least, has no notion of my existence or my role whatsoever.

“Well, I have decided to conduct an experiment that will give me both the pleasure of seeing Mr Holmes’ talents develop and his career progress, while at the same time reduce the real danger he poses to me and my organisation. I intend to place him under the microscope, to use a metaphor a writer like yourself will readily appreciate. And this is where you come in. In simple terms, you are to be my spy in his camp. You are to befriend him, share lodgings with him, become his associate, and then report on his dealings to me. You will, while delighting me with tales of his brilliant work, be able to alert me if he is sniffing too close to my territory.”

“You are mad!” I cried. “This is a preposterous scheme.”

Moriarty frowned, and when he responded to my outburst, his voice was full of anger. “I had hoped that, by now, whatever view you have of my moral nature, you would be aware of the thoroughness of my planning, the efficiency of my scheming and the reliability of my visions. Otherwise, sir, you would not be trapped here with me now. A man I have watched and waited for since learning of your disgrace in Afghanistan. A man I have lured into my web by means of my operatives. A man who is now completely at my mercy. Do you call that preposterous?”

As he spoke, he leaned forward, his face thrusting into mine, his roaring voice filling the room. Not for the first time in his company I was lost for words.

“My plan is audacious, it is dangerous, it is unique,” and now he lowered his voice to a harsh whisper, “but it is not preposterous. Even as we speak, action is being taken to bring about all I have conceived.”

“How on earth can this work? If the man is as brilliant as you say, he will discover the trick.”

“Ah, yes, that is part of the fun, the entertainment. There is always a danger. What is life without there being ‘always a danger’? But it will be your job to minimalise that danger. You will be his true friend in all things except your allegiance to me. When the crime has nothing to do with me, you will do all you can to help Holmes bring the perpetrator to justice. When the crime involves my organisation, you will inform me of Holmes’ progress and do all in your power to hinder him. Think of it, my dear Watson — oh, and Watson it will be, near enough to your own name, but not traceable to the scoundrel who got drunk on duty, eh? Reed’s idea. Think of it, Watson, as a wonderful charade.”

“And what if I refuse?”

“The Thames is very cold at this time of year.”

“I see,” I said softly, my eyes misting with fear and frustration. I wanted to rush at the man and knock his brains out, but I was fully aware how futile such a gesture would be.

“My dear Watson, you were not chosen at random. I know you are the man for the job. You have many sterling qualities that are unique. And, of course, you will be rewarded handsomely for your services. Never again will you have to count your small change to ensure that you can pay for a meal or a room for the night. For the first time in your life, you will be self-sufficient.”

“What is there stopping me from telling this Sherlock Holmes or the police about your plan?”

“I doubt if the police would believe you. They lack the mental capacity to conceive of a criminal organisation almost as big as they are. As for Holmes, well, as soon as he finds out, he will be joining you in the morgue. His life is now in your hands.”