Moriarty nodded and turned to his other visitor. “Impressions?”
Scoular pursed his lips. “There is steel and fire in his nature, I am sure. At present he is demoralised, but, given time, the phoenix will rise.”
“With our help, eh, Professor?” Reed raised his glass in a mock toast.
The Professor did not seem amused. “You are rarely wrong in finding the organisation effective recruits, Reed, but this time I must be absolutely certain about this man. I have a particular project in mind for him — if he is the right man.”
“There is no doubt that all the biographical details are true. I read all about his case in the local press in Candahar and thought then that he might make a suitable candidate for recruitment. When I learned that he would be sailing on the same boat back here, I made it my business to find out all about him.”
Now Moriarty did smile. “Your thoroughness is commendable — but facts do not always reveal the man.”
“Ah,” said Reed, warming with the compliment, “but I watched him closely on the voyage and I spent several hours in conversation with him. He has all the qualities we look for in a recruit: nobility, courage, but a life damaged and a nature simmering with bitterness. He is ready, I am sure.”
“I believe Reed is right,” agreed Scoular softly. “In his present state of mind, Walker is rather like a dog that has been rescued from being destroyed. He will give obedience and loyalty to anyone who shows him any form of kindness and generosity.”
Moriarty sipped his brandy, trapping the mouthful until it began to burn his tongue before releasing it. “I am encouraged by your words, gentlemen. If what you say is accurate, it is so very opportune that this remarkable individual has been washed up on our beach at this particular time. He seems to have all the qualities needed for the job I have in mind.”
“May I ask what job that is?” enquired Reed.
Moriarty grinned. “Of course you may. However, you should not expect an answer. Not yet, at least.”
Reed looked nervously away and took a large gulp of brandy.
The room fell into silence, a silence both visitors knew it would be inappropriate to break. The Professor was thinking, and he would be the one to speak first. Scoular and Reed sat impassively as the silence settled on the room, accentuating the crackle of the coals in the grate and the soft tick of the clock on the mantel. At length the Professor began tapping his fingers in a staccato rhythm on the desk, and then at last he spoke.
“You are excellent lieutenants, and I trust your word and your judgement implicitly. However, on this occasion, I need to judge for myself before we go any further with this matter. Reed, I shall call round to your club tomorrow at noon. Make sure there is a private room available where I may have a meeting with Doctor John H. Walker.”
“It shall be done.”
“Very good. Now, gentlemen, I do not think I need keep you any more from your beds or what other pursuits you have in mind at this late hour. Therefore, I bid you goodnight.”
After the two men had gone, Moriarty picked up a copy of the Temple Bar magazine, which Reed had brought him that evening. It was dated 1878. He flipped it open to the page that Reed had marked: ‘The Missing Dagger’ — a mystery story by John H. Walker. Professor James Moriarty settled down in his chair and began to read.
Five
FROM THE JOURNAL OF JOHN WALKER
I only met Professor James Moriarty twice. The first time was in a small dark room at Reed’s club, the morning following my arrival back in England.
The previous evening I had dined with Reed and Scoular, who, although maintaining a veneer of affability, spent the whole time quizzing me about my life, my politics, my family and my views on a whole range of subjects. I realised that they were, in fact, assembling my autobiography as a kind of screening process. I didn’t mind. It was good to feel free to talk about myself again without the fear of censure, and I knew that every firm or organisation of quality has its own method of gauging the worth of a prospective employee. The only aspect of the matter that puzzled me was the exact nature of the position they had in mind for me. But I was prepared to be patient. There were no other demands upon my time or company.
The following morning, I discovered a letter on the breakfast tray that was brought to my room. I had spent the night at the club and slept late, enjoying the luxury of a proper bed after months on straw and sacking in the army prison, and weeks in a cramped bed onboard ship, and was surprised to find that it was after ten o’clock.
The letter was from Reed.
My dear Walker,
I trust you slept well. I have to be about my business. Being out of the country for a few months, there is now much for me to attend to. I am not sure when we shall meet again. However, the principal of the establishment that I represent will be calling on you at the club at noon, and I believe he will be offering you a lucrative role in our organisation. Your appointment is in the Red Room on the second floor. I advise you to be prompt.
Allow me to take this opportunity to wish you the best of luck.
In all sincerity,
A. Reed, Capt. (Retd.)
The tone of the letter suggested that I should not be seeing my newly made acquaintance again. It was as though his part in the strange process of recruitment was over and it was time for him to step out of the picture. Where all this was leading, I could not begin to discern, but I comforted myself that by the time noon had arrived, along with my important visitor, I should be much the wiser.
At the appointed hour, a lackey showed me in to the Red Room, a small book-lined apartment with scarlet furnishings. Two large armchairs were placed on either side of the fireplace, which contained a meagre fire that had only recently been lit and was still struggling for life. On being left alone, I began perusing the shelves. Then a voice addressed me.
“I suspect you will find little to interest you, Doctor. It is just a second-rate collection of outdated tomes. No adventure stories at all.”
I whipped around and found that the voice belonged to a saturnine young man who was sitting in one of the chairs, which had its back to me. He rose and we shook hands.
“I know of your penchant for adventure stories,” he continued, his lips spreading into a wide smile. “I spent an enjoyable hour reading your ‘Mystery of the Missing Dagger’ last night.”
“Really?” I stuttered, in some amazement. “I wrote that some time ago when I was in general medical practice. The long intervals between patients—”
The smile broadened. “I am Professor James Moriarty and I am very pleased to meet you, Doctor John H. Walker. Do sit down.”
I did as I was bid.
“I know all about you. Well, perhaps that is an exaggeration, for who can know everything about anyone? There are always dark, private quarters of the mind and soul that we never reveal to anyone. So, allow me to rephrase that statement. I know a great deal about you. On the other hand, you know nothing about me.”
“Apart from your name and that you are acquainted with Alexander Reed and Lincoln Scoular.”
Moriarty’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “True, but that is very little and of no consequence. If you should seek out the aforementioned gentlemen to verify your assertion regarding our acquaintance, I am sure you would not find them.” The smile vanished and the eyes grew icy.
“I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand...” I said, shaking my head.
“Of course you don’t, my dear doctor. Let me help you a little. I am the head of a vast criminal organisation. It is an efficient structure, which carries out robberies, forgeries and even the occasional murder.”