The burly pair were another matter, as they could well have been any of the dozens of mobsmen employed by the Professor before his last desperate escape from Crow’s clutches.
The larder of Steventon Hall was well-stocked, a fact which led Crow to believe this oddly-assorted quintet had left in haste. There was little else of note, except for a fragment of paper upon which the sailing times of the Dover packet to France had been scrawled. Further enquiries made it plain that the Chinese man, at least, had been seen on the packet during its crossing only three days before the police raid upon the Berkshire house.
As for Moriarty’s bank accounts in England, all but one had been closed and funds removed, within two weeks of the Professor’s disappearance. The one account that remained was in the name of Bridgeman at the City and National Bank. The total amount on deposit was £3 2s 9¾d.
‘It would seem that the Steventon Hall crew have departed for France,’ Holmes said when Crow next consulted him. ‘I’d wager they’ve joined their leader there. They will all be snug with Grisombre by now.’
Crow raised his eyebrows and Holmes chuckled with pleasure.
‘There is little that escapes my notice. I know about the meeting between Moriarty and his continental friends. I presume you have all the names?’
‘Well,’ Crow shifted his feet uneasily.
He had imagined this piece of intelligence was the sole prerogative of Scotland Yard, for the men of whom Holmes spoke included Jean Grisombre, the Paris-based captain of French crime; Wilhelm Schleifstein, the Führer of the Berlin underworld; Luigi Sanzionare, the most dangerous man in Italy, and Esteban Bernado Segorbe, the shadow of Spain.
‘It would seem likely that they are with Grisombre,’ Crow agreed unhappily. ‘I only wish that we knew the purpose of so many major continental criminals meeting in London.’
‘An unholy alliance of some kind, I have little doubt.’ Holmes appeared grave. ‘That meeting is but a portent of evil things to come. I have the feeling that we have already seen the first result with the Sandringham business.’
Crow felt instinctively that Holmes was right. As indeed he was. But, if the Scotland Yard man wished to catch up with Moriarty now, he would have to travel to Paris, and there was no method of obtaining permission for this. His nuptials would soon be upon him, and the Commissioner, sensing that for some time there would be little work from the newly-wed Crow, was pressing hard regarding the many other cases to which he was assigned. There was much for Crow to do, both in his office and out of it, and even when he returned home to the house which he already shared with his former landlady and future bride, the nubile Mrs Sylvia Cowles, at 63 King Street, he found himself whirled around with the wedding preparations.
The Commissioner, Crow rightly reasoned, would no more listen to requests for a special warrant to visit Paris in search of the Professor, than he would grant leave for an audience with the Pope of Rome himself.
For a few days, Crow worried at the problem like the tenacious Scot he was; but at last, one afternoon when London was laced with an unseasonable drizzle accompanied by a chill gusting wind, he came to a conclusion. Making an excuse to his sergeant, young Tanner, Crow took a cab to the offices of Messrs Cook & Son of Ludgate Circus where he spent the best part of an hour making arrangements.
The result of this visit to the tourist agent was not immediately made apparent. When it was revealed, the person most affected turned out to be Mrs Sylvia Cowles, and by that time she had become Mrs Angus McCready Crow.
In spite of the fact that many of their friends knew Angus Crow had lodged with Sylvia Cowles for some considerable time, few were coarse enough to openly suggest that the couple had ever engaged themselves in any premarital larks. True there were many who thought it, and, indeed, were correct in their deductions. But, whether they thought it or not, friends, colleagues and a goodly number of relations gathered together at two o’clock in the afternoon of Friday, 15 June, at St Paul’s Church, Covent Garden, to see, as one waggish police officer put it, ‘Angus and Sylvia turned off.’
For the sake of propriety, Crow had moved out of the King Street house two weeks previously to spend his last bachelor nights at the Terminus Hotel, London Bridge. But it was to the King Street house that the couple returned for the wedding breakfast, leaving again in the early evening to spend their first night of married bliss at the comfortable Western Counties Hotel at Paddington. On the Saturday morning, the new Mrs Crow imagined, they would travel to Cornwall, by train, for an idyllic honeymoon.
Until well into the evening, Crow allowed his bride to go on thinking that the honeymoon would be in the West Country. After they had dined, Crow lingered over a glass of port while the bride bathed and prepared herself for the rigours of the night ahead; and when at last the detective arrived in the bridal chamber he found his Sylvia sitting up in bed, clad in an exquisite nightdress much trimmed and fussed with lace.
In spite of the fact that neither of them were strangers to one another in the bedchamber, Crow found himself blushing a deep scarlet.
‘You set a man all in a tremble, my dear Sylvia,’ his own voice demonstrating the quaver of desire.
‘Well, darling Angus, come and tremble upon me,’ she retorted coquettishly.
Crow held up a hand to silence her. ‘I have a surprise for you, my hen.’
‘It is no surprise, Angus, unless you have taken it to the surgeon since last we met between the sheets.’
Crow found himself both put out and put on by his new partner’s flagrant bawdiness.
‘Now hold, woman,’ he almost snapped. ‘This is important.’
‘But Angus, this is our wedding night, I …’
‘And this concerns our honeymoon. It is a happy surprise.’
‘Our cavortings on the Cornish seaside?’
‘It is not to be the Cornish seaside, Sylvia.’
‘Not …?’
He smiled, inwardly praying that she would be pleased. ‘We do not go to Cornwall, Sylvia. Tomorrow we are off to Paris.’
The brand new Mrs Crow was not amused. She had taken great pains with the arrangements for her wedding, and, to be honest, had called the tune concerning most of the plans, including the choice of venue for their honeymoon. Cornwall was a county to which she had an immense sentimental attachment, having, as a child, been taken to several watering places along the coast. She had specifically chosen it now as their hideaway – even selecting the rented house near Newquay – because of those happy associations. Now, suddenly, on the brink of what should have been the happiest night of her life, her will and desires had been opposed.
It will suffice to state here that the honeymoon was not an unqualified success. Certainly Crow was attentive to his wife, taking her to see the sights of the great city, dining her in the restaurants he could best afford and paying her court in all the time-honoured ways long tried and tested. But there were periods when, as far as Sylvia Crow was concerned, his behaviour left much to be desired. There were, for instance, periods when he would disappear for hours at a stretch, failing, on return, to explain his absence.
These missing times were, as you will already have realized, spent with various people in the Police Judiciaire; in particular with a somewhat dour officer named Chanson who looked more like an undertaker than a policeman, and was nicknamed L’Accordeur by colleagues and criminals alike.
From the nickname alone one gathers that, whatever his personal appearance and demeanour, Chanson was a good policeman with his official ear very close to the ground. Yet, after a month, Crow was not much wiser concerning Moriarty’s movements or present whereabouts.
There was some evidence indicating that the French criminal leader Jean Grisombre had assisted in his escape from England. One or two other hints pointed strongly to the possibility of some of the Professor’s men having joined him in Paris. But there was also a weight of intelligence, culled mainly from Chanson’s informers, that Grisombre had demanded that Moriarty leave Pari
s as soon as his companions arrived from England, and that, in all, the Professor’s short stay in France had not been made wholly comfortable.
That he had left France was in little doubt, and there were only a few added gleanings for Crow to file away in his mind and ponder upon once back in London.
By the end of the honeymoon, Crow had made his peace with Sylvia, and on returning to London became so caught up in routine, both of his marriage and work at Scotland Yard, that the immediate problems of his vow against Moriarty slowly faded into the background.
However, his continued visits to Sherlock Holmes convinced him of something he had long suspected, and indeed worked for – that the profession of criminal detection needed a great deal of specialized knowledge and much fresh organization. The Metropolitan Police appeared slow to take up and grasp new methods (for instance, a system of fingerprinting, already much used on the continent, was not adopted in England until the early 1900s), so Crow began to build up his own procedures and muster his own contacts.
Crow’s personal list grew rapidly. He had a surgeon, much experienced in post-mortem procedure, at St Bartholomew’s; at Guy’s there was another medical man whose speciality was toxicology; the Crows would also dine regularly with a first-rate chemist in Hampstead, while in nearby respectable St John’s Wood, Angus Crow would often call upon a well-retired cracksman, happily living out his latter days on ill-gotten gains. In Houndsditch he had the ear of a pair of reformed dippers and (though Mrs Crow was ignorant of this) there were a dozen or more members of the frail sisterhood who would supply information privately to Crow alone.
There were others also: men in the City who knew about precious stones, art treasures, works of silver and gold, while at Wellington Barracks there were three or four officers with whom Crow had a constant acquaintanceship, all of them adept in some field of weapons and their uses.
In short, Angus McCready Crow continued to expand his career, solid in his determination to be the best detective in the Force. Then, in January 1896, the Professor emerged once more.
It was on Monday, 5 January 1896, that a letter was circulated from the Commissioner asking for comment and intelligence. Crow was one of those to whom the letter was sent.
It had been written in the previous December and was couched in the following terms:
12 December 1895
From: The Chief of Detectives
Headquarters
New York City Police
Mulberry Street
New York
USA
To: The Commissioner of Metropolitan Police Esteemed Sir,
Following incidents in this city during September and November, we are of the opinion that a fraud has been perpetrated upon various financial houses and individuals.
In brief, the matter is as follows: In the August of last year, 1894, a British financier, known as Sir James Madis, presented himself to various individuals, commercial companies, banks and financial houses here in New York. His business, he claimed, was concerned with a new system for use on commercial railroads. This system was explained to railroad engineers employed by some of our best known companies, and it appeared that Sir James Madis was in the process of developing a revolutionary method of steam propulsion which would guarantee not only faster locomotive speeds, but also smoother travelling facilities.
He produced documents and plans which appeared to show that this system was already being developed, on his behalf, in your own country at a factory near Liverpool. His aim was to set up a company in New York so that our own railroad corporations could be easily supplied with the same system. This would be developed in a factory built here especially by the company.
In all, financial houses, banks, individuals and railroad companies invested some four million dollars in this newly formed Madis Company which was set up under the chairmanship of Sir James, with a board of directors drawn from our own world of commerce, but containing three Englishmen nominated by Madis.
In September of this year, Sir James announced that he was in need of a rest, and left New York to stay with friends in Virginia. Over the next six weeks the three British members of the board travelled several times between New York and Richmond. Finally, in the third week of October, all three joined Madis in Richmond and were not expected back for a week or so.
During the last week in November, the board, worried as they had not heard from either Madis or his British colleagues, ordered an audit and we were called in when the company accounts showed a deficit of over two-and-a-half million dollars.
A search for Madis and his colleagues has proved fruitless, and I now write to ask for your assistance and any details of the character of the above-named Sir James Madis.
There followed a description of Madis and his missing co-directors, together with one or two other small points.
In the offices of Scotland Yard, and those of the City Police, there were many chuckles. Nobody, of course, had ever heard of Sir James Madis, and even policemen can be amused by fraudulent audacity – particularly when it is carried out with great panache, in another country, thereby making boobies of another police force.
Even Crow indulged in a smile, but there were grim thoughts in his mind as he re-read the letter and those details appertaining to Madis and his accomplices.
The three British directors of the Madis Company were named as William Jacobi, Bertram Jacobi and Albert Pike – all three coming close to answering the descriptions of men who had been at Steventon Hall. Crow was also quick to spot the irony between the name Albert Pike and Albert Spear (the man who had been married to Bridget Coyle at Steventon). That play on names was at least significant of the kind of impertinence which could well be the hallmark of Moriarty.
It did not stop there, for the description of Madis himself required examination. According to the New York Police Department, he was a man of great vigour, in his late thirties or early forties, of medium height, well built, with red hair and poor eyesight necessitating constant use of gold-rimmed spectacles.
None of that meant a great deal, for Crow knew well enough that the Moriarty he had traced in London was capable of appearing in any number of guises. Already Crow had proved, by logical deduction, that the tall, gaunt man identified as the famous Moriarty, author of the treatise on the Binomial Theorem and Dynamics of an Asteroid, was but a disguise used by a younger person – in all probability the original Professor’s youngest brother.
But one further clue was embedded in the terse description of Sir James Madis. The one fact which linked Madis with the infamous Napoleon of Crime. The New York Police Department had been thorough, and under the heading of ‘Habits and Mannerisms’ was one line: A curious and slow movement of the head from side to side: a habit which seems to be uncontrollable, after the manner of a nervous tic.
‘I know it is he,’ Crow told Sherlock Holmes.
He had asked for a special appointment with the consulting detective on the day following his first reading of the letter, and Holmes, always true to his word, had engineered some commission for Watson so that they were assured privacy. Crow had gone with a certain amount of trepidation, for, on his two most recent visits to the chambers in Baker Street, he had been alarmed at the condition in which he found Holmes. He seemed to have lost weight and appeared restless and irritable. But on this particular afternoon, the master detective appeared to have regained all his old mental and physical vigour.*
‘I know it is he,’ repeated Crow, thumping his palm with a clenched fist. ‘I know it in my bones.’
‘Hardly a scientific deduction, my dear Crow, though I am inclined to agree with you,’ said Holmes briskly. ‘The dates appear to fit, as do the descriptions of his co-directors in crime. You have, yourself, commented on Albert Pike being synonymous with Albert Spear. As for the other two, might I suggest that you examine your records for a pair of brothers: burly built and with the surname of Jacobs. As for the Professor himself, it is just the kind of cunning trick of confidence
that diabolical mind would conceive. There is another point …’
‘The initials?’
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Holmes dismissed the query as being obvious. ‘More than that …’
‘The name?’
There was a short pause as Holmes looked at Crow with a somewhat challenging stare.
‘Quite so,’ he said at last. ‘It is the kind of game that would also amuse James Moriarty. Madis is …’
‘A simple anagram for Midas,’ beamed Crow.
Holmes’ face froze into a wintry smile.
‘Precisely,’ he said curtly. ‘It would appear that the Professor is intent on amassing great riches – for what purpose I will not speculate as yet. Unless …?’
Crow shook his head. ‘I do not think speculation would be wise.’
Returning to his office at Scotland Yard, Crow set to composing a lengthy report for the Commissioner. To this he coupled a request asking that he be authorized to travel to New York, consult with the Detective Force there, and give what assistance he could in apprehending the so-called Sir James Madis and identify him with Professor James Moriarty.
He also set Sergeant Tanner onto sifting the records for two brothers with the surname of Jacobs.
After instructing the sergeant, Crow gave him a dour smile.
‘I think it was that Yankee poet, Longfellow, who wrote, ‘The mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small”. Well, young Tanner, it seems to me that we of the detective force should do our best to emulate God in this respect. I do not intend blasphemy, ye’ll understand.’
Tanner left to perform the task, raising his eyes to heaven as he went. In the event he could only find one pair of brothers named Jacobs in the existing records. Some two years ago they had both been serving a term of imprisonment at the House of Correction, Coldbath Fields. As that prison had now been closed, Tanner reflected that they had probably been moved to the Slaughterhouse (the Surrey House of Correction, Wandsworth). There he left the matter, little realizing that William and Bertram Jacobs had long been spirited away and at this very moment were carrying out the first step in a plot of revenge which might well shake the whole foundations of both the underworld and normal society. For the Jacobs brothers had been elevated to that select group which had the close ear of James Moriarty.