“Bloody hell, like railway lines!” Taplin was well impressed with the brutality.
“Mr. Spear’s told me since that it is the Professor’s way,” Sam said, starting to be a little proud of having come through such an ordeal. “I would never cross him again, Moriarty. That’s learned me my lesson.”
But much had happened between Sam and the Professor since the morning, things he could not and would not share with Walter on pain of much worse than a flogging.
Yet the intelligence from Sam had set Wally Taplin to thinking, and he resolved to watch himself from now on.
Before the meeting began, Moriarty sent for Fanny once more, bidding her send the boys to The Duke of York to fetch jugs of porter. He also asked her to prepare a tray and put out one of his best bottles of brandy with a bottle of Champagne. If his men were to have porter, the Professor decided that he would have his share of Champagne cocktails, his choice being the Vauban Frères Champagne of which the family had a huge supply, squirreled away over the years from consignments diverted from their original destinations by bribery and the more barefaced forms of violent robbery.
By nine o’clock the Guard were finally gathered upstairs, an hour late for the meeting: Spear, Terremant, Ember, and Lee Chow were all shaking hands with, and welcoming back, Pip Paget.
“Never thought to see you again, Pip,” Ember told him.
“’Tis a sign of the Professor’s mercy. He’s a true gentleman,” Paget told them, looking mightily relieved and speaking loud enough to let Moriarty hear.
Daniel Carbonardo, who had also been summoned to the meeting, sat to one side, not at the round table, as if to signify that he would remain slightly apart from the Guard as such.
As he took his seat, Lee Chow grinned his evil grin. “Now ’ee ar sit at lound table. Rike the knights of King Althu’. Rong ago,” he carefully enunciated.
“That is good, my Chinese friend.” Moriarty nodded to him. Then he quoted some Alfred, Lord Tennyson:
“Live pure, speak true, right wrong, follow the King—
Else, wherefore born?”
The five men looked at one another, not knowing the words came from Tennyson’s Arthurian poem Idylls of the King, so not following its significance. Daniel Carbonardo smiled to himself. The Professor could be a terrible romantic at times, and often saw his way of life, and those around him, as good and quite the reverse of their reality in the wicked world. Carbonardo knew that Moriarty was adept at deceiving even himself of the true facts of evil. In his master’s mind, the words he had just spoken probably transposed themselves into “Live impure, speak lies, wrong rights, follow Professor Moriarty. That is what you are born to perform.”
The Professor brought the meeting to order, first welcoming Pip Paget back to what he described as “his rightful place.” He then continued, “Terremant, you recall the man I met a number of times when you were guarding me in Vienna?”
“Indeed, sir. Yes I do.”
“And you would recognize him again?”
“Of course, Professor. Recognize him like shot.”
“Good. Then take four of Ember’s best lurkers with you and get down to Dover in the morning. That gentleman will be arriving on the packet from Calais, due to dock at Dover, midday. He will then be making his onward journey to London by the boat train. You are to stay with him, at a distance. Protect him and give him help should he need it.” He looked around his men before his eyes alighted on little Ember, and he continued:
“Ember, you will also take four good lurkers and be ready to take over this man from Terremant here, when he shepherds him into Victoria Station. I warn you both that you must take the utmost care: Do not make obvious signals, for you may be watched; and be careful should it be necessary to speak to one another. I would suggest that you use a cipher to describe the gentleman you are to watch. Nursery rhymes are the easiest to remember, so maybe we should call him ‘Little Boy Blue.’ You understand?”
They all nodded, and Lee Chow spoke aloud. “Ah, Ritter Boy Brue,” he said. And again, “Ritter Boy Brue.”
“He’s the one what blew up his horn,” Ember said, somewhat lasciviously.
“Quite right, Ember. Quite right.” The Professor, unsmiling, glanced around the table again, then asked for individual reports.
Both Spear and Terremant, sounding most happy, said that the backsliders returning to the Professor’s employ seemed to have built into a steady flow. “Word is getting around,” Terremant told them. “Now, I don’t have to issue any threats at all. You are back, Professor, and they know it; there is general happiness about that. Last night, for instance, everyone down Cheapside knew you are here in London, and they was all keen to make sure you knew they had come back, true to you.”
The Professor looked pleased and gave out a farthing’s worth of praise; then he asked how matters were in King Street, meaning at the house where Detective Inspector Angus McCready Crow lived with his wife, formerly the widow Mrs. Sylvia Cowels.
It was Spear who answered. “The people I’ve put on there—Cresswell, Dixon, Roberts, and Wilson—all say the same thing, Professor. They reckon Mr. Crow is getting short of money. Almost coals, some say.* Mrs. Crow is running him ragged; never rests, always out at the shops. Buying much on tick, and the bills all wait to be paid. She is beggaring him.”
“And his contact with Holmes?”
“None. Nor while we were abroad either. Cresswell and Dixon kept a loose watch all the time we were away. There were no reports of contact with Holmes.”
“That’s all to the good then.”
Lee Chow appeared to be puzzled, preoccupied. Suddenly he asked, “Rittle Boy Brue? Where he rive when we bling him in London, chop-chop. We bling him hea’?”
“No,” Moriarty explained carefully. “No. He is to come with you to Captain Ratford’s place, where you are living. Keep him well hidden there; I do not want to see him abroad on the streets. Provide him with any luxury he requires. Understand, Bert?” His eyes gimleted into Spear’s head, as though carrying some special message physically into his brain.
“I’ll see to it, Chief,” Spear remarked. “You need have no fears on that score, sir.”
Moriarty nodded in a sage manner, then asked if there were any other matters they wanted to air at this point and they began muttering one to another, exchanging ideas, as Moriarty ran a thumbnail down his cheek, from a little below the eye to his jawline. Then his head moved, reptilian-like, from side to side for almost a full minute as he waited.
A shade too loudly, Terremant spoke to Pip Paget. “A fine French perfume your wife Fanny’s wearing, Pip. How does a gamekeeper go around buying that kind of bottled juice?”
Paget did not seem in any way perturbed. “I have a good friend who is first mate on a barque that often calls into a French port on its way back from longer journeys.”
Moriarty seemed suddenly most interested. “What’s the name of this ship and her captain, Pip?”
“She’s the Colleen of Cork, out of Plymouth usually, Professor. Captain name of Michael Trewinard, Devonshire man. His first mate a man called Carpenter. Bernard Carpenter. I know about the captain because Mr. Carpenter’s told me about him. Lived at one time in the village of Twin Willows, on Sir John Grant’s estate—Bernard Carpenter, that is. It was Sir John who introduced me to him. A nice, good-hearted man who brings in things like perfume, silk, and the like and sells them off cheap—no excise duty, I suppose.”
Moriarty’s hand went to his face once more, and he again ran his thumbnail down his cheek, as far as the jawline. “Colleen of Cork,” he said, as if musing. “You know who that captain works his ship for, Pip?”
“Well, hisself I suppose.”
“No!” The head movement from side to side again, as though the great man had started to become anxious. “No, Pip. Captain Trewinard, and his crew, and I suppose his first mate also, work for someone else. They work for Idle Jack, bringing in youngsters, children—girls mostly—to satis
fy the lusts of Idle Jack’s customers.”
A few moments later, Moriarty gave another instruction after some careful questions: “Bert Spear, who do you trust more, your man Judge, or George Gittins? Glittering George Gittins?”
“I trust both of them equally, Chief.”
“Let us use Gittins, then. I want him to pick a team of loyal men, as many as he thinks he will require. He is to put a permanent watch on Idle Jack’s house in Bedford Square, front and rear. This is to be quiet, no flash moves, nothing that will stand out, but he is to watch, mark, and learn, make note, deduce what is going on.”
Spear said he understood and would see to it.
“Get him up here, Bert. Get him here today. I shall need to speak with him. Instruct him in certain matters.”
Then each of them in turn, except for Pip Paget, began to go through all the people who had expressed a wish to talk face to face with the Professor. Spear ticked names off with his fingers: “Knight and Richards want to talk about a blagging they have in mind; Stimpson, Taylor, Murch, and Smith all wish to talk over various matters. Then Amy Stencil, Gertie Ward, and Emma Baisley kept me for nearly an hour last night. They have a proposition to put forward that is good, worth thinking about.” He explained that they had this clever idea: advertising for men visiting London on their own and wishing to have a lady for company—nicely spoken, well turned out, and intelligent young women. “Good conversation and all that, just to go out around the town. No strings attached; go to the theatre, have dinner, what have you. Flat fee paid directly to the business. If the man wants more, then the girl is free to indicate her willingness—or not, as the case may be. You follow, Professor?”
“This sounds promising. Yes, of course I will see them, and I shall talk with Sal about the idea.”
Ember had a man called Roger Prince who reckoned he had been swindled by two other members of the family and wanted to see justice done; while Lee Chow was desirous of the Professor meeting a young Anglo-Chinese girl called Jeannie Chang, with whom he was seriously thinking of setting up house, wanting the Professor’s blessing first. “She good housekeeping, and make excerrent bang-bang in the night—a’ways wirring.”
The others tried to hide their smiles, and “a’ways wirring” became a catch phrase after the manner of George Robey’s famous “Kindly temper your hilarity with a modicum of reserve.”
AT JUST BEFORE MIDDAY, the meeting finally broke up, but only after Moriarty had given vent to a heavy head of ire. “There are four ships,” he told them. “I grant you had no way of knowing, Pip; the Colleen of Cork is but one. The others—so you will know next time—are Midnight Kiss, with her captain, Ebeneezer Jephcote. There is also William Evans and his craft, Sea Dancer; also Captain Corny Trebethik, a fine Cornishman this time—he has a barque named Pride of the Morning. All four of them work for Idle Jack Idell, and I would be obliged if you would all do me a great service. Put your heads together, and so decide how we can put an end to this vile trade in children. For mark me, that is what these ships are for; their cargos are children, nothing but children, set aside for unnatural practises. Think about it. Then come and tell me what we should do.”
At fifteen minutes past noon, Sam knocked at the door and came in to face the Professor, exactly as he had been instructed to do by Terremant.
“Ah, my boy.” Moriarty gave the lad a welcoming smile, putting him at his ease. “You are Samuel. Sam. Am I right?”
“Yes, sir. Samuel Brock.”
“Brock, eh? Brock as in badger. Samuel. Do you know who I am?”
“You are the Professor, sir. Professor Moriarty.”
Moriarty grunted. “Not quite, Sam. I am Professor Moriarty”—he pronounced the name in his own unique way, rolling the second R and seeming to add a letter so that it came out as “Mor-ia-rrri-ty.” It was the manner in which he always pronounced it, singular to him.
“Now, Sam Brock. Are you loyal to me? Will you do as I tell you? Will you keep your mouth shut? Can I depend on you?”
“Of course, sir. You can depend on me in all things. I will be loyal to you. Loyal and true unto death.”
“Did Mr. Terremant tell you to say these things?”
“Mr. Terremant and Mr. Spear both, sir. But I mean it. I shall remain loyal to you. Unto death I shall be your man.”
“You were loyal to Sir Jack Idell once, though, Sam. You reckoned Idle Jack as your master. Why did you do that?”
“I did that for money, Professor. Now I pledge myself to you for deeper reasons.”
James Moriarty gave a dark smile of satisfaction that reached cavernously into his heart but not to his eyes. “It may be, Sam, that you are to be tested.”
“Good, sir. May I serve you well.”
“Indeed. Listen to me and answer faithfully and true. Did Idle Jack trust you?”
“Completely, sir. Yes.”
“Would he trust you again?”
“I think so. If you want me to make him trust me, yes, I can do that. Idle Jack is…” He searched for the word. “He is… pliable, sir; he will believe what he wishes to believe.”
Moriarty nodded and his head moved from side to side once more, as though he had no true control over the movements. He thought to himself, out of the mouths of babes and sucklings. This boy, he reckoned, would go far, for he already had the makings of a man who could read the ways of others. Moriarty had long believed that Jack Idell could be manipulated by a deviously minded man. “Good boy,” he said. “Now, tell me about yourself. What and who was your father?”
“Robert Brock. Ostler at a coaching inn, well known in Canterbury.”
“And your mother?”
“Elizabeth Spurgeon. Chambermaid at the same inn. They was married on account of me, sir.”
“Ah, that is good. A family spliced together and tightened by children and vows is a family that will last and stand all the tests of time. Have you any schooling?”
“Yes, sir. I can read and write and do my sums.”
“Is Mr. Spear paying you properly?”
“He is, sir; and I am sending a portion of my wages home to my mother, just as Mr. Spear suggested.”
“Now, Samuel. None of what I am about to say should go outside this room. You are not to prattle about it to anyone else.” Then his voice barked, “Anyone. You understand me, lad? Nobody, not even Mr. Spear or Mr. Terremant is to learn of this. And certainly not the boy Taplin. Not a soul but you and myself, young Samuel.
“Do this right for me and I can promise you a place in my family as high as Mr. Spear’s. If you are disloyal then, even if I am dead I shall hunt you down and destroy the last traces of you. Make no mistake about it, Sam.”
“What am I to do, Professor?” Samuel sat back, looking contained and in good humour; yet inside, his brain seemed to be roiling with excitement. This was, to him, the start of a huge adventure.
“You are to return to Sir Jack Idell. You are to crawl back to him like a whipped cur. You are to tell him that we attempted to coerce you—you understand?—that we beat you and ill-treated you; that we scoffed at Idle Jack and his designs on my family. Mock us, Samuel, mock us; tell him we are the very dregs of society—he will like that. Tell him that the Professor is rebuilding his family. Tell him that we hold him in contempt. You follow me?”
“I follow you, yes, Professor.”
“Now,” Moriarty continued, “this must work both ways. Here, people are to believe that you have slipped out, got away. Make your own plans for that. Everyone here in the house has to believe that you have gone of your own volition. You understand that? Of your own free will.”
“Of course, sir. Nobody will know …”
“It must come as a surprise, and I shall show great anger when your absence is reported.” He held out a key to the boy. “This is an extra key I have had cut, in secret. It will fit the back door and help you steal away.”
“And what am I to do, sir, when I get to Idle Jack? I would kill him if you so ordered it.
”
“No. I want you to keep your eyes and ears open. Watch and listen, because I wish to be warned about all Jack intends to do; I want to know which people are closest to him, what they are plotting. I need to know everything well in advance.”
“I will find out everything and anything, Professor. But how shall I let you know what I find?”
“You say you can write. So, write this down.” He made the boy sit at the table, gave him pen, ink, and paper, and dictated Perry Gwyther’s address, which Samuel Brock wrote down in a most fair hand, after which the Professor instructed him to commit the address to memory until he could repeat it again and again. After it was fixed in the boy’s mind, Moriarty destroyed the paper.
“You must send me details of what you have heard; send them by post to that address, and you must put a small cross in the top left-hand corner of the envelope.” He had provided paper, envelopes, and two pencils, for nobody could possibly guarantee that ink would be available. “Keep the paper and pencils well hidden, and don’t give them any action or word which they might think odd and therefore suspect you. And never fear, Sam; if I want to get a message to you, I shall find a way.”
His penultimate advice was to give young Sam a large yellow silk handkerchief, a good eighteen inches square. “If you have any real worries, if you think you are suspected and you wish to run and get back here, you must contrive to hang this wipe in one of the windows overlooking the Square itself, then try to escape. I doubt we can be of any help to you, we can but try.”
Finally he told him that to be safe, they must use some kind of code. “You know your nursery rhymes, Sam?”
“Most of them, sir. Yes.”
“They are the best for secrets. You will be Georgie Porgie. You remember him?”
“Kissed the girls and made them cry, sir.”
“You must sign all your intelligence to me in that name; and if anyone with my authority approaches you, he must use the words ‘pudding and pie.’ If he does not, then you cannot be certain of him. And Samuel, if you fail me and pull the crooked cross on me, even if I am dead and in my grave, I’ll hunt you down and send you to eternal damnation. Even if I am dead, I shall do that. I will hound you, Samuel. I will hound you down the nights and down the days. I will hound you down the arches of the years. You hear me, boy?”