Moriarty

12 Foreign Soil

Jones was in a more ebullient mood when we met the next day, exhibiting that strange alacrity of spirit which, I now knew, had found its inspiration in the example set by the greatest detective of all.

‘You will be relieved to hear that, finally, we make progress!’ he announced as we met outside my hotel.

‘You have been back to Chancery Lane?’ I asked.

‘Silas Beckett and his associates can wait. I would say that it will be at least a week before they slip away into the night.’

‘How can you be so sure if you have not returned?’

‘I knew it before we left, my dear Chase. Did you not remark upon the position of the hurdy-gurdy player? He was standing precisely eight paces from the front door of the barber’s shop.’

‘I’m afraid I do not follow you at all.’

‘I begin to think that you and I might have a future together. You shall leave Pinkerton’s and I shall resign from Scotland Yard. You will enjoy living in London. No! I am quite serious. The city has need of a new consulting detective. We might even take rooms on Baker Street! What do you say?’

‘I am not sure what to say.’

‘Well, we have more pressing matters at hand. First, our friend Perry. We have now learned that he entered Scotland Yard at twenty minutes to three and claimed to be carrying a package for me, a large box wrapped in brown paper. He was directed to my office on the third floor.’

‘Why didn’t he leave it in your office?’

‘He could not have done so. I was behind my desk and would have been sure to recognise him. Instead, he placed it as near as he could, which was on the other side of the wall in the telegraph office. They are used to seeing messenger boys, apprentices and cadets coming in and going out and one more would have made no difference.’

‘But you left.’

‘I left to meet you, as we had arranged. Perry must have been just a minute or two ahead of me. That’s how close it was! You saw him enter the carriage. Have you had any further thoughts as to the identity of his companion?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘No matter. Our adversaries may have made their first serious error, Chase. Had they chosen a hansom for their adventure, it might have been impossible to find them. The streets of London are littered with hansoms, licensed and unlicensed, and the driver might never have come forward. The brougham is an altogether rarer beast and its driver is even now in our hands.’

‘How did you find him?’

‘We have had three divisions on the streets, almost a hundred men. Did you really think that we would allow such an outrage as took place yesterday to go unpunished? Not an inn, not an alley, not a coach house or stable has been overlooked. All night they have been out and now, finally, we have a man who remembers carrying a fare to Whitehall, who picked up a second passenger moments before the explosion.’

‘And where did they go?’

‘I have yet to speak to the driver. But if he can tell us where he took them, or where this man came from, then our task will have been accomplished and Devereux may yet fall into our hands.’

Jones had arrived in a cab, which was still waiting for us, and we travelled across London, battling our way through the interminable traffic, without speaking. I was grateful for the silence. It allowed me to reflect on what Elspeth Jones had said to me the night before and to wonder if she had some intuition about what lay ahead. For his part, Jones had not referred to the dinner, although he must have been aware that his wife had arranged things so as to speak privately with me for half an hour. Did he know that we had entered his study? In retrospect, I had found the encounter strangely disturbing. I wished that she and I had spoken a little more… or perhaps less.

We finally drew in to a cabstand near Piccadilly Circus, the very heart of the western end of the city, the equivalent, if you like, of Times Square. I saw at once a well-maintained, brightly polished brougham parked with a uniformed police constable standing beside it. The driver, a huge man in a topcoat that seemed to billow out like a tent, was sitting in his place with the reins across his knees and a scowl on his face.

We climbed down. ‘Mr Guthrie?’ Jones asked, striding forward.

‘Aye, that’s me,’ the driver responded. ‘And I bin ’ere an hour or more. What’s it to be when a honest man is kept from ’is livelihood like this?’

He had not moved, staring down at us as if he were as firmly tied into his seat as the horse in its harness. He really was a vast man, with rolling cheeks, side whiskers and crimson-coloured skin that had come either from long exposure to the air in all weathers or, more likely, from sclerosis.

‘I am sure we can recompense you for your time,’ Jones remarked.

‘I don’t want your recompents, guv’nor. I want to be paid!’

‘You will receive all the money that is due to you—but you must first tell me everything I wish to know. Yesterday you picked up a man.’

‘Yesterday I picked up several men.’

‘But one of them you took to Whitehall, close to Scotland Yard. It was about three o’clock in the afternoon.’

‘I know nothing of the hour. What’s an hour to me?’ He shook his huge head before Jones could interrupt and it seemed to me that the horse, in sympathy, did the same. ‘All right, all right. I know what man you speak of. A tall gentleman. I can tell you that because ’e ’ad to fold ’imself over to get in. Queer customer—that’s what I thought.’

‘What age?’

‘Thirty or forty.’ He thought for a minute. ‘Or maybe fifty. I can’t say. Older than he was young—that’s all. Nasty eyes. Not the sort of eyes you’d want to have looking your way.’

‘And where did you pick him up?’

‘At the Strand.’

Jones turned to me. ‘That is of no help to us,’ he said, quietly. ‘The Strand is one of the busiest cabstands in London. It is close to one of the main railway stations and all the drivers use it because it is clear of many of the omnibus routes.’

‘So our mysterious passenger could have arrived from anywhere.’

‘Precisely. Tell me, Mr Guthrie. You took him directly to Whitehall?’

‘I took him as direct as the traffic would allow.’

‘He was alone?’

‘Alone as alone can be. He kept ’imself to ’imself, wrapped up in the corner with ’is ’at over ’is eyes and ’is eyes turned down to ’is collar. He coughed a few times but not one word did he say to me.’

‘He must have informed you of the destination.’

‘“Whitehall,” he said when he got in. And “Stop!” when he wanted to get out. Well, there’s two words for you. But nothing else. Not so much as a please or a thank you.’

‘You took him to Whitehall. What then?’

‘He told me to wait.’ The driver sniffed, realising his error. ‘A third word, guv’nor. That was all it was. “Wait!” I’ve ’ad more communication from the ’orse.’

‘What happened?’

‘You know what ’appened! All London knows what ’appened. There was a bang as loud as a Japanese mortar in Vauxhall Gardens. What in ’eaven’s name is that, thinks I. But the cove, ’e don’t give a jot. ’Im and the boy just sit there as we drive off. They don’t want to stop. They don’t even look round. A toff and a messenger boy and me and I’m just glad to be out of there, I can tell you.’

‘Did they speak to each other, the man and the boy?’

‘They spoke. But I didn’t ’ear them. Not with me up front and the doors and the windows closed.’

‘Where did you take them?’ I asked.

‘Not so very far. Through Parliament Square and over to Victoria.’

‘To a private house?’

‘I don’t know what it was. But I can tell you the number. I wouldn’t normally remember. I’ve got no ’ead for numbers. My ’ead is full of numbers so why should I remember one above another? But this one was as easy as one two three. It was one two three. One hundred and twenty-three Victoria Street and if there’s nothing else, guv’nor, I’ve got some more numbers for you. Sixpence the quarter hour waiting time and I’ve been here two hours at the least. What do you say to that?’

Jones gave the man some money and we hurried away together, striding along the pavement past Fortnum & Mason and up to Green Park. We hailed another cab and Jones gave the driver the address. ‘We have them!’ he said to me. ‘Even if they do not actually reside in Victoria Street, the house will lead us to them.’

‘The man in the brougham,’ I muttered. ‘He could not have been Clarence Devereux. He would never have ventured out in a coach without first covering the windows.’

‘The driver said that he was withdrawn, his face buried in his collar.’

‘Not enough, I think, for someone suffering as he does from agoraphobia. There is something else, Jones. It is very strange but I feel that the address, 123 Victoria Street, is known to me.’

‘How can that be?’

‘I cannot say. I have seen it somewhere, read it… I don’t know.’ I broke off and once again we travelled in silence until we finally arrived in Victoria Street, a wide and well-populated thoroughfare with the crowds drifting in and out of the elegant shops and arcades. We found the house we were looking for, a solid, not very handsome building, recently constructed and clearly too large to be a private home. It immediately put me in mind of Bladeston House and I saw that it had the same sense of impregnability, with barred windows, a gate, and a narrow path leading to an imposing front door. I noticed Jones looking upwards and followed his eyes to the American flag that fluttered on the roof, then down to the plaque set beside the main gate.

‘It is the legation of the United States of America!’ I exclaimed. ‘Of course. We have had many communications with the envoy’s staff and Robert Pinkerton stayed here when he was in London. That’s how I know the address.’

‘The legation…’ Jones repeated the word in a voice that was suddenly strained. He paused for a moment, allowing its significance to sink in, and I understood that our coachman might as well have taken his two passengers to the moon for all the good it would do us. ‘It is prohibited to us. No officer of the law can enter a legation.’

‘But this is where they came,’ I exclaimed, ‘Perry and his associate. Can it be possible?’ I reached out and grabbed hold of the railing as if I could prise it apart. ‘Has Clarence Devereux taken sanctuary within his own country’s legation? We must go in!’

‘It is not possible, I tell you,’ Jones insisted. ‘We will have to address ourselves to the department of the Foreign Secretary—’

‘Then that is what we must do!’

‘I do not believe we have enough evidence to support such a request. We have only the word of Mr Guthrie that he brought his passengers here and we cannot be sure that they even entered. It’s exactly what happened at Highgate. I followed the boy to Bladeston House but we still cannot say with any certainty that he ever went into the place.’

‘Bladeston House! You may remember—Scotchy Lavelle boasted that he enjoyed the protection of the legation.’

‘It was my first thought, Chase. At the time, it struck me as very singular.’

‘And there was an invitation in his desk. He and that woman had been summoned to this very place.’

‘I have it in my office… or what remains of it.’ Jones had removed anything of interest from Bladeston House, including the diary and the block of soap that had led us to Horner’s of Chancery Lane. ‘A party to celebrate business enterprise.’

‘Can you remember the date?’

Jones glanced at me. He could see at once what I had in mind. ‘I believe it was for tomorrow night,’ he replied.

‘Well, of one thing we can be certain,’ I said. ‘Scotchy Lavelle won’t be attending.’

‘For either of us to go in his place would be an extremely serious matter.’

‘For you, perhaps, but not for me. I am, after all, an American citizen.’

‘I will not let you enter on your own.’

‘There can be no possible danger. It is a reception for English and American businessmen…’ I smiled. ‘Is that really how Scotchy thought of himself? I suppose criminal enterprise passes as business of a sort.’ I turned to Athelney Jones and he could surely see I was determined. ‘We cannot let this opportunity pass us by. If we apply to the Foreign Secretary, it will only warn Clarence Devereux of our intentions.’

‘You assume he is here.’

‘Does not the evidence suggest it? We can at least take a look inside,’ I continued, quickly. ‘And surely the risk is small. We will be two guests among many.’

Jones stood, supporting himself on his stick, gazing at the gate and the door that remained fastened in front of him. The wind had dropped and the flag had fallen, as if ashamed to show its colours.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘We’ll go.’