Flashbacks done! We're back in 1919.
Disclaimer: Holmes, Watson and Moran belong to ACD.
Chapter 7
Monday, August 18, 1919
"And that, as far as the Duchess is concerned, is, I swear, the honest truth."
Moran finished his recounting of the events surrounding his dealings with the Duchess of Mortonwell, and sat back in the chair. He poured himself another brandy from the bottle on the table. Two empty pistols lay between them.
Holmes and Watson, sitting opposite him, glanced at each other. Watson was the first to speak.
"And you expect us to believe you? Poppycock."
"As you will, Doctor," smiled Moran, but it is the truth nonetheless. Holmes knows it, don't you, Holmes?"
Holmes was silent for a moment, before replying, "I believe you, Moran."
"Oh, come, Holmes!" protested Watson. "You cannot trust this man, surely? He had you in his sights at one point! I'll never forget the murderous look in your eyes, Moran, on that night in the house opposite."
"No doubt Mr Holmes would try to convince you that Bescott House is a front for all sorts of quackery, Doctor," continued Moran. "But I will have you know that it is no easy choice. The work they do is marvellous. In some ways I am a new man. I wanted to show you that, clearly, in a way that proved you could trust me. The guns were the only way I could think of. You couldn't know they were empty. You were at my mercy."
"Sorry, but even with all that, I'm just not that gullible. You're playing at something."
Moran sighed. "But won't you at least hear the rest of what I have to say?"
"Yes, we will," replied Holmes. "Pray, continue."
"I have spent my time at Bescott well, Mr Holmes, Doctor. As I said, it is marvellous what they do there. It is not the ... usual sort of Institution. I had access to newspapers, to magazines, to periodicals, to books; I had full access to their library. And I kept watch, as no doubt you did, Holmes. I kept watch on what happened to the Professor's empire. And I must admit I was surprised. It did not fall apart as I had suspected. I thought there would be a time of struggle whilst the more hot headed members fought amongst themselves before a leader emerged. No, it was all done very quickly. You could see the pattern in the news reports."
Holmes smiled. "Yes, I always find that the newspapers are a good way of gauging who is on top this week."
"Indeed. In fact, may I say, and without trying to ingratiate myself, I used your methods, Mr Holmes – although it was hard. The way you record the stories, Doctor, makes it hard to fathom Mr Holmes' true thought processes."
"Oh, for goodness' sake ...." spluttered Watson, before seeing the smile on Moran's face. Surely, he thought, it couldn't be true, could it?
"I followed the crime columns religiously, and I quickly saw that Clay had won. And true to your methods I saw his hand everywhere. Well, he is relatively reliable, I thought, if a little hot headed and heavy handed; the Professor would doubtless have been pleased that his work was being carried on by one such as he – just that little bit of madness past ruthless. And clever. Again, like the Professor, and like me in later days, usually always one step removed from the deed.
"And so it continued for a good few years. Years I say? Decades of course. I suppose I got used to confinement; my interest in crime waned, I found new interests, I was watched and supported; and the continued work of Bescott House was having an effect on me. Being removed from the front line of the his empire I was able once again to find a semblance of normality. I don't think I will ever be free of it completely - but who knows, maybe a time will come when I face the ultimate test."
He paused for a moment. "But all was as well as one could hope for, until earlier this year. I think I had convinced them that, despite my past, with their help I had enjoyed a recovery of normality; and although they had at intervals pressed me to have the operation, as time had gone by they did so less and less. I think they were finally coming to the conclusion that a natural cure had been effected. My outward mail was still censored, but the inward mail no longer. And then I received the letter."
Holmes leaned forward in his chair. "From ....?"
"The Professor."
"What?" exclaimed Watson. "How ...?"
"I was as surprised as you, Doctor," replied Moran. "But there it was, a letter from the Professor. It was inside another, which I will recount shortly. But when I saw it my blood ran cold. I was back there in Marylebone, standing in front of his desk again! Brought it all back, I can tell you!"
"What did it say?" pressed Holmes.
Moran paused, as if collecting his thoughts. "I have kept it. Here." He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. His hand shook as he passed it to Holmes, who got up and went over to the window to study it.
"The Professor's own headed paper, I see."
"Yes. From the date I would say he wrote this just before we departed for Austria."
"Do not speak of that!" said Holmes. Watson was surprised. "Bad memories, Watson," smiled Holmes. He read the letter aloud.
Moran:
Holmes is closing in, and I have an instinct that the time of my end is near. He is quite resolute. He has ignored all my attempts to dissuade him of his course of action. It will be his undoing, but, I fear, mine too.
You are to continue, Moran; you and you alone. Show this letter to all who doubt or question.
I have one regret in my dealings with you. I want to set that straight. I saw how affected you were with the Duchess of Mortonwell. I appreciate the loyalty you subsequently showed me. I want to reward you for that loyalty.
The proceeds of the burglary were not disposed of in the usual manner. I have kept them safe. You will know where. 1837 A56.
Reunite the Duchess with her goods, Moran. And don't let me down.
M.
Holmes looked up from reading the letter. "It is dated a two weeks before Reichenbach," he said to Watson.
"Yes, but he never gave it to me," said Moran. "If I had received it, how different things would have been with her! And then there's this letter, which was in the same envelope." He handed over another sheet of paper which Holmes proceeded in like manner to the first, to read aloud.
Where is it? We want it. We know where you are, and will be watching, so get in touch and we'll get hold of it. C.
"Short and to the point," said Holmes, passing the letter to Watson. "Mr Clay has lost none of his social skills in the intervening years. And an altogether poorer quality of paper – torn from a roll of newsprint, perhaps?"
"Very good, Mr Holmes," replied Moran. "John Clay is currently holding down a job at the London Mail."
"But why has he suddenly forwarded a letter from Moriarty to you at this time, and not before?" asked Watson.
Moran shrugged. "I honestly couldn't say. I hope to ask him one day. But you see the danger, Mr Holmes?"
"To you? Yes. I would be very worried if Clay and his associates were on my trail."
"Especially since I don't know where the booty is."
"However not?" asked Watson.
"I suppose the Professor was going to tell me – but never got round to it. I was in fact wondering whether the reason I never got this letter was that he thought better of it, and recanted of sending it; but now, somehow, it has turned up. Maybe in some of his old papers? Clay knew where everything was kept. And so I am now the hunted, Mr Holmes. I have the clue to where it is hidden but cannot decipher it. They think I know, but I do not."
Holmes smiled sardonically. "Ironic, Moran."
"They will hunt me down, Holmes, and not believe me when I tell them I do not know where it is. They will think I want it for myself. And so, you know what I am going to ask."
"Of course. You want me to help you find the proceeds of the robbery."
"Yes, and to return it to its rightful owner."
"She is dead, Moran."
Watson sighed at the insensitivity which Holmes showed, even in his advancing years. Some things would never change.
"I know, Holmes. But there is more to tell."
"I thought there might be. Tell on."
"In recent years I have seen a subtle change in the crime reports. Oh, Clay was still the man of the moment, he was still the one whose name was held in fear."
"I agree," said Holmes. "I noted no such change, though."
"With respect, I had had greater dealings with the man than you, Holmes. I started to see there was another hand, always in the shadows, but guiding him. It was as though his fingerprints were on a glove that someone else wore."
"You may be right. I'm thinking of the murder of Harold Foster – it was most unlike anything he had done before. Quite cold blooded."
"Harold Foster was one of his own men a few years ago, Mr Holmes. Harold Foster left Clay's 'employ' and they saw to it that he did not live to enjoy what little freedom he had. But that's not Clay. A beating, a whipping perhaps – but murder? Not in those circumstances."
"So what are you suggesting?"
"The Professor's empire is being run by another. Clay is a puppet. And they are expanding. Their webs are being woven across the city – across the country. Something big is happening, Holmes, little by little, so as not to draw attention to itself. But it is happening nonetheless. These are evil times, Holmes. I do not want to fall into their hands."
"The times were ever thus," replied Holmes, taking his seat again.
"The realisation of this finally broke me," continued Moran. "The letter brought it to a head. At that point I could see no way forward. So ...." He paused for a moment as though composing his thoughts. "So, I submitted to the procedure." He faced them and they saw a look in his eye that shocked them. "They say it has cured me, Holmes. In some ways it has. But – I hear them."
"Them?" asked Watson.
"All those who have suffered at my hand. Adair and the others. They cry out at me in my dreams. When I close my eyes they are there. They are with me now. Taunting, threatening, accusing."
He finally submitted to the emotions he had constrained the whole time he had been with them. He gasped in mental agony as he spoke. "Every minute of every day, Holmes! Shouting at me. Wailing. I have no peace. Even in sleep I have no peace. I thought the procedure would bring me peace. But it has made my life a living hell." Holmes and Watson looked at the old man with feelings of shock and horror at what they had heard.
He composed himself again. "So this is what is going to happen, Holmes. You are going to help me find the Duchess' things. You are going to keep me safe from Clay and his new master until that is done. Together we are going to return the goods to the Duchess' family - once we find them; or if not, the choice is yours. And then, when all that is done, I will discharge you from helping me. And at that point Mr Holmes, you will then kill me."