From Stutley Constable - A game of snooker.
The university lounge was an elegant realm of polished dark wood, stained glass gas lighting, and sharply patterned wallpaper and carpet. Professors and administrators mingled amongst each other, free of their usual students and staff duties, chatting over flutes of champagne and little plates of hors d'oeuvres. The winter party was a celebration of the semester's end, a chance to relax and commiserate. Glasses clinked. People laughed.
A snowstorm was brewing outside. Professor James Moriarty stared out at the whirling flakes, the whipping wind, the frost creeping up the edges of the windowpane. To his mathematical mind, he saw a great multidimensional vector field. A thermodynamic differential equation. He heard footsteps approaching from behind.
"Professor Moriarty?" said Mr. Sherlock Holmes. He held a lit cigarette in his left hand, and he extended his right to shake. "My name is Sherlock Holmes." His expression was cool, eyes grey.
Moriarty took his hand. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"The pleasure is mine, I assure you," said Holmes. "I have a great admiration for mathematicians. Abstract mathematics is truly the purest form of deductive reasoning. I've read your latest book, and it's nothing short of brilliant."
"Thank you," said Moriarty. "I didn't realize I had your eye, Mr. Holmes. You have an interest in non-Euclidean knot theory?"
"It is perhaps my favorite of all branches of topology," said Holmes.
"I must say, I'm an admirer of your work as well," said Moriarty.
"You've heard of me?" said Holmes.
"I follow your cases in the Strand," said Moriarty. "Great stuff. I especially enjoyed the one with the locked room and the Indian swamp adder."
Holmes complimented his ghost writer's ability to make his investigative work seem exciting. In truth, most of his time was spent retracing steps, peering through a microscope, or sitting back in his chair in deep thought.
"Does your writer have any other publications?" said Moriarty. "I'd love to read more of his prose."
"No," said Holmes. "He's exclusive to me."
"What's his name?" said Moriarty. He went by a pen name in the Strand. "In case he publishes something else someday, I'd like to know."
"He's a man who values his anonymity, I'm afraid," said Holmes.
Moriarty nodded understandingly. "Not to dissuade your merrymaking, but I'm sure this is a faculty-only event. Who did you come here with?"
"I'm here alone," said Holmes. "I gave a few guest lectures for the chemistry department last spring, and I suppose that earned an invitation."
The two men made casual conversation. Holmes worked on his cigarette. Moriarty hadn't touched his champagne. Holmes gestured to the snooker table and challenged Moriarty to a game. They racked colored balls on the green felt table, arranging fifteen red balls in a triangle and six other colored balls of varying value and position. Moriarty offered to break.
"I haven't played in ages." He was stronger than his aged, desk-confined frame might suggest. He struck the cue ball with a clean thrust, scattering the object balls around the table, rebounding off walls. One red ball fell into a side pocket, and another dropped into a corner. Moriarty enjoyed the beautiful randomness of the distribution, and the statistical impossibility of this exact ball placement ever being achieved again. Moriarty continued with his turn, methodically potting easy, low-point balls. When he had no more easy shots, Moriarty hit the cue ball to the far corner of the table such that it rolled behind the black ball.
"Snookered," muttered Holmes as he twisted chalk onto the tip of his stick. In Holmes's position, it was illegal to play the black ball without first hitting a red. "This is what I get, playing snooker with an expert in geometry."
Holmes attempted a double-bank shot to escape his desperate position. He made contact with a red ball, but failed to pocket it, and play passed back to Moriarty. Moriarty started again, pocketing another series of balls before leaving the cue ball behind the green and pink balls by the side pocket. Again Holmes had to attempt a near-impossible escape.
"Not much of a risk-taker," said Holmes, noting Moriarty's penchant for many easy shots over a few difficult ones.
"No need to introduce a higher variance," said Moriarty. "I prefer a steady strategy."
Holmes leaned up on the table, one foot on the floor, and struck the top corner of the ball, sending it spinning around the green ball. It banked off one wall, bounced off a red ball, and rolled behind the yellow. Holmes failed to pocket a ball and score any points, but his shot left Moriarty in a tight position. Moriarty escaped without incurring a foul, but his turn ended in a miss as his target red ball rattled out of the corner pocket. Holmes finally had the cue ball in a playable position. He pocketed a few balls in a row, including a shot that sent the cue ball the full length of the table, tight against the wall. Unlike Moriarty, Holmes opted for riskier shots worth more points, resulting in a shorter overall turn but a comparable point accumulation. Warmed up, the two went back and forth, garnering a small crowd of onlookers.
Moriarty took the first game. His early lead was too much to overcome.
"Well played," said Holmes. "One more?"
Moriarty agreed, and they re-racked the balls. As they set up the table, Holmes said, "I think, as a mathematician, you would be interested in a recent investigation of mine. There were a series of burglaries in London and Northampton. I provided my consultation to the local authorities, and the burglars were caught, but some of the stolen goods had already been fenced, and some of the stolen money spent. After accounting for the burglars' expenses, I realized that each stolen cache was still missing six percent of its value. It was as if each burglar had forfeited a fixed proportion of their ill gotten gains."
"Curious," said Moriarty. "I always need more examples of real-world mathematics for my lectures. The algebra of crime! So, what did the burglars say about the missing percentage?"
"They had nothing to say about it," said Holmes. "Or more accurately, they were afraid to say anything. Well, except for one lad." Holmes struck the cue ball, starting the second game of snooker with a crack. He pocketed one red ball with the break, and continued on to pocket several more object balls, working his way around the table.
"One lad was unafraid, eh?" said Moriarty.
"He asked to speak with me one night," said Holmes. "But unfortunately, by the time I received his message and arrived at Scotland Yard the next morning, he was found hanged in his holding cell. Self-inflicted, apparently."
"How tragic," said Moriarty with a grimace.
Holmes shook his head. "Sorry, this is awfully gruesome to discuss at a holiday party, isn't it?"
"Don't apologize," said Moriarty. "I find it much more interesting than the usual gossip."
Snooker play passed to Moriarty. As he lined up his shot Holmes continued with his narration. "Each burglar inexplicably knew the vulnerabilities of their mark's security," said Holmes. "They all seemed to know exactly how and when to break in, and exactly where to plunder. The longer I analyze, the more likely I think it is that each burglar had the benefit of an informant of sorts. A man who provided information, or perhaps even planned the burglaries in their entirety. This informant took the fixed cut of cash and goods from each heist as payment."
"Quite the theory," said Moriarty. He sank the green ball into the side pocket with a tricky bank shot. "An unnamed burglar mastermind. King of thieves."
"I only wish I had your mind for inferential statistics, professor," said Holmes. "I've started looking back through old notes and reports, rechecking balances, looking for holes in wallets, if you will. The man I seek leaves evidence in the form of a void, an unusual absence of evidence. His role in these crimes is indirect."
"You think your informant's influence goes beyond the recent burglaries?" said Moriarty.
Holmes nodded. "Indeed. I find myself considering every measurable piece of collateral damage from the burglaries, and trying to determine if they were intended or not. For instance, some of the victims were English lords who were ruined by the theft, or outright killed by the burglars. There are global political implications. I'm sure you would have an easier time spotting patterns in the numbers, the mathematical abnormalities that aren't obvious to me."
The second game of snooker was much closer. Moriarty missed a shot near the end, giving Holmes an opportunity to score the winning point with a table-length shot. The winning ball nearly stopped short on the felt before plopping down into the pocket. If it had started more than half an inch further out, then it wouldn't have fallen. The suspenseful end elicited a whistle from one of the onlooking professors, champagne flute raised in celebration.
"One game to one," said Holmes. "What do you say to one more? A tiebreaker?"
"Of course," said Moriarty. "And on the topic of your statistical study, your hunt for the informant, I must say it is dangerous to make assumptions. You may be seeing hallucinations in the numbers. The human mind is known to do such things."
"Perhaps," said Holmes.
"That said, I'd be happy to review your analysis," said Moriarty. "Check your homework, as it were."
"I may take you up on that offer," said Holmes.
The third game of snooker was a grueling, tactical bout. With each player now familiar with the minor imperfections of the table—a slight tilt toward the corner pocket; a rough spot in the felt; uneven cushioning in the walls—as well as the other's play style, every shot was more calculated and intentional. A few of the onlookers put little wagers on the game.
"If this is you out of practice, then I'd hate to play you at your best," said Holmes as Moriarty pocketed an object ball with enough force that the rebounding cue ball traveled the length of the table and back.
"The winter season makes me feel like a younger man," said Moriarty. He pocketed another red ball and smiled. "My father had a snooker table in the basement when I was a boy. Though, we only had one stick, and the table legs were uneven."
"Humble beginnings," said Holmes. Finally, Holmes regained possession, only to miss a relatively easy shot and lose possession again.
"Don't get distracted, now," said Moriarty.
Holmes frowned. "My mind is still on the informant. He is like the cue ball who pockets his objective without going near the pocket himself. It's as if I can only see the colored balls that fall in the pockets, and I'm tasked with determining the positions of the remaining balls on the table."
"A futile task," said Moriarty. "I do not envy your uncertainty."
"Uncertain, perhaps, but I sense that I'm hovering on the outskirts of the truth," said Holmes. "Do you rely on intuition regarding your mathematical theories before you've worked out the full proofs?"
"I try to avoid it," said Moriarty. "Intuition has its place, but the more you rely on intuition, the less you rely on logic."
"My intuition tells me that the informant exists, and he is an incredibly careful man," said Holmes. "And the reason that I picked up on his scent at all is because he's been uncharacteristically active. For what purpose? He's accumulating his black capital at a high rate—incurring a greater risk of exposure—because he plans on funding something expensive in the near future. An investment in what, precisely?" Holmes's eyes met Moriarty's.
Moriarty shrugged. "He sounds like a greedy man. Don't criminals naturally escalate their crimes as they grow more confident?"
"In general, yes," said Holmes.
"Couldn't that be the explanation?" said Moriarty.
"I don't think the informant is a natural criminal," said Holmes. "He's an outlier in the data set. Let's assume he has a plan for his surplus in funds. What would he invest in? Is he planning to hire one or more people for a job?"
"If he's a careful man, then he would put his money in long-term bonds," said Moriarty.
"It would be a short-term investment, otherwise he wouldn't risk increasing his activity," said Holmes. "He's short on time."
"He needs money to flee from his fellow thieves, then," said Moriarty. "If he's as enmeshed in the criminal underworld as you suppose, then he surely has enemies."
"I think this man would sooner hire an assassin to eliminate an enemy than a getaway driver to flee from one," said Holmes.
"Based on?" said Moriarty.
"Intuition," said Holmes with a smile. "I fear England is in for the heist of the century." Holmes shook his head. "You probably think I sound paranoid."
"In this case, I hope your intuition is wrong," said Moriarty.
Moriarty ended his turn with the cue ball trapped against the wall. He had a daunting point lead on Holmes. Holmes managed to escape the tight position with a combination shot: cue to red to red to bank to pocket. He took his time lining up his next shot, patiently pacing around the table, studying the scattered distribution of balls from every angle.
"Planning out the rest of your shots?" said Moriarty.
"I'm no mathematician, but I think even a perfect clearance of the remaining balls won't be enough to catch up," said Holmes. He put a steep spur of backspin on the cue ball as he shot at a red ball. The spin curled the cue ball back around, ending Holmes's turn but snookering Moriarty behind the black and pink balls. "Hence, my only hope is to penalize your score with a foul or two, and then clear the table."
"Hell of a shot," said Moriarty.
He stared down at the table, his dire position. He attempted a jump shot, jabbing down at the ball at a steep angle. It was an ambitious attempt, but the foul was nigh unavoidable. Holmes earned points for the penalty, and regained possession. He took his time with each remaining shot. With every pocketed ball, the onlookers grew more excited, chattering and whistling. The momentum of his run continued to grow. Holmes attempted a jump shot of his own, hopping the cue ball over the black, and knocking the pink ball into the corner pocket. The game came down to the final shot. The crowd was silent. Holmes rattled the black ball into the side pocket with a devilish cut. The crowd erupted.
"If you ever get tired of investigative work, you should look into professional snooker," said Moriarty. He shook hands with Holmes. "Excellent match."
"Yes, I hope it will be the first of many," said Holmes. "We make hellish rivals of each other, professor."