"Those disguises are not meant to fool you, Professor. They would fool nine-tenths of humanity, they would pass the scrutiny of any of Scotland Yard's current crop of inspectors, they would befuddle my colleague, Dr. Watson; but they are not meant to fool you. I would have to take much greater care and more profound subtlety to fool you."
"I have no doubt that you could if you put your mind to it," Moriarty said. "I have no doubts about your ability; indeed, I admire it. It's your damned single-minded persistence I object to. I am no Jean Valjean to have you dogging my footsteps for the remainder of my life."
"Come, Professor Moriarty," Holmes said, smiling a satisfied smile, "a man who chooses to live outside the social, moral, and legal confines of our society must not be surprised when that society chooses to keep a close eye on him. You are that man. And I am that eye."
"A touching bit of metaphor," Moriarty said. "I followed you to Odessa."
Moriarty shook his head. "That's good, Holmes," he said, "that's very good. I should have guessed. How did you manage from Stamboul?"
"I saw you board the Russian frigate," Holmes said. "I was actually on the dock near you at the time. I hired a steam launch when you boarded the frigate, and I beat you to Odessa by four hours."
"You're good, Holmes, I'll give you that," Moriarty said, staring his unblinking stare. "But why do you hound me? Go apprehend a bank robber. Use your talents to lay your hands on a forger, arrest a poisoner, clap the cuffs on a resurrectionist; perform some useful deeds with this avocation of yours, but leave me be!"
"Avocation?" Holmes stood up. "My dear Moriarty, I would be vastly surprised if you were not guilty yourself of each of the crimes you have enumerated. I have often said in private that you are the most dangerous man in London, if not in Europe. If I were to utter such a statement in public you could collect damages for slander; that's how clever you are. But scheming with the Russians against your own country — Professor Moriarty, even for you this is too much!"
"Stop dogging my footsteps, Holmes," Moriarty said, cold fury evident in his voice. "Both my morals and my methods are beyond you. You make me your life's work, while to me you are but a minor annoyance."
"I am quite your equal in this game we are playing, Professor," Holmes said calmly. "I am merely more constrained by the rules than you are." He thumped his cane on the floor. "And I only have to make you my life's work until you are safely and securely behind bars, after which I'll be free to concentrate on the lesser criminals, the pilot fish that always swim in the wake of a shark."
"There can be no truce between us?"
"Never!" Holmes replied.
Moriarty nodded and took a deep breath. Slowly the fury disappeared from his eyes. "So be it. I shall endeavor to keep out of your clutches. But I warn you, Holmes, you are playing in a deeper game than you know. Do not open any unexpected packages, do not walk under parapets, avoid mysterious meetings with strangers, never take the first cab in the rank."
"Am I to understand that you are threatening me, Professor?"
"Not at all," Moriarty said. "Merely alerting you. It is circumstances that are threatening you if you are going to get involved in my affairs at this time. There have been three attempts to kill me in the past ten days; twice by bombing and once by dropping a chimney on me as I passed a building being demolished. It makes life quite interesting, I find."
"The same people who sent you a bomb before you left for Odessa?"
"Presumably," Moriarty said. "What do you know about that?"
"I was across the street when the bundle came hurtling out your front window — that very window, I believe — and exploded."
"Ah, yes," Moriarty said, "I had forgotten."
"Who are these people who are taking such interest in doing a service for humanity?" Holmes asked.
"I cannot tell you any more about them," Moriarty said. "But if you follow me too closely, they are liable to take an interest in you."
"I'll be careful."
"Please," Moriarty said. "I'd hate anything to happen to you before you had achieved your life's ambition. Good day, Mr. Holmes." Moriarty rang for the butler.
"Don't bother," Holmes said, "I'll find my own way out."
"No bother, Mr. Holmes. Drop in again soon for another little chat."
"You have my word," Holmes said.
NINE — LONDON
Hell is a city much like London.
— Shelley
Mummer Tolliver devoted the next few days to showing Barnett around Professor James Moriarty's London and introducing him to the people he would be dealing with in Moriarty's service. Although very few people were in his constant employ, the professor had associates all over the city. There were those in every social class, in every profession, and in almost every institution, guild, club, and business who were ready to do Moriarty a service or repay a favor.
In a cellar below a warehouse in Godolphin Street, almost in the shadow of the great tower of the Houses of Parliament, Barnett met Twist, London's most deformed beggar and the head of the Mendicants' Guild — an organization with rules as strict and as strictly enforced as those of the British Medical Association or the Queen's Dragoon Guards. It was Twist and his corps of wretches who enabled Moriarty to make good his boast that he had eyes on every street corner in London.
Twist looked Barnett up and down with his one good eye — the right one had a great patch over it — and then shook his head doubtfully at the Mummer. " 'E's fly?" he demanded.
"He's fly," the Mummer insisted. "The professor sprung him from quod in Araby. He's to be the professor's principal. 'Course he's fly. Who says he ain't?"
Twist took the patch from his right eye and stared up at Barnett with it, as though seeking confirmation for what his left eye had shown him. The right eye had a milky-white disc covering most of the cornea, and Barnett found it very disconcerting to have it staring at him. He was having trouble following the conversation, but he didn't want to ask for an explanation for fear it would make Twist think him a complete outsider.
Twist replaced the patch, stared thoughtfully for a minute at Barnett's shoes, and then nodded. "If the professor says you're fly," he told Barnett, "that's jonnick with me. 'As the Mummer 'ere given you the office?"
" 'Course I hasn't," the Mummer interjected. "I leaves that to you, as always. It's not my place."
" 'E's right," Twist said to Barnett. "It's my place and it's my privilege." He hobbled over to a table in one corner of the large cellar, which was filled with low wooden tables and lower wooden benches. "We'll do it by the book," he said. "And 'ere it is." He opened a large, ancient ledger and turned the pages slowly and carefully until he reached the last one with writing on it. "They are those," he said, "as think I'm the oldest thing around 'ere, but this book is far older than any living man. It's the Maund Book and all as 'ave ever been members of the London Maund, which we now call by the appellation of the Mendicants' Guild, are signed by they name, or they mark, and sealed with they thumb into this book. This book was opened in 1728, in the second year o' the reign of George the Second."
Barnett went over and, with Twist's permission, examined the book, turning a few pages and peering at the ancient leather binding and the lists of signatures and strange hieroglyphics. He noticed a squiggle with a straight line over it and two X's at each end, and "the Connersty Barker, his mark," written after. Each signature had a strange brown blob at the end, which Barnett decided was the thumbseal Twist had mentioned. "Absolutely fascinating," Barnett said. "You have a piece of history here."
"Ain't it the truth!" Twist said, pleased at the observation. "And they's nobody what gets to see it without I say so." He produced an inkstone and poured a few drops on it from a bottle under the table. "Gin," he explained, pulling a goose feather from a cubbyhole. With a couple of quick swipes of his pocketknife he created a passable point, which he rubbed into the gin-moistened ink. "What moniker?" he asked.