“You suggest my path has been mistaken?”
“You now stand at the very pinnacle of villainy, the hand that governs that foul syndicate that pervades London’s lanes and shadows. Your mark can be found upon the majority of those fiendish crimes that have gone unanswered in our city. The air of London will only be sweeter for your loss.”
“You are here to convict me? Is it a crime to oppose those artless assumptions that you and your ilk deem to be ‘order’? I have merely provided a learning opportunity to an immature society.”
“Crime cannot be justified in the name of enlightenment. How much blood have you spilled? The fire you started near Charing Cross Station left two pitiable children dead, and they were only four and six years of age.”
“Society cannot progress without sacrifice. Study your history, Mr. Holmes.”
“I believe I have. Revolution comes upon the overthrow of tyrants. London’s future now hangs in the balance.”
The falls reverberated with a deep groan, the rising wind creating a shifting mass from the mist. Sherlock’s figure floated in and out of the fog, obscured one moment and visible the next.
Moriarty began to lose patience. The other man’s feet remained firmly planted upon the narrow trail that fringed the cliff. He had drawn no closer to the rocks, where he might afford Colonel Moran his shot from above. Was it wariness on his part?
He sighed, venturing a glance down toward the basin. “The tallest waterfall in the world possesses a drop of 3,200 feet. Do you know where it is located? I am sure you do not.”
“In your own imagination, I presume.”
Moriarty snorted reflexively, leveling his gaze at the other man. “It does exist, Mr. Holmes. But it has yet to be officially discovered. It is located in the Guiana Highlands, in the northern reaches of the South American content.”
“Evidently you wish to imply that your activities extend even to such lost reaches, but it would be fruitless for us to discuss such matters. I have no means of confirming them.”
“Your world is a small one, Mr. Holmes. I imagine you are entirely ignorant of recent events in the Far East.”
“Trivializing London by comparing it to the world at large will do nothing to alleviate the weight of your crimes, Professor.”
“Upon observing the Guiana Highland falls, I calculated its height using triangulation. There is no doubt that it is the greatest waterfall in the world, but it strikes rock first after a plunge of 2,648 feet. How deep, do you suppose, is the basin?”
It was Sherlock’s turn to chortle. “Do you think that by distracting me with calculations you will delay your fate? There is no basin. With a fall that great the water would be dispersed in the air before reaching the ground.”
“Hmm…” Moriarty appraised Sherlock. It seemed he, too, was in command of his more rational faculties. “You speak as if you have seen the falls for yourself.”
“I believe only what I witness directly, but when one subscribes to the principles of deduction, reason operates automatically.”
“We are alike in that regard. When you departed Strasbourg with Dr. Watson and crossed the Rhone Valley and Gemmi Pass, I was watching through my binoculars. You were headed for Interlaken, I presume.”
“Completely correct,” Sherlock replied simply.
“When the rock fell at Lake Daubensee, however, it seems you were unable to interpret that as a warning.”
“If you had hoped to hamper our progress, you might have made a grander show of your presence. I suppose you were so fearful of police notice that you felt compelled to hide.”
“Ask another, Mr. Holmes. Documentation of my history of cooperation with the police, as an instructor in England and beyond, dates back 20 years or more. Naturally, I never once attended upon the police in person, if you take my meaning?”
“That is well played.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Should Scotland Yard inquire after the name Moriarty, the account received would differ station by station. The resultant confusion would dispense with any immediate necessity for a consistent alibi.”
“It is not only my own lieutenants who have assumed the name of Moriarty. My younger brother’s given name is also James, and he resembles me in outward appearance. This has proved convenient on several occasions.”
“You have devised everything most cunningly. I already esteemed you as a criminal of the first order and this has only further convinced me.”
Suddenly Moriarty was gripped with a sense of alarm. He pursed his lips, tightly. His aim was to come across as a desperate old man who had been backed into a corner. Perhaps he was being too much of a church-bell now.
Sherlock set his alpine-stock against the rocks. His expression suddenly took on new resolve. “If you would be good enough to allow me to leave a few lines for my friend.”
“By all means. We are fast reaching the final stages of the discussion of those questions that lie between us. An interlude appears in order.”
The discussion of which Moriarty spoke would be a mere formality. It was clear at this stage they were beyond reconciliation. Sherlock, too, was surely aware of that fact. He displayed no signs of agitation, however, as he drew a notebook from his pocket, opened its pages, and began writing with the tip of his pencil.
“Will you be attaching the date?” asked Moriarty. “It is the fourth of May, 1891.”
“That will not be necessary,” Sherlock said, without looking up. “My friend will return shortly.”
It appeared his mind had been settled. His implacable purpose was to eradicate the criminal mastermind Moriarty from the face of the Earth, even should it cost him his own life. His eyes, as they rested on his notebook, betrayed no signs of hesitation.
Moriarty ground his teeth. Still Sherlock refused to step from the narrow path skirting the cliff! Colonel Moran had no shot. Moriarty kept his distance as well. Certainly he might take his chance and attempt to dash the man into the falls, but Sherlock would surely reach for that stick of his first. He had yet to lower his guard once, not even as his pencil ran across the page. The slightest shuffle of Moriarty’s feet was enough cause for him to recoil. His watchfulness bordered on paranoia.
Should the shot prove impossible, Colonel Moran had also prepared several boulders that could be dropped down the cliff. It was a proposal, however, that was less than ideal. One could hardly expect that a boulder dropped from such a height would hit only its mark. A poor stroke of luck, and one of the boulders might even strike Moriarty instead.
It was critical, however, that they eliminate Sherlock Holmes while the iron was still hot. Regardless of how they dispatched of the man, the plan afterward remained the same. Arrangements had been made for Moriarty to scale the cliff face after the deed was accomplished. Colonel Moran was to let down a rope ladder so that Moriarty could get from the shelf above to the top of the cliff.
The surface of the narrow path leading to the falls was naked dirt and remained damp in all seasons. Any footprints would be readily apparent. The genius of Moriarty’s plan, however, was that it would appear as if the two men had gone to the falls, whereupon neither had returned. The police would deduce that Moriarty had tumbled into the falls along with Holmes. Once Moriarty was believed dead, he would no longer have the police hounding him. He could return to London in triumph, free to lead his organization unimpeded. And with Sherlock eliminated, his trail would be forever safe from detection.
Moriarty’s prospects were in alignment, and fruition was near. This chance must not be allowed to escape.
At last, Sherlock plucked his silver cigarette-case from his pocket. He tore several pages from his notebook, placed the pages inside his cigarette-case, and set the case next to his stick.