And she did not like it.
In the missive she distanced herself and the movement from Lady Darringford and warned her not to seek her ends under the auspices of the movement. The letter was dated several days ago.
It appeared to be the end of a long friendship.
“It seems that Alice and her brother’s plans are beginning to crumble,” I said.
“For the time being it is not critical. They have obtained what they needed, and as soon as the suffragettes realise the power that Alice has gained they will no doubt accept her once again.”
The second document was much more alarming.
It was something in German. From the little that I still remembered of the language, I understood that it was an order for military hardware.
So here too the Lady was negotiating the sale of British strategic plans with a no doubt highly placed German official.
The wheels of the war machine had begun to turn. We had come at the eleventh hour.
I added the documents to the others under my waistcoat and Holmes handed me a few more. I was already stuffed like a pillow, but in the wardrobe I fortunately found a travel tube with a carrying strap. I rolled up everything that I could into it and slung it over my shoulder.
Besides the tube the spacious and deep wardrobe contained nothing but coats and shoes.
I wanted to close it, but as I turned towards Holmes, I noticed in the mirror on the opposite wall the door opening and somebody entering.
My heart almost stopped beating, but I could not warn the detective without drawing attention to myself. I took a few steps back, ducked inside the wardrobe and closed the door behind me. The detective raised his head and immediately understood what was happening.
He did not panic. He calmly turned to face the entrance to the room and stood still. In the crack between the doors I could watch what unfolded.
Lady Darringford entered brandishing a small pistol. Despite her perverse nature, she still looked like the most beautiful woman in the world.
“I was expecting your visit,” she said. “Nevertheless you are here early.”
“Better too early than too late.”
“It is too late for you anyway and for the rotten world as we know it.”
“What has made you despise the world?” said Holmes, shaking his head sadly.
“Men, Mr Holmes! Two representatives of this sordid species in particular.”
“Men? Why this hatred? Indeed, I thought that a man, your father, was your role model.”
“Do not dare utter his name in your filthy mouth!” she cried. “My father was the last real man and you are not even close to his equal! You were just lucky!”
“No doubt,” he agreed.
“John Clay was the first to take my father away from me,” she continued. “I assume there is no need to introduce him to you.”
“Of course not,” he said. His eyes suddenly widened with discovery. He already knew what my mind was still searching for.
“Do you want to hear who the second fiend was who took my father from me for good?” said the lady, her face so close to Holmes’s that their noses almost touched.
The detective bowed his head.
“No, I know who it was,” he said sadly. “It was me.”
Holmes? For God’s sake, how was he responsible for Alice’s madness? There was only one possibility. But it was so unthinkable that I could hardly believe it.
XV: A Dish Best Served Cold
Revenge is a dish best served cold and few things today were colder than Professor Moriarty’s remains beneath the Reichenbach Falls.[23]
But his daughter had made it clear to us. Oh Alice, why must you be that devil’s daughter?
That it was Moriarty who had hidden his daughter in the convent in Anges was the only possible solution to the riddle that Holmes and I had been trying for weeks to solve.
Her real name was Alice Moriarty.
It shed new light on Lady Darringford’s motives. It was about more than just power, money and the desire to mould the course of history. It was about revenge! Revenge against Holmes, who had dispatched her father from the world, and revenge against the world for not understanding and valuing his criminal genius.
The war that Alice and her foster brother had set in motion could bring her everything she desired: A new world order and the realisation of her father’s dreams, but on an even larger scale! He had been content with ruling the London underworld. His daughter wanted nothing less than to rule Europe.
She had gravitated towards the suffragette movement, but her militancy was deplorable. It was not the monastery that awakened her opposition towards men; her hatred was self-inflicted. The first wave was caused by John Clay, the uncrowned king of the London underworld in the mid-1880s. We had encountered him as Vincent Spaulding in our investigation of the case of the Red-Headed League.
The nun had described Moriarty in 1883 as a frightened man afraid for his daughter’s life. It was hard to imagine the calculating Napoleon of crime in such circumstances. We knew him in a completely different guise. Parental love had apparently overpowered him and we could only guess why events had unfolded as they had. In those days Moriarty already had grand criminal ambitions, but Clay controlled the breeding grounds of all London. Their power struggle was fierce, so the professor had to get rid of his Achilles heel.
In order to destroy his rival, Moriarty put his daughter somewhere where Clay could never find her.
In 1890 the royal hand of justice fell on Clay’s shoulder. But this was just the last in a series of reversals. Moriarty had risen to the pinnacle of power, but this did not help Alice, who still could not return to her father’s arms. Clay had disappeared, but an even more formidable adversary had appeared: Sherlock Holmes. He aimed to destroy the professor’s criminal network. Moriarty’s daughter would again be an obstacle, so she needed to remain on the sidelines, which by then was with the Darringfords. Difficult months followed for everyone. And before that fateful May 4, 1891 Alice never saw her father again.
Two men had taken her father away from her. Now the whole world had to suffer for it.
First came the murder of the Darringfords, who knew her origin. Then the burning of the monastery. And the fire began to spread further. How madly insane!
Now she stood in the study of her hideaway near the Scottish town of Anges, where it had all begun long ago, pointing a pistol at my companion’s chest. I was trembling in my hiding place in the wardrobe, watching through the crack of the door and clutching the stolen documents. They had to be rescued at all costs.
Keeping the pistol aimed at the detective, Alice carefully walked around him and examined the desk. She immediately realised that most of the important documents were gone.
“Where are the papers?” she sputtered.
The detective did not answer and stared at her defiantly. Alice rummaged through the desk, but all she found was a map of Britain.
She took a few steps towards the door and called into the corridor.
“I ask you again, where did you hide them?”
“Ask as many times as you want, I will not tell you.”
“Tough talk. But we will see how strong your will is.”
A tall man stepped into the study. The sharp facial features were a bit effeminate, but his tight leather pants and loose frilled shirt outlined the broad shoulders and strong muscles. It was probably Alice’s servant, whose footprints we had found on the front lawn of her villa.
“Search him!” the lady ordered, still pointing the pistol at the detective.
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