The Revenge of Moriarty by John E. Gardner Read Free Book Online

rich young men about town. They both had clear busy eyes and features in which there was neither trace nor blemish inherited from their somewhat rough and ready antecedents – for their background had been stolidly lower criminal class (their father had died in jail, a forger of unmatched talent, while they boasted two uncles who had been rampsmen of considerable brutality). The Jacobs boys had, in fact, been close family people since childhood, working first as skilled toolers and later becoming mobsmen of some importance. They were both extremely valuable to Moriarty, who had personally seen to their training, making sure that they were taught not only the rudiments of their craft, but also more unusual subjects ranging from speech to etiquette, for he saw these intelligent lads as a considerable asset.
    Neither of the brothers had any doubt as to where their loyalties lay. If it had not been for Professor James Moriarty they would not have had such a good start in life and, more recently, might have still been passing their day in the Steel, the Model * or the Slaughterhouse – where in truth the blue boys fondly imagined they were both held at this very moment.
    Bertram hung back at the edge of the crowd, now growing and excited as the ship began to disgorge her passengers. Friends and relatives greeted one another raucously, joyfully, with tears or simple sober handshakes. One Holy Joe went down on his knees making public thanksgiving to the Almighty for a safe return. Yet, in the midst of all this, Bertram Jacobs noticed, with a sly smile, that there were not a few young women on the fringes of the crowd who were obviously on the naughty, looking for likely fellows – passengers or crew – ready to spend freely. Young Jacobs wished that he was carrying cash for some of these ladybirds, for they looked tasty enough in a gaudy manner.
    William Jacobs, eyes peeled for Spear and Bridget, caught sight of Lee Chow assisting a portly, black-coated traveller with his baggage. Their eyes met, but Lee Chow registered no flicker of recognition.
    Passengers were coming off thick and fast now, and a large pile of bundles, trunks, bales and packing cases was starting to build on the quayside. Sailors and porters were everywhere, some not too careful with their language, taking little notice of protests from more refined ladies and their companions. Carts and cabs, a steam van, numerous drays, hansoms and growlers – the four-wheeled cabs – were pulled up on the dockside, coming and going the whole while. All was noise and shoving, good-natured shouts, orders, jests and activity.
    Moriarty came off shortly after half-past one, looking the picture of a slightly bewildered professional man setting foot in an English seaport for the first time. He had two porters with him, carrying the luggage, and to these he kept up a constant flow of instructions, bidding them to take care, all delivered in the clipped nasal drawl of central America.
    Bertram Jacobs pushed his way to the foot of the gangway, held out his hand and greeted the Professor quietly, leading him over to the growler which had been waiting for the past hour. He was pleased to see Moriarty flash a quick smile at the driver – Harkness, the Professor’s coachman from the old days.
    The porters stowed the luggage and Moriarty went through an elaborate charade, pretending not to know the right money for their gratuities. In the end, Bertram joined in the play-acting, tipping the men out of his own pocket.
    It was not until they were both seated inside the cab, with Harkness urging the horses forward, that the Professor leaned back and spoke in his normal voice.
    â€˜So, I am back yet again.’ He paused, as though mentally examining the statement. Then – ‘Where are we quartered?’
    â€˜At the Saint George’s. Ember said you wanted a little luxury and no slap-bang shops. Was the journey peaceful?’
    Moriarty nodded,