Moriarty Returns a Letter by Michael Robertson Page B

generous offer,” said Reggie.
    “So it goes on the side wall,” said Laura, and she pulled out another letter.
    This time she paused for a moment, rereading it silently. Then she said:
    “I have committed an evil murder, and I am confessing, complete with my name and signature.”
    “What?” said Reggie.
    “Well, that was just a summary. The highlights are: ‘Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes:
    “‘… I want you to know of the great favor that I have done for you.
    “‘Professor Moriarty is now in fact dead. For I have killed him.’ And so on and so on. And then the person adds, ‘I put him in some pain before he expired. No extra charge for that.’”
    Laura held the letter out for Reggie to see. “Murder and torture,” she said. “Charming, isn’t it?”
    “Well, that’s all right then,” said Reggie. “If someone had confessed in print to an actual murder, I would have expected Scotland Yard to do something about it, and not just stuff it in a box. But given what they’ve confessed to is killing a fictional character—”
    Rafferty, at the other end of the room, raised his head and looked over for a moment, but then he just continued on with his own batch of letters.
    “Let’s put it in the center display, where everyone can see it,” said Laura. “In place of this other one, which is just to Sherlock Holmes from some Nigerian prince.”
    In a few minutes more, all the designated wall spaces were covered. Rafferty put the boxes of remaining letters back onto the dolly, and Reggie prepared to wheel it back downstairs.
    “You both go right ahead,” said Laura. “I’ll catch up. I’m going next door and get us all some mini-burgers.”
    Reggie and Rafferty wheeled the dolly out, and several minutes later Laura joined them in front of the hotel.
    “Sorry I was delayed,” she said. She carried a sack of little burgers in red-and-white paper wrappings, which Rafferty declined but Reggie gladly accepted.
    “It was the oddest thing,” said Laura. “The hotel manager stopped by to have a look as I was leaving, just as she said she would. I stayed politely for a few minutes, so that she could finish thanking us properly. She walked along the wall, nodding approvingly at how we made only a little mess at hanging the things, and then she came to the center display—where we had put up just that one letter, from someone claiming to have killed Moriarty—and she turned white as a ghost.”
    “What, I angled it wrong?” said Reggie.
    “I hardly think that was it. One would have thought that she had some personal stake in the matter. She smiled when I first pointed the letter out to her; she actually took a moment to read the whole thing. And then, all at once, her expression changed completely. She didn’t even stay to inspect the remainder of the display. She said that she suddenly remembered an urgent appointment, she turned on her heels, and she just rushed out of the room as if the fire alarm had gone off.”
    “That’s a hotel for you,” said Reggie. “Always experiencing a completely predictable crisis. And usually in a way that inconveniences you and makes money for them. I’ve never been in one where they didn’t forget that I requested a room with a view, or insist that I have to put up with construction noise outside the window, or a lack of heat, or a temporary suspension of the free breakfast deal they promised.”
    “That’s not how things usually go for me at a hotel,” said Laura. “I always find the staff are quite nice.”
    “That’s because you have good hotel luck. I have bad hotel luck.”
    “Well, I hope they balance out from now on. In any case, given the look on her face, if your rule holds true, I’m glad this hotel is not on our itinerary,” said Laura.
    “I’ll just be glad when the bloody exhibit is over and we get the letters back where they belong,” said Rafferty.
    As Laura tossed the bag of mini-burgers into Reggie’s car, she glanced over at Rafferty.