The Revenge of Moriarty by John E. Gardner Page B

at Allen’s name.
    Jacobs took Labrosse off to his guest room, with firm instructions to see that the artist did not wander or walk in his sleep. Presently, Harry Allen came to the drawing-room and there behind a locked door, the Professor gave him instructions regarding his forthcoming sojourn with the French artist in Paris.
    â€˜When it is all done, Professor, will there be other work for me?’ asked the former schoolteacher as he took his leave.
    â€˜If the job is done well, then you will be regarded as one of the household, one of the family. Bert Spear always has work for likely lads such as you.’
    Ten minutes later, Moriarty went downstairs to the study and took the piece of aged poplar from a locked drawer in his desk, turning it over in his hands and smiling. Within a few weeks this simple piece of wood was to be transformed into the ageless and priceless Mona Lisa . The bait would then be prepared for the Frenchman, Grisombre. In the meantime, Spear and Ember were about the business which would trip the arrogant Wilhelm Schleifstein.
    Spear was with Ember and two of Terremant’s men in the City. They crouched, in silence, in a darkened ground-floor room looking out onto the junction of roads which made up Cornhill and Bishopsgate Street, their attention focused upon the corner building, a jeweller’s establishment, which appeared to be in darkness except for two tiny slits of light at eye level in the window facing Cornhill, and one similar slit in the Bishopsgate window.
    â€˜Here he comes again,’ whispered Ember. ‘Up Bishopsgate.’
    â€˜A good timekeeper,’ smiled Spear in the darkness. ‘Regular as a Swiss horizontal. He never alters it?’
    â€˜No. Every fifteen minutes. I’ve had it watched over three weeks,’ Ember hissed. ‘His sergeant joins him at ten, then again at one. Sometimes at five in the morning as well, though not always. Falls in step with him and walks the beat in the same way.’
    They fell silent as the uniformed policeman clumped steadily towards the junction from Bishopsgate, pausing to try the handles on each door, like a drill sergeant going through some parade ground review, his bullseye lantern throwing out a dull glow from where it was clipped on his belt.
    He arrived at the corner, paused and peered through the slit in the window on the Bishopsgate side, tested the door in the shuttering and paced around the corner into Cornhill where he began to go through the same procedure. There was a rattle and sound of hooves from the direction of Leadenhall Street and a lone hansom came clattering past, heading towards Cheapside.
    The policeman hardly paused, squinting in through both slits on the Cornhill side, trying the other door-handle and then continuing on his way, his footsteps echoing in the empty street, dying off until silence again fell over the area.
    â€˜I’ll go over and have a peep,’ said Spear, more confident; louder now the uniformed figure had gone.
    The room from which they had been watching smelled musty as though inhabited by rats, and the bare floorboards creaked as Spear stepped towards the door, avoiding the workmen’s rubble which littered the place. It had in fact become vacant only a month before, the lease snapped up quickly by Moriarty under an assumed name. Like the shop across the street, it too had been a jeweller’s – as were many of the premises along Cornhill – and it was now undergoing ‘Complete Refurbishing’, as witnessed by the board fastened to the outer door.
    Spear paused in the empty street, ears pricked to catch the slightest sound. It was strange, he thought crossing the road, how this could be such a busy and crowded place during the day, yet so deserted at night. Few shopkeepers lived on their premises, preferring to reside in cosy terraced houses an hour or so away by train or omnibus. Mr Freeland, whose name appeared, coupled to that of his