— which is often — he goes running to our friend for help. I can tell you that the Professor’s organisation would not be half as successful as it is, if there was anyone at Scotland Yard with half a brain. That’s why your fellow lodger is such a threat.”
There followed an uncomfortable pause during which I felt I was expected to comment on Moran’s claim, but I did not know what to say or, rather, what I was expected to say. At length I said awkwardly, “Is that all for now?” I desperately wanted to escape from the dark confines of the cab and the company of this unpleasant man. Such a conversation only reminded me in bleak terms of the reality of my situation, the lie I was living. For the past week I had relaxed and been content, observing my fellow lodger out of a spirit of curiosity rather than with such a degrading ulterior motive as spying on him.
“In essence, Watson. But please do not be so petulant. You are being paid well for your labours. Remember that.”
I leaned forward, anger welling up inside me. I wanted to say that I had been given no choice in the matter. The whole scenario was forced upon me, but as the words came to my lips, they died away. I knew it was useless to complain. I was the proverbial fly caught in the web, and the spider was certainly not going to let me go.
Moran handed me a piece of paper. Glancing at it in the dim light, I noticed that it contained an address in West London. “The Professor would like you to compile regular reports on your activities with Sherlock Holmes. They are to be posted to this address on the first of the month. If there is some urgent business you think the Professor should know about, you are to send a telegram to that same address. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now memorise the address and hand the paper back to me.”
I did as he asked.
Moran tapped the roof of the cab with his cane again and the vehicle drew to a halt.
“This is where you leave us, Watson. We are not far from your lodgings.”
As I rose, Moran offered his hand again. With some reluctance, I took it. “It’s been good to meet you. We expect great things of you, Doctor. Be sure that you do not disappoint us.”
Without responding, I quickly departed the cab, glad to be out in the cold, fresh air once more.
Ten
R evenge was a flame which had burnt with a steady and fierce intensity in the heart of Jefferson Hope for twenty years. Never in all that time had his determination to murder the two men who had ruined his life and brought about the death of his beloved Lucy wavered for one instant. He had dedicated the rest of his days to the task, and once it was complete, he would be happy to meet his maker with a clear conscience. As he looked out of the grimy window of his lodgings at the gathering dusk and the hurrying silhouettes of the passers-by below, he felt good. He knew, at long last, that he was near to reaching his goal. He had finally tracked Drebber and Stangerson to London. He had always believed that it was just a matter of time before he got his hands on them, but now that time was very short. He prayed that his failing health would not let him down at the last moment. Fate could be cruel; indeed, it had been cruel to him, but surely it could not be that cruel — after all this time.
He held up the key against the glow of the gas mantle and examined it as though it were a precious stone, and smiled. It had chanced that, some days before, a passenger in his cab had been engaged in lookingover some empty houses in the Brixton Road and had dropped the key to one of them on the floor of the cab. It was claimed the same evening and returned, but not before Hope had arranged for a duplicate to be made. Now he had access to one spot in the whole city where he knew he would be free from interruption to carry out his grisly plan. However, the problem remained of how he could get Drebber there.
That night the dream came again to Jefferson Hope. He was
There followed an uncomfortable pause during which I felt I was expected to comment on Moran’s claim, but I did not know what to say or, rather, what I was expected to say. At length I said awkwardly, “Is that all for now?” I desperately wanted to escape from the dark confines of the cab and the company of this unpleasant man. Such a conversation only reminded me in bleak terms of the reality of my situation, the lie I was living. For the past week I had relaxed and been content, observing my fellow lodger out of a spirit of curiosity rather than with such a degrading ulterior motive as spying on him.
“In essence, Watson. But please do not be so petulant. You are being paid well for your labours. Remember that.”
I leaned forward, anger welling up inside me. I wanted to say that I had been given no choice in the matter. The whole scenario was forced upon me, but as the words came to my lips, they died away. I knew it was useless to complain. I was the proverbial fly caught in the web, and the spider was certainly not going to let me go.
Moran handed me a piece of paper. Glancing at it in the dim light, I noticed that it contained an address in West London. “The Professor would like you to compile regular reports on your activities with Sherlock Holmes. They are to be posted to this address on the first of the month. If there is some urgent business you think the Professor should know about, you are to send a telegram to that same address. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now memorise the address and hand the paper back to me.”
I did as he asked.
Moran tapped the roof of the cab with his cane again and the vehicle drew to a halt.
“This is where you leave us, Watson. We are not far from your lodgings.”
As I rose, Moran offered his hand again. With some reluctance, I took it. “It’s been good to meet you. We expect great things of you, Doctor. Be sure that you do not disappoint us.”
Without responding, I quickly departed the cab, glad to be out in the cold, fresh air once more.
Ten
R evenge was a flame which had burnt with a steady and fierce intensity in the heart of Jefferson Hope for twenty years. Never in all that time had his determination to murder the two men who had ruined his life and brought about the death of his beloved Lucy wavered for one instant. He had dedicated the rest of his days to the task, and once it was complete, he would be happy to meet his maker with a clear conscience. As he looked out of the grimy window of his lodgings at the gathering dusk and the hurrying silhouettes of the passers-by below, he felt good. He knew, at long last, that he was near to reaching his goal. He had finally tracked Drebber and Stangerson to London. He had always believed that it was just a matter of time before he got his hands on them, but now that time was very short. He prayed that his failing health would not let him down at the last moment. Fate could be cruel; indeed, it had been cruel to him, but surely it could not be that cruel — after all this time.
He held up the key against the glow of the gas mantle and examined it as though it were a precious stone, and smiled. It had chanced that, some days before, a passenger in his cab had been engaged in lookingover some empty houses in the Brixton Road and had dropped the key to one of them on the floor of the cab. It was claimed the same evening and returned, but not before Hope had arranged for a duplicate to be made. Now he had access to one spot in the whole city where he knew he would be free from interruption to carry out his grisly plan. However, the problem remained of how he could get Drebber there.
That night the dream came again to Jefferson Hope. He was
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