CHAPTER 3 : THE CLIENT

THE HAUNT OF BASKERVILLES

CHAPTER 3

I had no clue as to how Jim knew so much about me. Did he know my family? Or did he meet one of my old colleagues in the army? What puzzled me was the fact that he had given a thorough detail of my life. None of my army colleagues knew about my childhood and I had not seen my family since I joined the army. So where did he get all this information? And then my eyes fell on something that opened my eyes. The bookshelf. Lord Radnor had a peculiar bookshelf. It had a large mirror in the center, flanked on both sides with books. On top of the mirror was inscribed the words.

“Man, read thyself.”

No wonder Jim called me an open book. Anyone who looked at me could guess my age. My hair was receding and the whiskers had already turned grey. Come to think of it, forty five would be an apt age and that would put my date of birth at 1840! As for my father, Sir Augustus Moran was the most famous of the Morans. My career was also predictable. A man who goes to Hindusthan could only be either a merchant or a soldier. Since I was short of money, it was clear that I was the later. Of course, my attire also vouched for it. I wore a neat but worn out suit. My birthplace? A retired soldier always goes back to his native land. And Jim already knew I was a hunter.

It all made sense or so it seemed. When I looked at it again, I was not so sure. I felt the whole idea was ridiculous. No one could make such deductions. In fact what I did just now, couldn’t be called a deduction. I was merely looking at the facts and trying to develop explanations. Besides, how did he find out about Oxford and Eton? Neither did I have a mastery over English nor was I good at cricket. I decided that there was only one way to find out: Ask and it shall be answered.

“How did you know so much about me? And what makes you think the Professor knows about me?”

“As I told him, you are an open book, Seb.”

“What do you mean?”  You see I was curious to know if my humble ‘deductions’ were correct. We all are, aren’t we? So I asked if that’s how he knew about my past.

On hearing my explanation, Jim burst into laughter.

“You give me more credit than I deserve. The truth is way simple, Seb. It is right in front of you.”

I stared at the mirror. All I could see was my own reflection.

“You are an author, Seb. You have written two books and one of them is on that shelf. Three Months In The Jungle by Sebastian Moran.”

“So what? None of them has any personal details about my life. Though I wrote from my own personal experience, I am sure that I didn’t write any of the details that you just mentioned.”

“You are right. But if you turn to the first page you will see that a brief note about the author has been added by the publisher.”

Damn. That was so simple. No wonder they called me an open book. I felt a bit proud though. My book seemed to have a good readership.

“So did you like my book?”

“Well, it’s not bad. The plot was good. But you ought to add a bit more description. Do you know that your characters don’t have a face?”

“Well, I wanted to leave that part to the imagination of my readers.”

“Anyway, your English needs to be improved. Your time in India has ruined your language.” 

I was a bit upset, yes, but not really bothered. If you have a good readership then there is nothing wrong with your style. There was one last thing that puzzled me.

“But the Professor said you have been working with him for three years. When did that happen? Are you a criminal? Is this all merely an act to fool me?”

“Why do you think Lord Radnor is called the Professor?”

“Err…because he is the Professor of Crime?”

“True, he is the Professor of Crime but that’s not the exact reason. In truth, he is a University Professor and so am I. We have been colleagues for three years now.”

Just then our client made his entry.  He was a small, slim, clean-shaven, prim-faced man, flaxen-haired and lean-jawed, between thirty and forty years of age and dressed in a gray suit (Of course, I am borrowing the description from Dr. Watson.  As Jim pointed out, I am not very good at describing people).

“This is Mr. Stapleton. Mr. Stapleton, this is Mr. Moriarty and his associate, Mr.Moran.” Lord Radnor was quick to introduce us and after exchanging the usual pleasantries, we sat down to talk business.

“So, who is the target?” asked Jim.

“Sir Charles Baskerville.”

“Why do you want him dead?”

From Mr. Stapleton’s reaction, it was quite clear that he didn’t expect this question. He flinched for a moment and then retorted, “That’s none of your business.”

To tell the truth, that question changed my perception of Jim. Till now I had thought of him as a professor who wanted to become a criminal just for fun. I had heard of mad scientists for whom killing others was merely an experiment. But Jim’s desire to know the reason why he was going to kill Charles meant he had some goodness left in him. Maybe he will decline the contract if it is morally wrong. In a way, that’s what I wanted. It is true that I have killed hundreds but I have never done something against my consciousness. All those men were victims of war. To be honest, I was as much new to murder as Jim. The only difference was that I was trained for this. But still I wanted to know the reason why a man would pay to see his neighbor dead. It seemed Stapleton was not ready to share it with us. All the more reason to know the reason.

“I am sorry, Mr. Stapleton. But our contract is based on trust. If you do not trust us, then how can we trust you?”

Mr. Stapleton was clearly enraged by Jim’s persistence. He stood up and got ready to leave.

“I have my own reasons to keep the matter to myself. I hope you will respect my privacy, Mr. Moriarty. Or should I take my case somewhere else, Mr. Radnor?”

All eyes were now on Radnor. For a moment, he paused. Then he turned towards Mr. Stapleton and was about to say something when Jim interrupted.

“I apologize, Mr. Stapleton. I did not know the matter concerned your family. I am sorry for my indiscretion.”

Suddenly, Stapleton seemed to cool down.

“You see, Mr. Moriarty, I am a bachelor. The only person I have to call in this world as family is my sister, Beryl. If someone tries to hurt her then can I stand back? Of course not! Mr. Baskerville broke our trust. He tried to molest my sister. It was only by God’s Grace, that I arrived in time to prevent it. But the dog was able to escape my grasp. Tell me Mr. Moriarty, am I to let this man go scot free?”

“Why did you not take the matter to the police?”

“The Baskervilles are a powerful family. They have both money and power. The world is such that a poor man will not get justice. I would have killed him myself but then what would become of my sister?”

I really felt sorrow for this man. No wonder he wanted Baskerville dead. For who can forgive such transgressions? I felt the old hunter rattle within me. It seemed the civilized world had its own share of man eaters and it was my destiny to see them punished. I felt like an Arthurian knight commissioned to rescue a damsel in distress. Little did I guess, that in a few moments, Jim would shatter my lofty ideals and rudely awaken me to the harsh realities of a rogue world.

THE LOST GRAIL OF DA VINCI

Da Vinci was adding finishing touches to his masterpiece The Last Supper. He requested one of his friends to review his work. After looking at the painting, the friend replied, “Marvelous! This painting is simply magnificent. Surely, it will immortalize you. Do you know the best part of this painting? It is the chalice in Christ’s hand. I have seen many depictions of the Holy Grail but none so striking or beautiful than this. The Grail just takes my breath away. It is so glorious! So perfect! It takes your painting to a new level.”

On hearing his friend’s remark, the smile faded from Da Vinci’s lips. His face hardened. He took his paint brush and with great care replaced the magnificent Grail with an ordinary cup. His friend was stunned.

“What have you done, Leonardo? Why did you erase the centerpiece of this painting?”

Da Vinci smiled. He replied, “I did not erase the centerpiece of my painting. I just erased what was blocking your view. This is the painting of The Last Supper. There is only one centerpiece in it. Jesus Christ. This is the moment of his glory. The Holy Grail was beautiful. But it is not greater than its master. If it misleads your eyes, then it is better that I remove it from my painting.”

The friend looked at the painting once again. His eyes were now open. He could see the Lord in his glory. A smile blossomed in his lips.  

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CHAPTER 2 :AN OPEN BOOK

THE HAUNT OF BASKERVILLES

    CHAPTER 2

The next morning I found myself in front of Radnor House, the mansion of Lord William Radnor, who was more popularly known in criminal circles as the Professor. The manor was situated on the top of a hill in the outskirts of London. From the front gate, we could see the whole of London below us.

“James-” I began.

“Please, call me Jim.” Said Moriarty.

“Jim, there is one thing that I don’t understand. Why is it that the Professor did not kill you straight away? You see, the last time someone talked to the Professor the way you did, it didn’t end well for him.”

“Are you disappointed that the Professor didn’t kill me?”

“No. Of course not! I just couldn’t help wondering. I mean, why should he risk his reputation by giving a first timer a ‘contract’?”

“Maybe he didn’t think I would accept the challenge. Or maybe he needed a replacement for Thomas Morton.”

I just couldn’t help laughing. Here is a guy who has not yet committed a crime and he is comparing himself to the famous (or infamous, depends on the way you look at it) Thomas Morton.

“Don’t kid yourself, Jim. If the Professor wanted to replace Thomas Morton, he has enough candidates to fill that spot. Nobody replaces a queen with a pawn.”

“If the pawn is ready to go the distance, then he will one day become the all-powerful queen. Don’t forget that, my dear friend.”

“That’s not the point, Jim. I am beginning to wonder if there is any client waiting for us in this mansion. You so the grounds, didn’t you? The gardener was busy digging holes. I wonder if one of those holes is for us. I mean no one would be willing to risk a client on a rookie like you…unless he doesn’t care a penny for his client’s life.”

Just then we reached the front door. The butler opened the door for us and led us into the drawing room. It was a spacious well lit room.

“Good morning, Moriarty. I really didn’t expect to see you today.” said the Professor as he entered the room. He seemed to be in a jovial mood.

And then the Professor saw me. His smile vanished. Clearly, I was an uninvited guest. It suddenly dawned to me that I might have made a ‘grave’ mistake in accompanying Jim today. So grave, that I may end up in the grave.

“This is my friend Sebastian Moran, sir.”

But the Professor was not pleased. How did I know? Because I was staring at the wrong end of the Professor’s pistol. Actions speak louder than words!

“Mr. Moriarty, I do not remember inviting this gentleman to my manor. I know you very well, Moriarty. You have been working with me for the past three years. That’s one of the reasons you are still alive. But that doesn’t give you the right to bring every tramp and mole to my manor. So I will give you one chance. Tell me all you know about this man. Convince me why I shouldn’t pull this trigger right now. Or both of you will not leave this room alive.”

I looked at Moriarty. He was staring at me as if he was trying to deduce my past from my looks. I gulped. When did I decide to become partners with this idiot? Twice in twelve hours I am at the wrong end of a gun. Yesterday, Lady Luck was on my side. Moriarty had never killed a man in his life. Therefore he was ready to offer me a chance. This fool made a foolish offer and I was idiotic enough to fall for it. But today things were different. The Professor had enough blood in his hands to put even Count Dracula to shame. He had murder in his eyes. He wouldn’t flinch for one moment before he pulled that trigger.

As for Moriarty, what the hell did he know about me? He might have heard that I was good with guns. Nearly everyone in the Club knew about my reputation as a hunter. But that’s all they knew about me. I hadn’t told anything more to Jim and neither had he asked. So what was he going to say to the Professor? That he had heard that I was good with guns and so brought me along with him. This fool would get us both killed.

“Sir, I really don’t know much about Sebastian Moran except that he is one of the greatest marksmen in London.” See, I told you that fool would get us killed.

“Is that all you know about him? Some gossip? For all I know, he could be a police informant. If you pick your partners with such recklessness then you are a danger to me as well.”

 The gun was now aimed at Jim. For a moment, there was complete silence. Nobody moved. Then finally Jim broke the silence.

“Well, I know a few other things. I do not know if this is really important but he was born in London in 1840 as son of Sir Augustus Moran, whom you may remember as the British Minister to Persia at the time. Moran did his education in Eton and Oxford and then joined in the army. He served in the Jowaki Campaign as well as in the Afghan Campaign. He rose to the rank of Colonel in the 1^st Bangalore Pioneers. He retired in 1879 and pursued his life as a hunter in the jungles of Hindusthan. He arrived in London last year and has been a regular visitor of your Club for the past few months. In between he has written two novels on his hunting experiences in India.”

 “How do I know that what you say is true? I need proof?” said the Professor. But his grip relaxed and a small smile was playing in his lips.

Jim checked his watch. Then said, “Sir, if you have a contract for us, then introduce us to the client. I neither have the time nor the interest to go through your silly tests. You know as well as me that the person standing before you is Colonel Sebastian Moran.”

“What makes you think so, Mr. Moriarty?”

“For one, Mr. Moran is an open book. And two, if you didn’t know him, then we would have been dead even before we set foot in this room.”

“Good. I am impressed. I think our client will be pleased to meet you.” So saying, the Professor left the room, leaving me once again in the company of Jim.

Truth be told, I was dumbstruck. How the hell did he know all these things? Very few people in London knew about me in such detail. Here is a guy whom I just met yesterday and he stares at my face for a minute and comes up with my biography. I really didn’t know what to say. I had heard about a clever Inspector in Scotland Yard who could pull that trick. He could tell the history of a person from minute facts which a normal person would ignore. Now what was his name? Yes, I got it. Lestrade. (At the time I didn’t know that Sherlock Holmes was behind all of that). Could this be Lestrade? Had he gone undercover to capture the Professor? Of course not. Lestrade had just solved a crime and was in the news all the time. He couldn’t be in two places at the same time. But there were a lot of questions that were left unanswered. How did Jim know all those personal details about me? What did the Professor mean when he said that he and Jim had been co-workers for three years? And who could be the client whose life the Professor was ready to risk? What had he done to anger the Professor? And what the hell did Moriarty mean when he said I was an open book?