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.