CHAPTER 6 : SALTED DEATH

THE HAUNT OF BASKERVILLES

                                                         CHAPTER 6

Dr. Watson has given us the impression that Sir Charles Baskervilles death was caused by the sight of a ferocious hound. The legend of the Hound of Baskervilles and his weak heart also played a part in the death. But nothing is quite that simple. Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction.

What caused the death of Sir Charles Baskerville? Was it the hound? No. Was it Moriarty’s brilliance? No. It was salt that killed him. A handful of table salt. How strange isn’t it? The most harmless things in life can be so life threatening if it is in the wrong place at the wrong time. In this particular case, the salt was on my shoulders. Let me take you back to the events of 13th January, 1885.

I had just returned from my visit to Devonshire. It had been a hard and futile trip and I was completely exhausted. 

“It can’t be done, Jim. It just can’t be done.” I said with a sigh.

“What do you mean, Sebastian? Nothing is impossible. If there is a will there is a way.”

“Not there. Atleast not in Devonshire. You should have seen the place. Baskerville Hall. It is situated on the 

top of a hill. The mansion is itself surrounded by barren land that is sprinkled with deadly swamps. The village folk call it the Grimpen Mire and it is a grim place. The whole place gives the vibe of a haunted place and I saw it in broad daylight! I wonder how it looks like in the dark especially in the fog.”

“Am I hearing right? Is the famous Colonel Moran scared?”

“Oh, come on, Jim. I am not scared, Jim. I am just cautious. Going out there at night is like committing suicide. One false step and you are dead. We can’t carry any light with us as it would be easily visible from the mansion. Once we enter the estate grounds, we are trespassers. He can shoot us and get away with it.”

“It will be a fine irony! The murderer getting murdered!”

“And suppose by some miracle we get into the grounds unnoticed, the target stays in the top floor. We won’t be able to get enough elevation to take the shot. So we will have to commit the crime during the day.”

“Why not just enter the house and put a knife through his heart?”

“Do you know the floor plan?”

“Nope.”

“Well, if you get inside such a mansion without a map, chances are that you will end up getting lost rather than finding the target.”

“Can’t Stapleton provide us with a map?”

“I already asked him. He has entered the living room and dining room. The rest of the mansion is a mystery to him as well. Clearly, the target doesn’t entertain many guests.”

“Stop calling him the target. For Christ’s sake the man has got a name. Show some respect.”

“It would be better we objectify him. Otherwise we may feel guilty after the crime.”

“Guilt is a part of it. Deny the crime is pointless.”

“O.K. Sir Charles doesn’t have many visitors. The place is so old that you will hardly find a proper plan.”

“What about the servants?”

“The Barrymores have been with the Baskervilles for generations. They are beyond bribe.”

“What about threats?”

“We have no leverage. Their world is within the walls of the Hall. Killing Sir Charles is the only threat we can make… and that would be meaningless.”

“What about friends or family?”

“None whatsoever. The only family they have is Mrs. Barrymore’s brother Seldon.”

“Well, threaten to kill him. Maybe she will comply.”

“It won’t be fruitful. Seldon is in prison. He is been sentenced to death in the Notting Hill murder case.”

“Is two servants all they got?”

“I heard Sir Charles is planning to hire a few hands. You know, to renovate the mansion and all. But its not certain when he will do it. Might take months. And probably they will be from the village. Those folks don’t take a liking to outsiders. I came across quite a few villagers during my way up the hill today. They were looking at me as if I were an alien. I tried to evade their gazes by going off the road and making my way through the fields. The only thing I learned from that was most villagers don’t stick to the roads. When I went to the local pub, I had to face a barrage of questions. Who am I? Why was I here? Where was I going?”

“Why did you go to the pub?”

“A man does feel hunger. Anyway, I was also able to get some rumors on our friend Stapleton. It seems he had other interests in pretending to be a bachelor. The guy seems to be having an affair with one Laura Lyons.”

“I am beginning to dislike our client more and more as the days pass. That guy is pure evil. But let’s get back to the case. If we can’t kill Sir Charles in the mansion, then we will have to take him out when he comes out of his lair. A man like him will come out to the village often enough.”

“Unfortunately, not very often. The guy’s got a weak heart. Dr. Mortimer goes to the mansion to check on him. The doctor has advised him to not take food from outside. So that rules out poisoning.”

“That is interesting.”

“What?”

“Why take so much trouble to kill a dying man?”

“Oh, he is not that ill. He has got a weak heart but its probable that he will live for another five years… unless ‘an accident’ happens.”

“So he never goes out?”

“He goes to Mass on Sundays. But if you attack him at close range, you won’t be able to make it out of the village alive.”

“What about long range?”

“The winds won’t guarantee a good shot. The chances of missing are quite high.”

“I think I am beginning to like this case.”

“And why is that?”

“Because it presents us with a challenge.”

“I suggest we wait till he makes a trip to London. People get mugged in the streets every day. It will be a clean crime.”

“Maybe but it will be unremarkable. This is my first crime. I want it to be memorable.”

Frankly, I didn’t like the way he was thinking. He was dealing the case as if it was a problem in one of his textbooks. He was analyzing all the roadblocks and trying to overcome them. You could solve a crime in that fashion but you can never plot a crime that way. Plotting a crime is not like solving a problem, its like inventing something new. You will have to think out of the box. You will have to wait for that one moment of inspiration and then grab it.

“Jim, our chances are quite slim. The conditions are unfavorable. I think its best to leave the ‘perfect crime’ for a more favorable day. Lets just get this job done. In our desire to commit a remarkable crime we may end up getting caught. I have known many who sacrificed their lives for the sake of their vanity.”

“I must disagree with you, Sebastian. On the contrary, conditions couldn’t be more favorable. We have the perfect place to commit a crime. The Grimpen Mire. All this time I was merely waiting to see whether you would suggest it. As you yourself said, Baskerville Hall is situated in a death pit. All we need to do is give him a small push.”

“But how are we going to do that?”

“I will have to think about that. Meanwhile, I suggest you take a shower. The eggs are in the kitchen.”

“I ate from outside.”

“No. The eggs are for your head.”

“What?”

“You obviously have a dandruff issue.”

“Of course, I know of the remedy for dandruff but I don’t have dandruff.”

He pointed to my shoulders.

“Oh, that! That’s not dandruff. That’s salt. When I was in the pub, a superstitious fool threw salt over his shoulders.”

 “Oh! I am sorry. I just didn’t pay much- Wait! That’s it! That’s what will drive Sir Charles to his death!”

“Salt?”

“No. Superstition. The guy has got a weak heart. He lives in a place that seems to be taken out of a horror story. All we need right now is a ghost!”

“You are crazy, Jim. He won’t get a heart attack, if we go out there dressed as ghosts. He ain’t gonna believe in ghosts all of a sudden.”

“What if we create a tale? A tale just for him.”

“Come on. These things don’t just sprout out of the ground overnight. They take time. They have to be passed from generation to generation. Of all the things that man can accomplish there is one thing which is beyond his grasp. Time. Time and tide waits for no man.”

“But what if it waits for Moriarty?” He asked with a confident smile.

 

CHAPTER 5 : LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

THE HAUNT OF BASKERVILLES

CHAPTER 5

“Would you like to explain what’s going on, Mr. Stapleton?” asked Lord Radnor. 

He was quite furious. Maybe it was because Mr. Stapleton, I meant Mr. Baskerville, had lied to him. Or maybe it was because he was made to look a fool in front of us. Here was a client, whom he had brought to us and he didn’t even know who he was. That doesn’t do much good to your reputation as a criminal mastermind. Mr. Baskerville was in an unenviable position – between Moriarty and the Professor. There was just one thing I didn’t understand. Why did Mr. Baskerville want to kill himself?

“I…I...”

 “Let me explain. Our dear friend is the heir to Sir Charles Baskervilles’ wealth. So he came all the way from Central America and cooks up an unlikely tale to kill off the old man. Really Mr. Baskerville what were you thinking?”

“I…I am so sorry. I thought you wouldn’t do it, if you knew the truth.”

“Really? That’s all you got to say? Who do you think we are? Vigilantes? For Christ’s sakes, we are assassins. We don’t need a just cause to kill someone. All we care about is the money. Now if you think you can steal that from us, then you think wrong. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Never lie to a doctor or an executor. Keep that in mind.”

“I will.”

“Now tell me, did you lie about anything else?”

Our client thought for a moment. He was about to say something. He hesitated. But then, thought it wise to come clean.

“She is not my sister. She is my wife.”

“Abram Sarai. Good. You have learned your lesson. Next time you say such lies ensure that you cover up that wedding ring mark. Rest assured, the job will be done. Get the money ready.”

“Thank you, sir.” So saying our client made a hasty retreat.

"What's Abramsarai?"

"You ought to read your Bible, Moran."

“How did you know?” asked Radnor.

“What?”

“That he was a Baskerville?”

“Wasn’t that obvious?”

The Professor looked at me. I shrugged. I was as clueless as he was. Jim stared at both of us. Then chuckled.

“OK. I will tell you. Listen. When I first asked Mr. Stapleton the reason, he was completely unprepared. He got furious and tried to leave. But as soon as I hinted that the problem was a family matter he had no qualms in coming out with the tale. Now that sudden change, it raised my suspicions. So I listened carefully to his tale. There was nothing wrong in the tale but later on he kept referring to Baskerville as ‘Sir’ Charles Baskerville. If Sir Charles was actually guilty of the crime, the brother of our so called victim wouldn’t go about calling him ‘Sir’. That ensured that the story was false. Just look at it. Who are the witnesses? The accuser, his sister and the accused. Very convenient, is it not? So, if the story was fake, then Mr. Stapleton would have another motive. And so I started talking about scapegoats. He became nervous as soon as I mentioned about the overseas heir. Now I only needed a confirmation. And lucky for me, his occupation came handy.”

“How so?” I asked.

“Oh come on, don’t you get it? “

“You mean, the butterfly gave you the confirmation?”

“Not just any butterfly, Dryus Iulia, a butterfly that is native to Central America. If he caught it, then he’s been there. It can’t be a coincidence. All I had to do was threaten 

him a bit more to get the truth out of him. The naturalist got caught in his own net.”

“You added the Dwarf Blue to camouflage your intent?”

“Yes. It also had the bonus of checking whether he was from Africa. The chance was slim as Sir Charles would have recognized him. But then, you needed to be sure.”

A smile lit up the face of Lord Radnor.

“Like father, like son.”

Now it was Jim’s turn to appear clueless.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you know why I let you come here in the first place?”

“Because you knew me. We have been working in the University for three years now.”

“Do you see the Chancellor or the Dean here?”

“No.”

“That I knew you was only one reason, I offered you this case. The real reason was 

that I knew your father.”

“My father? But he was a tea planter in Hindustan. How come you know him?”

“Sydney Porter Moriarty had a life before he left for the Venice of the East. We were  partners in crime until he met your mother. She convinced him to give up his old ways and begin a new life in a distant land. Do you know that there was a phrase coined for your dad? He was the only Paddy in London to give the Scotys a run for their money.”

“Scotys?”

“The Scotland Yard Boys. You really lack a sense of humor, lad. Your father was a clever man. Your brothers didn’t inherit his talent for crime. Now I know why. You took the whole thing for yourself. Now let’s see you put it to use.”

There ended the momentous meeting with our first client. It was quite an eye opener for me. Not only were we criminals but our clients were criminals as well. There was no one we could trust. We lived in a world of lies and we preyed on the innocent. Did I feel a prick of conscience? Yes I did. But I knew I could get used to it. In the jungle, you don’t always hunt a man eater. Sometimes, you go after the deer, just for sport.  

CHAPTER 4: THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

THE HAUNT OF BASKERVILLES

CHAPTER 4

“How much?” asked Jim.

“What?” asked Mr. Stapleton, not comprehending the question.

“The pay. How much are you willing to offer us for the cold-blooded murder of Sir Charles Baskerville?”

I was surprised by the way Jim posed the question. He made it look as though we were committing a  crime. True, we were committing a crime. But we were not exactly committing a crime. I mean, Charles Baskerville violated the trust that Mr. Stapleton had placed upon him. He tried to misbehave with Stapleton’s sister. Truly the man deserved death. His fate was his own making. What we were about to do was no crime. It was justice. I repeated that once again in my mind. After all, it’s the right thing to do. I didn’t want to be another Macbeth.

I looked at Stapleton. At least, he was not overwhelmed with guilt. There was a fire in his eyes. The thirst for justice of a wronged man. For a moment, he thought over Jim’s question.

“Mr. Moriarty, I may not be a rich man but this is a matter of family honor. So I am ready to offer a hundred pounds.”

Jim did not reply. A hundred pounds. A hundred pounds for a human life! I used to get double that amount by killing a tiger. Was a human life so undervalued? Now I knew why the Professor was so eager to give us the case. He may not have felt it worth his time. Why put your best men in danger for a hundred pounds, when you can test a rookie? If you win, you get a new hand. If you lose, a pretender goes down. It was a win-win situation for the Professor.

Well, I felt the pay was small. But I prayed that Jim wouldn’t decline the case. This man deserved justice. If not for the money, then we had to do it in the name of humanity. What better reward than to put a bullet in that scoundrel’s head? Also, I could do with some extra cash. Things were quite tight. I looked at Jim expectantly.

“Before I take this case I need to know a few details, Mr. Stapleton. First does anyone else know of the incident other than the three of you? I mean was there any other witnesses?”

“No, none that I know of. We do not have any servants in the house. So there were no other witnesses.”

“Is there any chance that Sir Charles might have told about it to someone, like a close friend, perhaps?”

“I don’t think so. Sir Charles only arrived in Baskerville Hall a couple of years ago. A few months before we arrived. He doesn't have many friends. The only close friend that Sir Charles has is Dr. Mortimer. Mortimer is a gentleman. He would not stand for such indecency, if he came to know of it. I don’t think Charles would disclose the incident to him.”

“That’s reasonable. But he could still disclose it to a family member. You know, like an elder brother. You see Mr. Stapleton, it is important that we know about it. Once Mr. Baskerville is murdered, if someone starts talking about this incident, then you will be on top of the Coroner’s list.”

“I assure you Mr. Moriarty, other than the three of us, and now the three of you, no one else knows about the incident. Sir Charles is a bachelor. He had a younger brother who went to Central America and was never heard of again. Sir Charles lives in Baskerville Hall with only two servants to attend to him. It is unlikely that he would confide such a secret to them.”

“Then we can leave that matter to rest. Since you are above suspicion, there is only one thing remaining to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Framing a suspect.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, if the police don’t have a suspect they will keep investigating. That may cause some mischief. If we furnish them with a suspect, then their job becomes easy and so does ours.”

“But who will be the scapegoat?”

“The one with the motive. The one who inherits Sir Charles’ wealth.”

“That might prove a bit difficult.”

“Why?”

“Because Sir Charles’ nearest relative is his distant cousin James Desmond.”

“So?”

“Mr. Desmond is an elderly clergyman. He is a venerable man who leads a saintly life. The police would consider him above suspicion.”  

“Say, what about the younger brother who went to Central America. Could he not return, murder his brother and inherit the wealth?”

“Well… yes, I think that is possible. But do you think the police would think that far?”

“Then lets go with the servants. They will make good suspects.”

“That’s unlikely. The Barrymores have been in the household for years.”

 There was a certain uneasiness about Mr. Stapleton. Maybe this was not the way he imagined things would go. Give the money and Sir Charles would be dealt with. That must have been what he had expected. But now here he was plotting the ruin of another innocent man. It was clear he didn’t like it. Ever since Jim began talking about suspects, Stapleton had become nervous. Of course, it is unnerving. I didn’t like it at all. Definitely, what we were doing was a crime. There was no way you could deny that.

“Mr. Moriarty, you boasted that you would commit a perfect crime? ‘A crime that would go unnoticed’. Wasn’t that your exact words? Then why are you now concerned about creating  suspects. Mortan never had to create scapegoats. The police did that job.” said the Professor mockingly.

Jim simply smiled.

“One more question, Mr. Stapleton. What is it that you do?” asked Jim, continuing his interview.

“I catch butterflies.”

“Pardon.”

“I am a naturalist, Mr. Moriarty. I survey the moor.”

“Have you seen Julia and Dwarf Blue?”

“Julia?”

“Nymphalidae.”

“Oh! I call it Fackel! Dryus Iulia is its scientific name. In fact I caught one as a child. It was one of my first catch. I think it is still there in my collection. As for Dwarf Blue, I have never caught one. It is found in the Dark Continent.”

“Abramsarai.” Jim whispered.

A smile spread in Jim’s face. A smile that I had never before seen on any human face. It was not a pleased smile. It was not an artificial smile. It was a smile so brim with evil that it would be the envy of the devil. The smile seemed to make a huge impact on Mr. Stapleton. His face turned pale. He looked as though he had seen a ghost. For a moment, I thought he would faint. His hands were shivering. Then Jim spoke in a small, soft tone.

“5000 pounds.”

“What?”

“5000 pounds. That’s my pay.”

“But – But you agreed for a hundred.”

“No, I did not. I merely asked how much you were willing to give. Now I am stating how much you will give me.”

“What nonsense is this, Lord Radnor? Is this the way you treat your clients?”

Lord Radnor and I were taken aback by the sudden turn of things. The price Jim asked was obviously too high for the poor man but what surprised us was his reaction. He was not surprised or enraged by the demand. He was frightened. So frightened that he didn’t have the guts to even protest or bargain. What did I miss? I kept asking myself. But I couldn’t find an answer. The Professor about to speak, when Moriarty cut him short for the second time.

“No need to raise your voice. It is because you are our client that you are still alive. If you decide to reject my humble offer, then you will have to pay a terrible price, Mr. Baskerville.”

 

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.

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?