Page 69 of The Art of Theft
“I can’t think what else to do,” said Charlotte, “unless...”
Her expression changed.
A barely perceptible flicker, such a tiny ripple, smaller than that caused by the landing of a dragonfly on the surface of a pond. But to Livia, long accustomed to subtle variations in Charlotte’s expression, it was as if Charlotte’s jaw had fallen all the way to her lap.
“Unless I’ve read the situation entirely backward.”
“How?” cried Livia.
“Lord Ingram and I both assumed that since Lady Ingram had become an implacable enemy to Moriarty, whoever was helping her must share that enmity to some extent. What if we were wrong about that? What if this isn’t a ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ alliance? What if this is simply Moriarty bringing Lady Ingram back into the fold?”
“What?” Livia and Mrs. Watson exclaimed in unison.
“But Moriarty killed her twin sister!” Mrs. Watson went on. “And Lady Ingram gave his name to the police. Why would Moriarty seek a reconciliation?”
“Moriarty didn’t personally kill her sister,” Charlotte pointed out. “In England de Lacy is Moriarty’s deputy, and I very much doubt de Lacy soiled his own hands in the matter. That would have been done by some minions of de Lacy’s.
“All Moriarty had to do was to kill de Lacy and the minions in front of Lady Ingram—or maybe even let her do the deed herself, by injecting them with poisonous substances. Not an act beyond her ability or temperament—not if those about to meet their end were already subdued.”
“But why would Moriarty do that for Lady Ingram?” Mrs. Watson pressed her hand into her heart, as if her courage needed bolstering amidst all this talk of wanton killings.
Charlotte, on the other hand, was back to her imperturbable self. “Perhaps he already meant to get rid of de Lacy and decided to kill two birds with one stone. Lady Ingram is still too inexperienced and too brittle. But she is a beautiful, intelligent woman burning to prove to herself and everyone else that even though she is nowwithout a friend in the world, she can still make something of her life. Something remarkable, even.”
Livia looked from her sister to Mrs. Watson and back again. “Charlotte, if you are even remotely correct in your line of reasoning, does that mean”—she swallowed—“does that mean we are about to enter Moriarty’s lair?”
Sixteen
Moriarty,” said Lord Ingram, slowly. “You think Château Vaudrieu is Moriarty’s stronghold?”
It was evening the next day. He’d just returned to London again. The invitation to dine at Mrs. Watson’s was most welcome, but he’d wondered why Holmes had sent along a note for him to arrive half an hour early. Now he knew. While Mrs. Watson and Miss Olivia were in their rooms, finishing their toilette, Holmes sat him down in Mrs. Watson’s afternoon parlor and gave him a general outline of her hypothesis concerning Château Vaudrieu and Moriarty.
“It’s possible,” replied Holmes, “but it’s hard to estimate the actual likelihood. Suppose that the likelihood of you being correct about Lady Ingram visiting Château Vaudrieu is eighty percent. Then my hypothesis about Moriarty, which depends on yours being correct, not to mention a host of other assumptions, can’t be more than fifty percent likely to be correct. In fact, even pegging the likelihood at forty percent is generous.
“Which makes the next hypothesis I’m mulling less than ten percent likely to be proven right.”
“Yournexthypothesis?”
“Remember how unlikely it is, but if the château belongs toMoriarty, then I must wonder whether the prisoner in its bowels isn’t my brother Mr. Finch.”
She handed him a piece of paper. “Livia and I broke the code. It’s a rather ornate code. And you remember that Mr. Finch was Moriarty’s cryptographer.”
He studied the solution—and remained silent for another two minutes. “If that’s the case, we must think about how to get him out.”
Holmes regarded him steadily. “No.”
“No?But you just said—”
“I said that idea is highly, highly unlikely to be correct. It is a possibility I have thought of, not something I will act on.”
“You would let Mr. Finch remain a prisoner at Château Vaudrieu?”
“When I am less than ten percent confident that the prisoner is Mr. Finch? Of course. We have scant manpower, scant opportunity, and only a vague idea where Château Vaudrieu keeps its prisoners. Even if I were far more sure that Mr. Finch is at Château Vaudrieu, I would still hesitate to devise, let alone execute, a plan based on what little we know.”
Logically he knew she was right, but the idea of her brother locked away far underground gnawed at him. “What if his life is at stake?”
“A cryptographer good enough for Moriarty must be one of the best cryptographers in the world. Were I Moriarty, I would put him to use, rather than summarily execute him.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
