The Return of Moriarty Read Online Free PDF Page A

never be a total end in itself. Early in his career he came to the conclusion that if the organization was smoothly run, efficient, covering all departments, there would inevitably be a saturation point, a time when the whole machinery would run with a minimum effort from himself. Therefore, fresh fields, new pastures, would constantly be needed.
    For many years now there had been wealth, indeed riches undreamed of, the end product of burglaries, murder for profit, blackmail, forgery and the like, prostitution, profits from dens that existed to supply strong drink or the necessary substances to dope fiends, from the simple pressures of supply and demand, ranging from special sexual services that could not be satisfied through normal prostitution, to making arrangements for some wanted man to escape from the country. A large proportion of this money was already being ploughed back into more profitable ventures within the field of Moriarty’s criminal influence, and also into financing quite legitimate ventures: few people knew, for instance, that James Moriarty was the controlling financial backer behind half a dozen music halls and a dozen restaurants in London, some of them in the glittering West End, others in the smug areas of suburbia.
    Lee Chow came quietly into the room, bowing low and grinning pleasure. He was a second-generation immigrant, in his mid-twenties, who had never seen China, and there was nothing inscrutable about his flat, jaundiced face, as he so obviously showed delight at both Moriarty’s sudden return to London and the new status he had acquired together with Paget.
    Paget followed, one great hand resting on the shoulder of a plump little middle-aged woman, whose naturally ruddy moon face was filled with anxiety.
    â€œMrs. Hetty Jacobs,” announced Paget after the manner of the grand majordomos of the upper classes.
    Moriarty’s face visibly softened and he stretched out his arms toward the small woman, who now appeared to be on the verge of tears. She came forward with a look of wonder and adulation spreading over her face.
    â€œOh, Professor … you’ve come back to us … it’s really you.”
    She took the Professor’s hand and kissed it with the reverence of the faithful paying homage to a relic of the True Cross. *
    Moriarty, with some dignity, allowed the woman to kiss his hand, giving the appearance that the respect shown by the action was his due. At last he withdrew his hand and allowed the woman to unbend. As she did so, Moriarty placed both his hands on her shoulders in a fatherly manner.
    â€œHetty, it is good to see you,” he said.
    â€œSir, we never thought to have you amongst us again. There will be dancing in the streets tonight.”
    Moriarty did not smile.
    â€œAnd whoring and drunkenness, too, I’ll be bound. But come, Hetty. Paget has told me that you have a severe problem. Sit and tell me about it.”
    Mrs. Jacobs retreated to one of the easy chairs and seated herself on it.
    â€œIt’s justice I want, Professor. Justice for my boys.”
    Moriarty nodded, a wealth of understanding passing between him and the dumpy woman.
    â€œThat would be young William and … what’s the name of your elder boy?”
    â€œBertram, after his father, God rest his soul.”
    â€œAmen to that.” Moriarty remembered Bert Jacobs, Sr., who had died in prison six or seven years previously—a forger of great talent. “So what happened to your boys, Hetty?”
    â€œThey were taken, six months ago, with old Bland.”
    â€œBland, the fence who lives near Wapping Old Stairs?”
    Hetty Jacobs nodded in a resigned manner.
    â€œThey just went over there to see the old man, he was a friend of their father’s as you know and they would visit him once a month, sometimes more often. Just friendly visits, Professor. They’re good boys, I never ask them questions, but I know they’re good boys and