“My collection of M’s is a fine one,” said he. “Moriarty himselfis enough to make any letter illustrious, and here is Morgan thepoisoner, and Merridew of abominable memory, and Mathews,who knocked out my left canine in the waiting-room at CharingCross, and, finally, here is our friend of to-night.”
He handed over the book, and I read:
MORAN, SEBASTIAN, COLONEL. Unemployed. Formerly1st Bangalore Pioneers. Born London, 1840. Son of Sir AugustusMoran, C. B., once British Minister to Persia. Educated Eton andOxford. Served in Jowaki Campaign, Afghan Campaign, Charasiab(despatches), Sherpur, and Cabul. Author of HEAVY GAME OFTHE WESTERN HIMALAYAS (1881); THREE MONTHS INTHE JUNGLE (1884). Address: Conduit Street. Clubs: The Anglo-Indian, the Tankerville, the Bagatelle Card Club.
On the margin was written, in Holmes’s precise hand:
The second most dangerous man in London.
“This is astonishing,” said I, as I handed back the volume. “Theman’s career is that of an honourable soldier.”
“It is true,” Holmes answered. “Up to a certain point he didwell. He was always a man of iron nerve, and the story is still toldin India how he crawled down a drain after a wounded man-eatingtiger. There are some trees, Watson, which grow to a certainheight, and then suddenly develop some unsightly eccentricity.
You will see it often in humans. I have a theory that the individualrepresents in his development the whole procession of hisancestors, and that such a sudden turn to good or evil stands forsome strong influence which came into the line of his pedigree.
The person becomes, as it were, the epitome of the history of hisown family.”
“It is surely rather fanciful.”
“Well, I don’t insist upon it. Whatever the cause, Colonel Moranbegan to go wrong. Without any open scandal, he still made Indiatoo hot to hold him. He retired, came to London, and againacquired an evil name. It was at this time that he was sought outby Professor Moriarty, to whom for a time he was chief of the staff.
Moriarty supplied him liberally with money, and used him only inone or two very high-class jobs, which no ordinary criminal couldhave undertaken. You may have some recollection of the deathof Mrs. Stewart, of Lauder, in 1887. Not? Well, I am sure Moranwas at the bottom of it, but nothing could be proved. So cleverlywas the colonel concealed that, even when the Moriarty gang wasbroken up, we could not incriminate him. You remember at thatdate, when I called upon you in your rooms, how I put up theshutters for fear of air-guns? No doubt you thought me fanciful.
I knew exactly what I was doing, for I knew of the existence ofthis remarkable gun, and I knew also that one of the best shots inthe world would be behind it. When we were in Switzerland hefollowed us with Moriarty, and it was undoubtedly he who gave methat evil five minutes on the Reichenbach ledge.
“You may think that I read the papers with some attentionduring my sojourn in France, on the look-out for any chance oflaying him by the heels. So long as he was free in London, mylife would really not have been worth living. Night and day theshadow would have been over me, and sooner or later his chancemust have come. What could I do? I could not shoot him at sight,or I should myself be in the dock. There was no use appealing to amagistrate. They cannot interfere on the strength of what wouldappear to them to be a wild suspicion. So I could do nothing.
But I watched the criminal news, knowing that sooner or later Ishould get him. Then came the death of this Ronald Adair. Mychance had come at last. Knowing what I did, was it not certainthat Colonel Moran had done it? He had played cards with thelad, he had followed him home from the club, he had shot himthrough the open window. There was not a doubt of it. Thebullets alone are enough to put his head in a noose. I came overat once. I was seen by the sentinel, who would, I knew, direct thecolonel’s attention to my presence. He could not fail to connectmy sudden return with his crime, and to be terribly alarmed. Iwas sure that he would make an attempt to get me out of theway AT once, and would bring round his murderous weapon forthat purpose. I left him an excellent mark in the window, and,having warned the police that they might be needed—by the way,Watson, you spotted their presence in that doorway with unerringaccuracy—I took up what seemed to me to be a judicious post forobservation, never dreaming that he would choose the same spotfor his attack. Now, my dear Watson, does anything remain for meto explain?”
“Yes,” said I. “You have not made it clear what was ColonelMoran’s motive in murdering the Honourable Ronald Adair?”
“Ah! my dear Watson, there we come into those realms ofconjecture, where the most logical mind may be at fault. Each mayform his own hypothesis upon the present evidence, and yours isas likely to be correct as mine.”
“You have formed one, then?”
“I think that it is not difficult to explain the facts. It came out inevidence that Colonel Moran and young Adair had, between them,won a considerable amount of money. Now, Moran undoubtedlyplayed foul—of that I have long been aware. I believe that on theday of the murder Adair had discovered that Moran was cheating.
Very likely he had spoken to him privately, and had threatenedto expose him unless he voluntarily resigned his membership ofthe club, and promised not to play cards again. It is unlikely thata youngster like Adair would at once make a hideous scandal byexposing a well known man so much older than himself. Probablyhe acted as I suggest. The exclusion from his clubs would meanruin to Moran, who lived by his ill-gotten card-gains. He thereforemurdered Adair, who at the time was endeavouring to work outhow much money he should himself return, since he could notprofit by his partner’s foul play. He locked the door lest the ladiesshould surprise him and insist upon knowing what he was doingwith these names and coins. Will it pass?”
“I have no doubt that you have hit upon the truth.”
