Free The Infernal Device & Others: A Professor Moriarty Omnibus by Michael Kurland Page A

proceed?"
     
                  "I see five," Moriarty said. "Two of them look especially promising."
     
                  "I will get you the dossier," Zyverbine said, rising from his desk. Moriarty held up his hand. "First," he said, "there is the matter of my fee."
     

FIVE — A BARGAIN
     
    Have the courage to live. Anyone can die.
    — Robert Cody
     
                  The mud-faced warder peered in through the small, barred window in the cell door. "Is here," he announced, positively.
     
                  Barnett sat up and rubbed his eyes. "What?"
     
                  "Is here! You see?"
     
                  "Who's here?" Barnett asked, squinting into the bright square of light framing the warder's face. "The American minister? Did the World 's lawyer show up?"
     
                  "Is here," the warder repeated. Then he stomped away down the corridor.
     
                  It seemed hours before he returned, followed by a tall man in a black frock-coat. The warder worked the heavy bolt on the door and pulled it outward on its ancient hinges. "Go in," he said. "I wait."
     
                  Barnett's eyes took a moment to adjust to the light from the gas lamps in the corridor that now flooded into his unlit cell. "Professor Moriarty!" he exclaimed, recognizing his tall visitor. "What are you doing here?"
     
                  "I might well ask the same question of you. However, to be specific, I have come to talk with you." He looked about. "There is no chair?"
     
                  "Here," Barnett said, moving to the far end of his wooden cot. "Sit here, please."
     
                  "Very well," Moriarty said, sitting on the cot next to Barnett.
     
                  "How did you get here?" Barnett demanded.
     
                  "I bribed the governor of the prison," Moriarty said. "It seems to be the way they do things here."
     
                  "Yes, but I mean why?" Barnett asked. "That is, I'm delighted to see you. If you've come to help me, I'm overwhelmed." He passed his hand over the stubble on his face. "You will forgive my appearance. For some reason, they won't allow me to shave."
     
                  "It's almost impossible to notice your appearance in this murk. I would say that I've come to help you. Whether you agree or not will depend upon what, exactly, you think your situation is."
     
                  "What do you mean?" Barnett asked. He gestured around him. "This dank, tiny, stone cell is my situation." There was a tremor in his voice which he did his best to suppress.
     
                  "Describe for me," Moriarty said, "the events of the past two weeks as they seem to you."
     
                  "That—that—" Barnett paused, swallowed what may have been an involuntary sob, and took a deep breath. "You must excuse me," he said. "It's the damp."
     
    -
     
                  Barnett thought back over all that had happened to him in the past few weeks. Two weeks and three days ago he had been a respected, well-paid correspondent for the New York World, and now he was reduced to the state of a wretch, chained to the wall of a cell in the great stone prison of Mustafa II.
     
                  "This all began," he said at last, "when the Garrett-Harris submersible blew up in the water. Have you heard about that?"
     
                  "Pay no mind to what I have heard, or what I may know," Moriarty said. "Tell me what happened to you. Tell it in your own way, relating what facts you think are relevant."
     
                  "But why are you concerned?" Barnett asked. "You know that I am sentenced to death?"
     
                  "We will discuss what I know and why I am here at the proper time," Moriarty said patiently. "Bear with me, please." He