Free Moriarty Meets His Match: A Professor & Mrs. Moriarty Mystery (The Professor & Mrs. Moriarty Mystery Series Book 1) by Anna Castle

Holmes shot him a wink. “A mathematician, I would say, who specializes in the study of statistics, with applications ranging from astronomy to games of chance.”
    Moriarty raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. “You can’t possibly have deduced all that from my appearance.”
    “His observational skills are formidable,” Watson said. “You’d be wise not to underestimate them.”
    Holmes laughed. “You are both correct. We looked you up, Professor.” He tilted his head at the overladen bookcase. “You told us you were a mathematician. Watson found your name among the members of the Royal Society, whose proceedings gave us the titles of the papers you have presented to that august body. You held a chair in mathematics at Durham University, which you left last year to take a position at the Patent Office. That seems a bit of a comedown, Professor. Did you find your teaching duties so onerous?”
    “As a matter of fact, I did.” Moriarty smiled thinly. “Such changes are more common than you might think. Durham is the back country when it comes to science, I’m afraid. London is the place for a man who wants to stay abreast of new developments.”
    “And you published several papers a year while at university, but haven’t produced a single monograph since coming down.”
    Moriarty shrugged. “My interests have shifted from the theoretical to the practical. I’ve got a lot to learn before I can contribute anything new myself.”
    “I see,” Holmes said. His narrowed eyes suggested he wasn’t satisfied with Moriarty’s improvised explanations. Then he shrugged lightly and returned to his game. “No book could tell me that you are ambidextrous; that you use your right hand for ink and your left for pencil; that you have a taste for quality but careless habits; and that you row for the sake of exercise.”
    Watson chuckled again. “That’s more like it.”
    “Do I surprise you?” Holmes clearly hoped so.
    “You do indeed.”
    “It’s simple enough when one learns to attend to minutiae. I know you are ambidextrous because I saw you writing with your pencil in your left hand this morning. But your right sleeve is shiny where it rests against the table, and there is a faint tinge of blue ink on the second finger of that hand. I suppose you use ink in your work.”
    “One doesn’t register a patent in an erasable medium.”
    “Just so. Your taste for quality is shown in the cut and fabric of your jacket. Bond Street, I believe. But the pockets have been shamefully treated. You’ve been carrying heavy objects and pulling the cloth out of line.”
    “I’ve been scolded for that very thing by my tailor. And the rowing?”
    “Ah! I felt the callus on your palm when we shook hands. And your shoulders are broader than average, typical among practitioners of that sport. Yet another matter with which your tailor must contend.”
    “Impressive.” Moriarty raised his glass to acknowledge the feat. “I had no idea so much could be read on the surface of a man. Any scientist could benefit from your methods.”
    “Perhaps you’d care to give it a try?”
    “I would.” Moriarty set his glass on the table and rose to tour the room, hands clasped behind his back. “Hmm. I observe that you are ostentatiously untidy but enjoy the attentions of an excellent housekeeper.”
    Watson chuckled. “Very good, Professor.”
    “Not bad for a first try,” Holmes conceded. “Now explain.”
    “The untidiness is evidenced by that slipper filled with tobacco on your mantel. You must have to scoop your pipe into it, spilling tobacco every time. But your landlady, or the maid whom she directs, keeps your mantel and fireguard well dusted.”
    “Bravo,” Holmes said. “It is as important to notice the absence of something — in this case, flakes of tobacco — as the presence.”
    “And the ostentation?” Watson grinned at his friend.
    “I meant no offense,” Moriarty said.
    “None was taken.” Holmes seemed