Mrs. Watson had her hand on a handkerchief, ready to extend to Miss Marbleton. But Miss Marbleton, though her eyes were red-rimmed, seemed to be done with tears.
Miss Charlotte drew the Stanhope from her reticule. Mrs. Watson gripped the handkerchief. She wanted to trust Miss Marbleton, but she felt as if she were on a tightrope. Or perhaps she had already fallen off the tightrope, and the bottom of the abyss was rising to meet her.
“Last summer Mr. Marbleton told me that the Marbletons were looking for Mr. Finch, because you as a family believed that he had something of vital importance,” said Miss Charlotte, seemingly free of the misgivings that buffeted Mrs. Watson. “I remember his exact words. ‘We want something on Moriarty. Something that would make him anxious about us instead. Something that would force him to leave us alone, because it would destroy him first.’”
“Ah, those halcyon days.” Miss Marbleton laughed softly, the sound full of self-mockery. “I know what Stephen said had all the hallmarks of hyperbole, but we did believe it.”
“Moriarty has managed to evade prosecution for his crimes for a long time. How would this something have made a difference?” asked Lord Ingram.
Miss Marbleton picked up her walking stick and thumped it on the floor. “The law cares very little for the powerless. When Moriarty preys on those less powerful than him, he can always find a way to escape justice. But have you ever wondered how he reached his current position?”
Lord Ingram glanced at Miss Charlotte and said, “He has a patron? A paymaster?”
“He always did.” A trace of pleasure came into Miss Marbleton’s expression. “And we are sure he has double-crossed his paymaster. Now this is a crime from the consequences of which he would not so easily escape, provided, of course, that the paymaster is made aware of it.”
Mrs. Watson wiped the back of her hand across her brow. Moriarty had always seemed such a monolith of iniquity, she couldn’t fathom that he too had to answer to someone.
“How did you deduce that Mr. Finch might have such evidence that would at last condemn Moriarty?” asked Miss Charlotte.
“Because of the vigor with which he has been pursued. We have been running from Moriarty for decades, but that’s because my mother was his wife and my father his kin—the betrayal was personal. And the longer we eluded him, the worse he looked for still not having captured us.
“Most other defectors aren’t chased with such zeal. Moriarty has minions who are devoted to eliminating defectors and they are very good at what they do. But in Mr. Finch’s case, people and resources have been diverted from other parts of the organization and dedicated to the hunt. And that, as far as we know, has never happened before.”
Mrs. Watson’s head spun. “Did Mr. Finch ever confirm to you that he had this kind of earthshaking intelligence?”
“No, but he did ask what we were willing to trade for it. We said anything in our power. First we offered him a sanctuary where he would be safer—but he said he already knew about the sanctuary and it was not suitable for him. Then he asked whether we had information on das Phantomschloss.”
Mrs. Watson had only the most rudimentary grasp of German. “What’s that? The Phantom Castle?”
“It is said to be the headquarters for a part of the organization that is hidden from the rest of the organization.”
Then was the organization still one organization? Or two separate ones?
“Do you know why he was interested in das Phantomschloss?” asked Lord Ingram.
“We tried to find out. He said that he could not divulge his reasons. But, as a gesture of good faith, he gave us keys to several ciphers, so we could read some of the documents we’d obtained earlier.
“At the time only Stephen and I were in Britain. Later, when we met our parents, we asked about das Phantomschloss. They’d heard conflicting reports, some of which claim that it’s in the Bavarian Alps, others point to the outskirts of Vienna, and still others insist that das Phantomschloss doesn’t exist and was made up by Moriarty to keep his minions in line.”
She looked around at them. “Did Stephen somehow find a picture of Das Phantomschloss?”
Miss Charlotte handed the Stanhope to her.
Mrs. Watson held her breath.
Miss Marbleton raised the Stanhope to her eye—and lowered it a few seconds later, her face thoughtful. “Not a single person in the photograph was looking at the camera, which makes me wonder whether the picture wasn’t taken in secret, with a detective camera of some sort.”
Miss Charlotte must have heard something in her words. “And?”
Miss Marbleton’s bearded jaw moved. “And the woman on the left might be someone Mr. Finch is looking for.”
Mrs. Watson had studied the image at length. She could see in her mind’s eye the pretty young woman on the left, with a voluptuous figure and a face that looked lively even in a photograph.
Miss Holmes must remember her features even better than Mrs. Watson did. Nevertheless, she took the Stanhope from Miss Marbleton and looked through it again. “Is she connected to das Phantomschloss?”
“He didn’t say. When we told him we barely knew of the place’s existence, he showed us a pencil sketch of this woman and said he was also willing to trade for news of her whereabouts, though it would be a lesser exchange.”
The woman obviously mattered to Mr. Finch. But in what sense? Because she might lead him to das Phantomschloss? Or because he cared for her in some way?
Or both?
Miss Charlotte handed the Stanhope to Lord Ingram and said to Miss Marbleton, “Do you know how we may convey a message to Mr. Finch?”
Miss Marbleton shook her head. “That tête-à-tête with him was arranged much like our meeting today. Mr. Finch put a notice in the papers with a cipher that my brother had given him and we managed to talk for a while in a train going north to Edinburgh.
“We asked him for a means to get word to him, should we discover something about das Phantomschloss. He only took another cipher from Stephen and said he would ask us for progress with a notice in the papers. But we were abroad at times and might have missed it.”
She smiled bitterly. “Certainly I haven’t been paying very close attention of late. I only saw your notice because my boots got wet and I was looking for some newspaper to stuff into them so that they’d dry faster.”
“You should pay more attention,” said Miss Charlotte, softly yet implacably. “Your brother hasn’t given up.”
Miss Marbleton chewed her lower lip. Her glued-on beard moved with the motion of her lips and teeth. Mrs. Watson wanted to giggle. But more than that, she wanted to hug this girl, who found herself all alone in the world, so that she would have a shoulder to cry on.
Miss Charlotte leaned forward half an inch. Mrs. Watson’s heartbeat accelerated: Miss Charlotte had thought of something.
“Miss Marbleton, would Mr. Finch’s notice to you have started with the word ‘Corinth’?”
Miss Marbleton sat up straighter, her hands on her wide-apart thighs. The masculine posture and her thick beard still made Mrs. Watson feel disoriented, especially contrasted with her feminine voice, which had risen further with surprise. “So he did post a notice to us?”
Miss Charlotte nodded. “I keep track of unusual small notices in the papers. I remember that one because I could not solve the rest of it. In Mr. Marbleton’s microphotography, he gave a cipher that began with ‘Mycenae.’ The similarity struck me so last night I took another look at ‘Corinth.’ Of course I still couldn’t solve it because it had a different key.”