principle,” Moriarty observed.
“Even so. But aside from that, that’s pretty much what it must have looked like.” Moran paused to take a healthy gulp of this brandy and quinine.
“The maharaja had one problem, though, that worried his advisors and his subjects and almost took all the fun out of being the fattest maharaja in India. He had—how can I say this—an inability to perform his connubial duties. He had difficulty in maintaining the requisite, ah, interest, and he was so large that, even during the comparatively brief periods when he could keep his interest up, he couldn’t place it where it needed to be to produce a son and heir. And a son and heir must be produced or the succession to the throne would be in doubt—up for grabs, as it were—at his passing, and the future happiness of large numbers of his subjects might be imperiled; or so it seemed to the maharaja and his advisors at the time.
“So the maharaja’s nieces and his nephews and his cousins and his aunts, as well as the various functionaries of the court, were taking what in other circumstances might seem a vulgar interest in the condition of the maharaja’s member.” He paused.
“Continue,” Moriarty said, “with as little obeisance to prurience as you can manage.”
“The long and short of it is,” Moran said, obviously annoyed that his lovely anecdote was going to have to be truncated, “that the prime minister,who was the maharaja’s first cousin, commissioned a Scottish engineer named Westerby Mitchell to construct a device that would enable His Highness to, ah, function. Mitchell looked over the situation and, after spending a few weeks taking measurements and computing angles, set to work on a contraption of leather straps and bands and springs, all set into a hardwood frame, and had it installed in the royal bedroom.”
“A simple problem, but not without some interest,” Moriarty observed. “Did it work?”
“It solved the, ah, mechanical part of the problem. The other part was solved by the importation from Persia of three exceptionally beautiful houris who were well trained in the amorous arts. With the assistance of the device and the houris, the maharani produced a royal heir within the year. I believe that two of the houris also gave birth around the same time.”
“What did the maharani think of this arrangement?”
“That is not recorded.”
“Ah!” Moriarty said. “A good story, and I appreciate it. And is the stage sufficiently set now? Can we proceed to the denouement of this farce?”
Moran took a deep breath and let it out. “Don’t rush me unreasonably, sir,” he said. “I’m trying to tell you enough so that you can, you might say, see how it is; so that you can properly understand what follows.”
“I think,” said Moriarty, “that whatever follows, sir, I will properly understand.”
Moran closed his eyes for a long moment, and then opened them and stared unblinkingly at Moriarty. “I am not sure, sir, why you are being hostile to me and my story, when I haven’t even gotten around to the, ah, important part, the part that would concern you, as of yet.” He rose from his chair and jammed his cigar firmly between his teeth. “I will concede that you are the cleverest man in London, and the best at devising the sort of stratagems that I might require. I have worked with youbefore, and I know that this is so. Now, if you will direct me to the residence of the second cleverest man in London, I will bid you adieu.”
Moriarty chuckled, and then began laughing, a great, full-throated laugh. Moran, startled, took a step backward and almost fell back into his seat before bouncing up again and glaring belligerently at the professor.
“The second cleverest man in London?” Moriarty asked, and then laughed again. “Why, sir, I cannot direct you to the second cleverest man in London, for he has disappeared.”
“Indeed?” Moran asked, looking baffled.
Moriarty nodded, and held
“Even so. But aside from that, that’s pretty much what it must have looked like.” Moran paused to take a healthy gulp of this brandy and quinine.
“The maharaja had one problem, though, that worried his advisors and his subjects and almost took all the fun out of being the fattest maharaja in India. He had—how can I say this—an inability to perform his connubial duties. He had difficulty in maintaining the requisite, ah, interest, and he was so large that, even during the comparatively brief periods when he could keep his interest up, he couldn’t place it where it needed to be to produce a son and heir. And a son and heir must be produced or the succession to the throne would be in doubt—up for grabs, as it were—at his passing, and the future happiness of large numbers of his subjects might be imperiled; or so it seemed to the maharaja and his advisors at the time.
“So the maharaja’s nieces and his nephews and his cousins and his aunts, as well as the various functionaries of the court, were taking what in other circumstances might seem a vulgar interest in the condition of the maharaja’s member.” He paused.
“Continue,” Moriarty said, “with as little obeisance to prurience as you can manage.”
“The long and short of it is,” Moran said, obviously annoyed that his lovely anecdote was going to have to be truncated, “that the prime minister,who was the maharaja’s first cousin, commissioned a Scottish engineer named Westerby Mitchell to construct a device that would enable His Highness to, ah, function. Mitchell looked over the situation and, after spending a few weeks taking measurements and computing angles, set to work on a contraption of leather straps and bands and springs, all set into a hardwood frame, and had it installed in the royal bedroom.”
“A simple problem, but not without some interest,” Moriarty observed. “Did it work?”
“It solved the, ah, mechanical part of the problem. The other part was solved by the importation from Persia of three exceptionally beautiful houris who were well trained in the amorous arts. With the assistance of the device and the houris, the maharani produced a royal heir within the year. I believe that two of the houris also gave birth around the same time.”
“What did the maharani think of this arrangement?”
“That is not recorded.”
“Ah!” Moriarty said. “A good story, and I appreciate it. And is the stage sufficiently set now? Can we proceed to the denouement of this farce?”
Moran took a deep breath and let it out. “Don’t rush me unreasonably, sir,” he said. “I’m trying to tell you enough so that you can, you might say, see how it is; so that you can properly understand what follows.”
“I think,” said Moriarty, “that whatever follows, sir, I will properly understand.”
Moran closed his eyes for a long moment, and then opened them and stared unblinkingly at Moriarty. “I am not sure, sir, why you are being hostile to me and my story, when I haven’t even gotten around to the, ah, important part, the part that would concern you, as of yet.” He rose from his chair and jammed his cigar firmly between his teeth. “I will concede that you are the cleverest man in London, and the best at devising the sort of stratagems that I might require. I have worked with youbefore, and I know that this is so. Now, if you will direct me to the residence of the second cleverest man in London, I will bid you adieu.”
Moriarty chuckled, and then began laughing, a great, full-throated laugh. Moran, startled, took a step backward and almost fell back into his seat before bouncing up again and glaring belligerently at the professor.
“The second cleverest man in London?” Moriarty asked, and then laughed again. “Why, sir, I cannot direct you to the second cleverest man in London, for he has disappeared.”
“Indeed?” Moran asked, looking baffled.
Moriarty nodded, and held
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