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

balcony.
     
                  Zyverbine transferred his gaze to Moriarty. "That is not in my file," he said.
     
                  "That is not my concern."
     
                  "A man is about to enter this room," Zyverbine said, leaning forward. "Stand up when he comes in. Bow when I introduce you." Moriarty shrugged. "As you say."
     
                  "I wish I had phrased that question differently," Zyverbine said, "although I commend your honesty. You understand it does not make one whit of difference to me whether you believe in one god or twelve. You would seem to be the best man to handle this job, and your private beliefs are not my concern. But the Grand Duke is certain to feel differently."
     
                  "A grand duke," Moriarty said. "Of the royal line?"
     
                  "Yes. Of course. You will respect his incognito."
     
                  "Naturally. And I can appreciate his concern for religion. One who claims to rule by the will of God must dislike even the thought of atheists."
     
    -
     
                  The man who entered the room was fully as tall as Moriarty but with massive shoulders and a barrel chest beneath his severely cut gray sack coat. His hair was gray, but his square-cut beard was pitch black and his eyes were light blue.
     
                  Zyverbine jumped to his feet. "Professor Moriarty, may I present Count Brekinsky," he said.
     
                  Moriarty stood and gave a bow that managed not to look too much like a parody. "Your Grace," he said.
     
                  "Yes, yes," Brekinsky said. "Sit down. Professor Moriarty, I am a blunt man. I have a question for you."
     
                  Moriarty remained standing. "Ask," he said.
     
                  "Why do you do what you do?"
     
                  "For money."
     
                  The man calling himself Count Brekinsky held out his left hand toward Zyverbine. "The file!"
     
                  Zyverbine pulled Moriarty's file from the drawer and handed it across the desk.
     
                  Brekinsky studied it. "Our information is that you control the greatest criminal organization in Great Britain. "
     
                  " Not so," Moriarty said.
     
                  Brekinsky looked up from the file and fixed Moriarty with his gaze. "Our information is wrong?"
     
                  "There is no such organization," Moriarty said. "I have some men in my employ. The number varies, never more than ten or fifteen. Occasionally the acts they perform in the course of their duties are contrary to the laws of the land. The other, ah, criminals that your informant would have me controlling merely consult me from time to time. If my advice is useful, they pay me for it. I in no way control their actions or give them orders. That is not my concern."
     
                  "But they pay you for this advice?" Count Brekinsky asked.
     
                  Moriarty nodded. "That is my concern," he acknowledged. "I sometimes describe myself as the world's first consulting criminal." There was a hint of a smile on his face.
     
                  "You think of yourself as a criminal?" Brekinsky asked. "Does not this bother you?"
     
                  Moriarty shrugged. "Labels," he said, "do not bother me. The fact that I am, on occasion, in conflict with the laws of my country does bother me, but it is the laws that must give way. I live by my own ethical and moral code, which I do not break."
     
                  "You have a right to live beyond the law?" Zyverbine asked. "If I do not get caught."
     
                  "And yet you consider yourself—trustworthy?" Brekinsky asked.
     
                  "When I give my word," Moriarty said, "it is never