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handed it to Moriarty. “Someone’s been tampering with camera 29. Your cousin insisted that I deliver the photographs to you immediately.”
    Moriarty opened the envelope with a yellowed fingernail. He removed the contents and held them up to the gaslight. The fuzzy image of a sad-eyed boy and a grizzled man wearing a tattered bowler were imprinted on the photographic paper. Moriarty’s eyes glittered with recognition. He chuckled softly and handed the photos back to Mr. Gordon.
    â€œInform my young cousin that I am putting Mr. Snodgrass and his nephew on twenty-four-hour watch. I seriously doubt their capabilities, but it is always better to be safe than sorry.”
    Mr. Gordon nodded. “Should I inform Mr. Jackson?”
    Moriarty considered for a moment and said, “Yes, Jackson would be perfect. But tell him that I expressly forbid violence at this stage. Doing so could draw unwanted attention.”
    Mr. Gordon bowed and exited the room. Moriarty swiveled his chair back to the window. He parted the elegant drapes with his clawlike hand. A few minutes passed before he saw a large, shadowy figure in a broad-brimmed hat exit from a nearby alley. The figure moved with animal-like agility down the street with his long cloak billowing behind him.
    Moriarty smiled, observing Mr. Jackson as if he were a well-trained dog. He was confident there would be nothing that would escape his henchman’s watchful gaze. Rupert Snodgrass was an amateur and would be easy to keep tabs on. His mental capacity was nowhere near the professor’s supreme adversary, Sherlock Holmes, whose ability to anticipate his every move made his life so difficult.
    Professor Moriarty felt reasonably certain that everything was still proceeding unobserved by Holmes and Snodgrass. When Holmes was on a case, the professor was usually alerted by one of his numerous spies and, so far, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. And when Snodgrass was on a case, well . . . he was usually foiled by his own lack of imagination. With the exception of the careless McDuff leaving those small scraps of paper in his cab, everything had progressed with utmost secrecy. He doubted that the boy—he had been told Griffin Sharpe was his name—would have the kind of experience to know how to draw any conclusions from such a seemingly trivial clue.
    But sometimes, he had to admit, even amateurs got lucky. So if Snodgrass or his American nephew should accidentally stick their nose where it didn’t belong, he would make sure that his dog Jackson was there to bite it off.

13

TEA AND SCONES
    A fter a long day scanning the shoreline and finding no other clues of significance, Griffin and his uncle traveled by cab to Mrs. Dent’s home. On the way, Snodgrass informed Griffin that she had specifically asked them to report their findings that afternoon over tea. Griffin had heard of English teatime and had always wanted to try it. His stomach was certainly more excited by tea at the Dents’ home than anything they’d discovered by the shoreline that day.
    Soon the cab pulled up to a stately section of London where some of its wealthier businessmen lived. Mrs. Dent’s home was a lovely two-story building with a well-tended flower garden at its entry. They were greeted at the door by a young housekeeper. Griffin observed that the girl couldn’t be more than two or three years older than he and was quite pretty. She smiled shyly at him as he and his uncle were shown inside to the parlor.
    Griffin looked eagerly around the beautiful home and its elegant furnishings. He noticed the delicate, feminine touches that Mrs. Dent had placed throughout the house and was reminded of his mother. Pushing thoughts of home aside, Griffin focused on the delicious smells coming from what he guessed must be the kitchen.
    As they entered the parlor, Mrs. Dent rose from the sofa and motioned for them to take the two chairs positioned near the fireplace.