experts as the British Museum's Henry Jenner, the greatest living expert on the Cornish language. Holmes was able to demonstrate the close connection between the Cornish verb and the Irish verb systems.
The Holmes family were well known in Galway. Indeed, it was Holmes's uncle, Robert Holmes the famous Galway barrister and Queen's Counsel, whom the Irish have to thank for the. organization of the Irish National School system for the poorer classes, for he was a member of the Duke of Leinster's seven-man education commission in the 1830s and 1840s responsible for many innovative ideas.
These few brief words will demonstrate, therefore, the significance of this
My initial encounter with my second most dangerous adversary happened when I was lunching with my brother, Mycroft, in the Kildare Street Club, in Dublin, during the September of 1873.1 was barely twenty years old at the time and thoughts of a possible career as a consulting detective had not yet formulated in my mind. In fact, my mind was fully occupied by the fact that I would momentarily be embarking for England where I had won a demyship at one of the Oxford Colleges with the grand sum of ?95 per annum.
I had won the scholarship having spent my time at Trinity College, Dublin, in the study of chemistry and botany. My knowledge of chemistry owed much to a great Trinity scholar, Maxwell Simpson, whose lectures at the Park Street Medical School, advanced my knowledge of organic chemistry considerably. Simpson was the first man to synthesize succinic acid, a dibasic acid obtained by the dry distillation of amber. It was thanks to this great countryman of mine that I had produced a dissertation thought laudable enough to win me the scholarship to Oxford.
Indeed, I was not the only Trinity man to be awarded a demyship to Oxford that year. My friend, Wilde, a brilliant Classicist, a field for which I had no aptitude at all, was also to pursue his education there. Wilde continually berated me for my fascination with sensational literature and one day promised that he would write a horror story about a portrait that would chill even me.
My brother, Mycroft, who, like most of the Holmes family of Galway, was also a product ofTrinity, had invited me to lunch at the Kildare Street Club. Mycroft, being seven years older than I, had already established his career in the Civil Service and was working in the fiscal department of the Chief Secretary for Ireland in Dublin Castle. He could, therefore, afford the ?10 per annum which gave him access to the opulence of the red brick Gothic style headquarters of the Kildare Street Club.
The Club was the centre of masculine Ascendancy life in Ireland. Perhaps I should explain that these were the Anglo-Irish elite, descendants of those families which England had
despatched to Ireland to rule the unruly natives. The Club was exclusive to members of the most important families in Ireland. No 'Home Rulers', Catholics nor Dissenters were allowed in membership. The rule against Catholics was, however, 'bent' in the case of The O'Conor Don, a direct descendant of the last High King of Ireland, and a few religious recalcitrants, such as the earls of Westmeath, Granard and Kenmare, whose loyalty to England had been proved to be impeccable. No army officer below the rank of major, nor below a Naval lieutenant- commander was allowed within its portals. And the only people allowed free use of its facilities were visiting members of the Royal Family, their equerries and the Viceroy himself.
My brother, Mycroft, basked and prospered in this colonial splendour but, I confess, it was not to my taste. I had only been accepted within this elite sanctuary as guest of Mycroft, who was known as a confident of the Chief Secretary and therefore regarded as having the ear of the Viceroy himself. I had only been persuaded to go because Mycroft wished to celebrate my demyship and see me off to Oxford in fraternal fashion. I did not want to disappoint him.
The dining room of the club was truly luxuriant. The club had the reputation of providing the best table in Dublin.
A solemn-faced waiter, more like an undertaker, led us through the splendidly furnished dining room to a table in a bay window overlooking St Stephen's Green for the club stood on the corner of Kildare Street and the green itself.
'An aperitif, gentlemen?' intoned the waiter in a sepulchral voice.
Mycroft took the opportunity to inform me that the cellar was of excellent quality, particularly the stock of champagne. I replied that I believed that I would commence with a glass of sherry and chose a Palo Cortaldo while Mycroft, extravagantly, insisted on a half bottle of Diamant Bleu.
He also insisted on a dozen oysters, which I observed cost an entire shilling a dozen, and were apparently sent daily from the club's own oyster bed near Galway. I settled for
In truth, Mycroft was more of a
After we had made our choice, we settled down and I was able to observe our fellow diners.
Among those who caught my immediate eye was a dark haired man who, doubtless, had been handsome in his youth. He was
now in his mid thirties and his features were fleshy and gave
him an air of dissoluteness and degeneracy. He carried himself with the air of a military man, even as he slouched at his table
imbibing his wine, a little too freely I fear. His discerning brow
was offset by the sensual jaw. I was aware of cruel blue eyes, drooping, cynical lids and an aggressive manner even while
seated in repose. He was immaculately dressed in a smart dark coat and cravat with a diamond pin that announced expensive tastes.
His companion appeared less governed by the grape than he, preferring coffee to round off his luncheon. This second man
was tall and thin, his forehead domed out in a white curve and his two eyes deeply sunken in his head. I would have placed him about the same age as his associate. He was clean-shaven, pale and ascetic looking. A greater contrast between two men, I could not imagine.
The scholarly man was talking earnestly and his military companion nodded from time to time, as if displeased at being
disturbed in his contemplation of his wine glass. The other man, I saw, had rounded shoulders and his face protruded forward. I observed that his head oscillated from side to side in a curious reptilian fashion.
'Mycroft,' I asked, after a while, 'who is that curious pair?' Mycroft glanced in the direction I had indicated.
'Oh, I would have thought you knew one of them – you being interested in science and such like.'
I hid my impatience from my brother.
'I do not know, otherwise I would not have put forward the question.'
'The elder is Professor Moriarty.'
At once I was interested.
'Moriarty of Queen's University, in Belfast?' I demanded. 'The same Professor Moriarty,' confirmed Mycroft smugly.
I had at least heard of Moriarty for he had the chair of mathematics at Queen's and written
'And the man who loves his alcohol so much?' I pressed. 'Who is he?'
Mycroft was disapproving of my observation.
'Dash it, Sherlock, where else may a man make free with his vices but in the shelter of his club?'
'There is one vice that he cannot well hide,' I replied slyly. 'That is his colossal male vanity. That black hair of his is no natural colour. The man dyes his hair. But, Mycroft, you have not answered my question. His name?'
'Colonel Sebastian Moran.'
'I've never heard of him.'
'He is one of the Morans of Connacht.'
