Interview with the Devil: Professor Moriarity...Part One by John Pirillo

Interview with the Devil: Professor Moriarity...Part One

Contrary to what most people believe and think about the Holmes cannon, there are many aspects of its villains that are not fully explained, and probably one of the least understood and perhaps even most understood is Professor Moriarity.

Born in the glens of Scotland to a poor family, he strove to build a life from the ashes of poverty that eventually led onto the road of crime as a master criminal, but what if we had spoken to him, been able to plumb the depths of that sinister mind, would our opinion, perhaps, be different?

To that exploration I offer the first interview ever with Professor Morey Moriarity, the original and one and only Moriarity, who was able to become the legend of many a story and of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon of Sherlock tales.

It was my good luck to be on a small vacation in England, exploring some of the elder ruins that remain throughout the land. I was researching the remnants of the Black Hand, a nefarious gang of outlaws, who terrorized England during the early Victorian days, much as the Mafia has in our country and especially during the prohibition. But therein the similarity ends, for the Black Hand, though as volatile and vocal as Isis, they were a much darker breed of villains. They gave rise to the likes of Blackbeard, Henry the Eighth: the Wife Killer, Jack the Ripper, and the never forgettable Hyde.

How so?

That was what puzzled me, for it the Black Hand existed as some rumors had it, then how had they been left out of the history books for so long. I even went to the British Museum in a fruitless effort to find at least a scrap of history about the infamous Black Hand. But nothing. At least until I discovered a small book store called The Black Hand. 

Intrigued by the name, which I'm sure you would be as well, but a bit frightened as well, I noted the words: All Things Occult and Forbidden of the Arts. Above the door, but below the sign. Now I an overly brave man by nature, but I couldn't let this pass, not after flying thousands of miles of frigid ocean at dangerous heights. I get air sick quite easily, so it was definitely my form of bravery to put up with the hours of flight wherein my heart palpitated pitifully in my breast at the thought of the plane going down, which it seemed about to with every air current that buffeted us and every sudden announcement by the pilot that something was changing.

Getting back to my adventure, I entered the shop after many times wanting to just go away, even run away. If the Black Hand did indeed exist, was I walking into the very den of inequity I sought to expose through my writing and how would they take that, knowing I was onto them?

But surprise of surprises I was greeted by a very slender maiden with golden hair and bright blue eyes with a humble voice and demeanor.

"How may I help you?" She had asked.

"I'm looking for anything related to the Black Hand?" I told her, my heart still pounding in my chest, even with the sight of the beautiful young woman before me.

She smiled and did a slight circle with her arms, indicating the entire shop. "Here everything is about the Black Hand."

Now that almost sent me bolting for the door, except that at that moment an extremely large man entered and stood there behind me, not moving. Now I could hear my heart in my ears it was pounding so hard. Have you ever felt you were in the greatest of dangers of losing your life? At that moment I did.

"Uh." I began, not sounding very certain or bright at that moment. "I am researching for a novel I am writing. I was led to believe by a gentle, older woman in Brighton that Professor Moriarity was the founder of the Black Hand. I've always felt the man was maligned in the stories of Sherlock and on TV, and wanted to see if there was any way I could clear his good name.

She laughed. "Then you've come to the right place. Follow me."

I felt the large man behind me still. I dare not turn about to look, for that might be what he expected and was prepared to manage if necessary. Instead, I followed the young woman like a lamb to the slaughter, hoping for the best.

I entered a very well lit backroom with shelves of ancient tomes carefully labeled and placed behind plate glass doors. The room was gently conditioned by an ionizer to keep out dust and particles that might prematurely age the works. She pointed to a large table. "You can sit there. Would you like some tea? I have some Blackwood Tea, it's a combination of green and gold, that warms the blood while brightening the mind."

Surprised I responded. "Why, uh, yes, yes I would."

She gave me a knowing look, and then went into another room. I could hear her tinkering around in there. I almost felt comfortable again, but then the large man entered the room and sat down at the table with me. His hands were gloved in black velvet. His shirt was a black silk with a black tie and he wore black pants. He had a very nicely threaded black cape that was slung over his right shoulder. His hair was pure black, his eyes as well. There wasn't a single menacing look about the man. He appeared to be quite muscular, his eyes were sharp like an eagle's, his expression alert and focused. He wore an oddly shaped cap over his long hair that was pulled down more so on his right side, as if to hide something.

"You are Mister Pirillo?"

I was startled and once more ready to make a bolt for the exit, which he sensed and rose to block my way out. I had been about to rise, so instead I relaxed. 

"I am."

His eyes searched mine a long time. "You are aware of it all, aren't you?"

It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact. 

How does one respond to such a thing?

"Whatever do you mean, sir?"

He sat down opposite me and this time I tensed, but made no effort to move, or to appear distraught, even though my heart continued to race and I'm sure my face flush with red. "Do you give fair interviews?"

"I am known for being absolutely fair and honest." I replied. I never alter the words of those I interview. I have a perfect memory and even though I record everything, I always check back with my memory to make sure I didn't miss anything.

He leaned forward, revealing a narrow smile and pure white teeth. "Even with villains?"

Okay. That was unexpected.

"Here's your tea, sir." The young woman said as she entered. She went straight to the man and gave him a hug and light kiss on the cheek, then turned to smile at me. "I see you've met my father."

"Your..."

"Father." She repeated, the touch of a twinkle in her eyes and amusement on her lips.

"In a matter of speaking."

Suddenly, he reached across the table with the speed of an attacking viper and took my right hand. "Can I trust you?"

At that moment I would've lied to God Himself, I was so terrified of that edifice in front of me. 

"Uh...yes." I finally managed.

The room became deathly still and silent, then he let go and gave me an amused look. "I thought you were nothing less, else I would never have led you here in the first place."

"Led me here?" Now I was scared and confused. "But why?"

He took off the top hat he had been wearing and revealed a terrible scar on the right side of his head that had been hidden by the hat. He had been hiding something. Something horrible and something I shall reveal through this interview.

He reached out his hand again, but this time more slowly to shake mine. I hesitated. "I am Professor Morey Moriarity. The man you seek."

I almost blacked out. This was impossible. Not in modern times. Not in this day and age. And not on my earth. I reached out and took his hand. It was as powerful as a lumberjack's, but warm at the same time. He let go, then turned to his daughter. "I'd like a cup as well."

"Yes, father." She told him, and then vanished yet again into the room next door.

He leaned over and eyed me closely. "Ask away."

I took a moment to realize I had finally achieved my goal, though in a manner I would never have thought possible. It wasn't until months later that I had my interview with Sherlock, Watson and Houdini, so I wasn't as sure about the Baker Street Universe then as I would be later.

I pulled my cell phone from my right trouser pocket, laid it on the table and eyed him. "I'm going to record this if you don't mind?"

He shook his head. "The truth must be known."

"Very well."

I gestured over the face of my phone, and then activated the voice recorder. I leaned closer, pushing the phone between us so it could catch both our voices clearly. 

I gulped, took a deep breath and posed my question, expecting to be struck down immediately for my temerity to ask such a question. "Are you the infamous Professor Moriarity of the Sherlock Holmes legends?"

"I am."

(The Second part of this interview will be published later today. Be sure to tune in when I tell you Moriarity explains how he got the terrible wound to his head.

---John Pirillo, Author and Interviewer)