The Fall by Annelie Wendeberg

room, hoping he might even believe I was grateful that he had saved me from Moran. Hoping we would repeat this scene.

— day 49 —  

    ‘I heard you increased the safety measures in your lab,’ Moriarty said, his feet stretched out towards the blazing fire. A bottle of brandy flanked by two glasses stood on the coffee table. His was empty; mine waited in vain to be touched. He had begun to adopt a familiarity with me that gave me a peculiar mix of relief and disgust.
    ‘The danger of transmission is too great. I cannot let Goff or myself go in and out of that room without precautions. Did he complain about the inconvenience of the daily disinfection of his apron and gloves, or did he feel ridiculous at having to wear a cap and a mask?’ My voice carried just enough spite to let him know I wouldn’t back down.  
    He poured another brandy. ‘Do not worry yourself, please. I am not criticising you. On the contrary. I did learn enough about anthrax to appreciate your careful actions. And I do see that the small laboratory is now very limiting. We will relocate as soon as you can confirm the identity of the second batch of pure cultures.’
    ‘You have a warehouse we can use?’
    He nodded once and emptied his glass.
    ‘At what time did you find out that I was in fact a woman?’
    After some contemplation he answered, ‘I must confess that you had fooled me, too. I had seen you twice from a distance and was quite taken by your masquerade.’ Upon my enquiring look he added, ‘About a year ago. I wanted to see the new recruit before Bowden sent Stark to call on you. I was also at the medical school when you began working for us.’  
    Back then, I hadn’t even had a clue he existed.
    ‘I should have guessed your identity then, considering the lack of facial hair and the high cravat to hide the nonexistence of an Adam’s apple. Your gait was a good imitation, though. Ha! And the bulge in you pants!’ He clapped his knees, laughing, before he caught my gaze. ‘My apologies. That was inappropriate.’  
    ‘Indeed. But why did you send Colonel Moran to find out about that woman who had performed a Cesarean section when you believed I was a man?’
    ‘It had taken me a while and was the result of a series of coincidences. First, that acquaintance who merely mentioned that article in passing. Then, weeks after that incident, I remembered that Anton Kronberg had appeared somewhat feminine. Not enough to be talked about, but just enough to suddenly come to mind, when one wonders how a woman could possibly perform a Cesarean section so well.’ He smirked. ‘Discovering that you were a woman was quite delightful, I must confess. I suppose you would have been burned on the stake a few hundred years ago. Perhaps not. Your masquerade was almost foolproof.’ The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘You could just as easily play the fool,’ he said, gazing at me expectantly.
    ‘You could simply ask a question,’ I offered, bracing myself. ‘I will ask one in return.’
    He raised an eyebrow. ‘I will start,’ shot out of my mouth. ‘Who is the woman in the room next to mine?’ I could not specify my question without revealing how much I knew about the movements in his house. ‘I heard her cry one night,’ I explained.
    ‘As usual, you combine a grain of truth with a great deal of omission. The art of lying.’ A hint of appreciation lingered in his voice. ‘Well, then. I will allow this little game. Can you guess why?’
    ‘Because you enjoy it.’
    He poured himself another glass and said, ‘She comes from the slums and is well cared for. Let me be more specific — she is treated much better than she used to be.’
    ‘Is she locked into that room?’
    He nodded, not taking his gaze off me, constantly observing, analysing, scrutinising.
    ‘What will happen once you are tired of her?’
    He barked a laugh, tutted, and shook his head in amusement.  
    ‘You will dispose of her,’ I whispered. ‘No,