Will Thomas: The Limehouse Text

“How do you know that?” I demanded.

Barker gave me one of his wintry smiles. “Because that is exactly what I would have done in his circumstances.”

“I’ll accept that,” I said, “but that doesn’t preclude the possibility that he killed all these people.”

“K’ing oversaw the fight in the arena and he is in charge of the lion and dragon dancers which employ some small amount of boxing in their dances, but one look at Mr. K’ing’s hands proved to me he is no fighter. They were as soft as any London businessman’s.”

“But as a businessman, if he got hold of the text, couldn’t he sell it?”

“No, it only had worth to someone who planned to study the forbidden knowledge. K’ing has no personal or financial interest in it. He was more concerned when you began using Chinese fighting arts to attack his people that day you paid a visit to Bok Fu Ying in Limehouse.”

“I was not attacking,” I stated. “I was defending.”

“Aye, but they thought they were the ones defending; defending Bok Fu Ying’s honor.”

“But I wasn’t using Chinese arts at all. They were the Japanese ones you taught me. I can’t believe they didn’t know the difference,” I insisted.

“You assume all Chinese men know Chinese boxing. Do all Englishmen box?” he asked.

“No, not hardly.”

“The fellows you fought had very little training. They were sailors, stevedores, and shipping clerks. As far as they knew, you were attacking them with something that looked Chinese rather than English.”

“And what of Campbell-Ffinch?”

“I shall admit, lad, that Campbell-Ffinch was my chief suspect through much of this case. He is both ruthless and desperate enough to have committed all those murders. He is also accustomed to following clues and knows the Chinese way of doing things. I thought it just possible he knew some dim mak. Ultimately, however, there are two reasons I discounted him. The first was the break-in. It wasn’t his style to rifle through things secretly in thief’s clothing. He would have knocked on the door, put a bullet in each of our heads, and looked for the book at his leisure. Besides, he’d already gone through everything once, using proper channels. It had to be someone else.”

“And the second reason?”

“An Englishman never would have shot an inspector outright. He’d have known how seriously Scotland Yard would take such an action. Only a foreigner with little regard for English law would have killed Bainbridge so cavalierly.”

“What about Charlie Han? He was a possible suspect.”

“He was, but only until I finally saw him. The boy is no criminal. Oh, he has broken some minor laws and been arrested, but they were not laws in China. The poor fellow’s a victim of Bainbridge’s jealousy and his own lack of knowledge of how things work here. I feel sorry for him.”

“I don’t,” I said. “He’s got the Belle o’ Pennyfields looking after him. Heaven knows what she sees in him.”

“There must be something. Miss Petulengro seems very canny and she doesn’t seem the type to suffer fools easily. Perhaps she’ll rub the corners off and make a better man out of him.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I said, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

“She seems to inspire jealousy wherever she goes,” Barker judged. “But then, attractive and unmarried young women often sow seeds of destruction in their wake, even among old married men like Nevil Bainbridge.”

“I suppose it is possible,” I muttered to myself.

“Another girl who has escaped from your matrimonial clutches, Thomas? I am glad to hear it. She was quite the cheekiest thing in a dress I have ever met. I don’t believe I could have stood the pair of you together. Also, though I am not saying she wouldn’t make someone a fine wife, wouldn’t you have preferred a girl with tastes similar to your own?”

“Surely you’re not suggesting we are not of the same class-”

“Oh, stop that, lad. You know I feel the class system is artificial. But the two of you are so different. It is the very same reason that I would not find you a proper suitor for Bok Fu Ying.”

I began to feel positively wretched. First I discover Hettie is having a relationship with another man and then I am warned off Bok Fu Ying. My mind conjured up her China doll face and earnest eyes, the smell of jasmine in her hair. “What is to happen to Miss Winter then?”

I saw Barker frown a little. He was her guardian, after all, and these were weighty matters. “I shall find a worthy suitor for her eventually, or she shall find one for herself without my help. Really, lad, I’ve never seen a fellow so eager to get himself betrothed. You’re but a pup, but you’re as bad as Robbie Burns, falling in love at the drop of a hat. Ours is not a profession for taking wives, and especially not at your age.”

“What of Pollock Forbes?” I asked, in order to change the subject.

“Pollock? What makes you think we should include him as a suspect?”

“He knows a great deal about what was going on, and he was in K’ing’s opium den. Also, he has a ring, sir, with an insignia on it. I believe he belongs to a secret society of some sort.”

Barker gave me one of his wintry smiles. “He smokes opium because of his tuberculosis. As to secret societies, if we arrest a fellow for being a member of one, I would be the first on the list. Don’t forget, lad, that we called him into the investigation.”

I got up and nodded good night. I was on the stairs when I suddenly turned. “The text, sir. The Limehouse text. Is it really on its way to China?”

“No, lad, it is still here. In such a case as this it has been necessary to keep all my cards to myself. You understand now how vital it was that the book be kept safe, and so I gave it to the man I most trusted in London.”

“Old Quong?”

“Dr. Quong was indeed the Chinaman I gave it to, but he immediately passed it on. It was you, lad. He gave it to you.”

“Me?” I demanded, confused.

“Yes. The text is plastered against your left shoulder blade at the moment.”

All power of speech left me. I’d had it the entire time, while the killer was searching half of London for it? I was Barker’s most trusted man?

“But my injury, sir…” I began.

“Oh, there was nothing really wrong with your shoulder, lad. Once Quong set it back in place, it was right as rain. The tendons there are quite elastic. I hope you’ll forgive the minor inconvenience.”

I thought of the many sleepless nights I had with that hard cast biting into my shoulder, the discomfort as I drove the cab, the taking notes with one hand, the preparation of Barker’s dinner. It all began boiling up.

“I believe I’ll just take a walk, sir. I need some fresh air.”

Barker reached into a drawer of his desk and removed a pair of stout scissors with short curved blades. “Certainly, but I shall need the book. Take off your jacket.”

He proceeded to cut me out of the cast. Plaster rained onto the floor as he wrenched the small package from my back. It had been wrapped in cloth and looked the same as always, a dull yellow, perhaps a trifle wrinkled.

“None the worse for wear, the both of you.”

It was easy for him to say. My limp, pale arm looked ready for one of Vandeleur’s postmortems. I tried to move it, but it hung there at my side uselessly.

“Raise it up over your head and down behind you in a circle, lad. That’s the best thing for it.”

I tried, but halfway up, the atrophied muscles seized up and cramped. I cried out, then used a few choice words I’d learned in prison.

“Really, lad,” Barker said dryly. “You must learn to control your temper.”