Will Thomas - Some Danger Involved

"We briefly suspected him of being behind the desecration of a synagogue a year ago," Barker said to me, conversationally, as if the threatening preacher were not even there. "That was the first case I handled for the Board of Deputies, of which you heard Sir Moses speak. It turned out to be the work of a Jewish atheist." He turned back to face Brunhoff. "We're investigating the murder and crucifixion of a Jewish teacher not half a mile from here."

"I was innocent of the former charges, and I am innocent of these as well!"

"Prove it, then," Barker said. "Provide me with an alibi for early Sunday morning, and I'll have no reason to darken your door again."

"I will!" the preacher cried. "By the heavens, I will!"

Barker looked about. "I see your little church is about the same," he said. "You know, young Mr. Painsley's is growing mightily. He's adding chairs and building a new platform. I hope he's not taking some of your membership away from you. I'd hate to see you have to shut the place up."

I saw that Barker had struck a nerve. Brunhoff looked ready to choke in his tight collar. "You go to the devil!"

"Thank you, no," my employer answered urbanely. "I'd prefer Abraham's bosom, myself, after seeing this pox on the city's hide shut down forever. Send me an ironclad alibi and I'll let you alone. Come, Llewelyn." We left the preacher near apoplexy.

Outside, John Racket and Juno were sitting patiently at the curb.

"You manhunters need a ride?" he asked laconically.

"Take Thomas back home," Barker called out. "But first, drive me over to the mission in Mile End!" He turned to me. "I'm sparring with Brother Andrew tonight and taking him out to a chophouse he favors. Presumably, the chops will not have been held to someone's eye."

I spoke up, hoping I wouldn't be getting the cook in trouble. "Are you that particular? Mr. Dummolard thinks you have no taste buds."

"Ah, so you've met Etienne. Does he, by Jove? I admit, I'm not much of a gourmand, but I know good food when I taste it. I simply don't rate it as high in importance as he. I've lived on some of the worst food imaginable, aye, and starved as you have in my younger days. I make it a rule never to complain when food is set in front of me. So the answer to your question is no, I am not particular."

We came to a stop in Mile End, and Barker was out and off without a word. Racket's little trap opened up above me, and he looked down at me. "Shall I take you straight to the Elephant, sir, or do you want to stop somewheres first?"

"Home is fine," I said. Presumably Dummolard had returned to normal cooking and had stopped trying to poison us. I might get a decent dinner for a change. Then I realized what I'd said. I'd called Barker's residence "home." My parents still lived in Wales, outside of Newport, but I had long since stopped calling Wales home. Oxford Castle certainly didn't deserve the name, nor did my former rooms in Clerkenwell. But my new room at Barker's residence, was that home? I sat back against the plush cushions of Racket's cab and pondered the question. That is why the bullet that passed through the cab, shattering the window and spraying glass everywhere, didn't pass through my head as well.

I was still sitting there, wide-eyed, when the trap opened overhead and Racket's anxious face looked down at me.

"Mr. Llewelyn! Tell me you're not dead!"

"I'm all right!" I called. "I wasn't hit!" There was a sudden violent wrench to the entire hansom and I heard the sound of footsteps. Racket had dismounted and was running somewhere. Juno looked back at me, her eyes white with fear. By the rippling along her withers I could tell she'd been terrified by the shot. I thought for a moment she might bolt, taking me with her, but she'd been trained well. She didn't move a step while her master was away from the cab.

As for myself, I was in shock and covered in glass. I looked to my right, where the small portal was nothing but shards, then looked to my left, where a tiny hole perforated the elegant scarlet padding. I raised a hand to my cheek, and it came away with blood. I'd been cut by a sliver of glass. Suddenly, I wanted to laugh, laugh loud and hard at cheating death, but I mastered myself. If Juno could do it, so could I.

Racket came back, winded from his exertions. He stepped up on the footboard and surveyed the damage.

"Oh, my cab!" he said, almost in tears. "Oh, my beautiful, beautiful cab! What has he done to ye, old girl?"

"Did you see the man who did it?"

"I did. He was a great big fella with a loud suit and a black beard. I think he looked Italian. He put the pistol back in his pocket and light-footed it down the street. Thought I'd catch up with him, but he just disappeared. Crikey! I'll have to patch this up, temporary like. The window's easy to fix, but I'll need all new wood and fabric for this side. One hole and it never looks right, you know. You have to replace the whole panel. He couldn't just break the glass. No, not him! He has to damage the woodwork!"

The fellow was talking about cab repair one minute after I'd just narrowly missed spattering his cab with my brains.

"I'm covered in glass, Mr. Racket," I pointed out. "Is there somewhere nearby I can get cleaned up?"

"My stable ain't more than a mile from here. You sit tight, and I'll have you good as new in fifteen minutes. Then, I'll take you home and send word to your boss. He'll get that blighter. Nobody shoots at Racket's cab and gets away with it."

I sat in a daze, still covered in glass. Through the shattered window, I heard the rubber tires humming along the road. The thought occurred to me that my assailant might have an accomplice waiting to finish me off. I became convinced that I was in imminent danger of a second bullet's tearing through the cab, and that this one wouldn't miss. Like most fears, it was groundless. Without any further mishaps, we arrived.

Racket's stable was in the Minories in Aldgate, not far from the Tower. The cabman opened the large double doors, then led Juno in by the bridle. It was dark and silent inside, and restful on my jangled nerves. Racket crossed to the far end and pushed open another set of doors, allowing light to stream in. Then he came back and helped me out of the hansom.

"We'll have you right as rain in no time, Mr. L.," he said, taking a brush to my suit. "Wisht I could say the same for my cab."

"This is a nice stable you have here," I said. It was built of old beams and had a high ceiling with a loft. Fresh hay was strewn over the floor, and a couple of stalls had rope, harnesses and tack hanging from hooks. I stepped over to the open back doors. Instead of a mews, there was a drop of twenty feet down to tracks belonging to the underground.

Racket lay a heavy hand on my shoulder, and I jumped, almost precipitating down onto the tracks below.

"Watch your step," he said. "You just missed one killing."

"This is a bit dangerous here, don't you think?" I asked.

"I ain't fallen yet," Racket responded, looking down with me. "It's handy being so close to the rails. I can hoist hay bales into the loft direct from the wagons below, and I've got a hook in front as well and can lift bales from the street. The rent's low, and I can reach the West End in a matter of minutes. Lend me a hand here?"

Between the two of us, we lifted a panel of raw wood from a pile of lumber and eased it into the cab. I held it while Racket hammered it into place with some stout nails. Then I brushed the glass out of the cab while he fed Juno a bucket of oats to soothe her a little.

"We're almost done here. I'll have you home in half an hour. 'Struth. The strain-and-strife will have all kinds of words to say when she sees the state of this here cab."

"Where did you say your wife was?"