Will Thomas - Some Danger Involved

"The missus is in Dover, looking after her ailing mum. I been using the time to work extra hours while she's gone. I've even been sleeping here o' nights. Don't hardly seem worth it, going home with her gone."

Racket judged the cab serviceable, and within the prescribed half hour, he deposited me at Barker's front door in Newington.

"What happened?" Maccabee asked at the front door. He was wearing half-moon spectacles perched on his elegant nose. I informed him about the shooting. He took off the spectacles and tapped them on his other wrist for a moment, deep in thought.

"Why don't you sit down in the front room here while I poke about," he said. "I believe we've got a bottle of restorative somewhere on the premises."

He led me into the sitting room and left me in an easy chair. I had glanced into the room once or twice but had never been seated in it before. Most of the furniture was Chinese or Anglo-Indian, lacquer and rattan with lots of pillows and potted palms. The wallpaper looked like it had been stenciled in gilt with peacock feathers.

Mac glided in with an oversized balloon glass containing an opaque liquid the color of cafй au lait.

"What's this?" I asked, suspiciously.

"Brandy and milk, sir. It will help calm your nerves."

I hazarded a sip. I've never been much of a drinker of spirits, but it seemed to me the mixture was particularly vile. At Mac's insistence, however, I drank it down.

"Wonderful, sir. Are you hungry? No? Perhaps you should go upstairs and rest a while. I must say you are getting on famously. Less than one week! It took Mr. Quong months before his firstЕ uhЕ experience."

Usually I would have come back with some retort after such a remark, but it wasn't in me at the moment. Once in my room, I undid my collar and tie, removed my jacket and shoes, and slid my braces from my shoulders. I lay down on the bed and slid into a fitful slumber.

I awoke several hours later. The room was dark, save for a shaft of moonlight coming in from the back window. The silver beam illuminated my employer, who sat in my desk chair by the window, fiddling with some coins in his hands. He was deep in thought, as far as I could tell. What had brought him here? Ah, yes. The shooting. I'd almost forgotten. Was he standing guard? If so, he was a little late.

"What o'clock is it?" I asked.

"Almost ten," he responded. "How do you feel?"

I sat up, and swung my stockinged feet over the side of the bed. "I feel fine, sir," I said. "Why do you ask?"

"You've just been shot at," he growled.

"Yes, but they missed. I'm fine, really."

He sat for a moment, manipulating one of the coins through his fingers like a conjurer. "You're dissembling," he decided. "I'm taking you off the case."

"Why, sir?" I asked. "Have I not given satisfaction?"

"It's too dangerous for an untrained man."

"Begging your pardon, but until today, the only danger I encountered was barking a shin in the tunnel on the way to Ho's. 'Some danger involved in performance of duties' was clearly printed in the advertisement. I didn't enter your employment merely to push papers about."

"You entered my employment because you were desperate. I could see it in your eyes."

"Yes, sir, I was, but you hired me, and I accepted the position. You can't change the rules of the game now."

"It's not a game, Thomas. I came within a hairbreadth of losing an assistant this afternoon."

"Of course, it's your decision, but I don't believe I should be penalized because of the last fellow," I said bitterly.

"You know about Quong, then," he stated.

"Yes, sir, though you've been at some pains to keep it from me."

Barker ran his fingers through his hair. Then he began tapping his pockets for his pouch. He filled and lit his pipe. I watched the smoke drift through the permanently open window. "Quong was a good man, and a good assistant," he said, blowing out his match. "Being Chinese, he couldn't go everywhere, but he had a knack for being unobtrusive and silent. His death three months ago was a blow. I had to tell his father that he had died. I'd rather not have to do that again."

"How did he die?"

"I sent him out on a routine assignment, following a merchantЧ a merchant of all things! He never came back. His body washed up on the Isle of Dogs two days later. One bullet between the eyes. The merchant knew nothing; he wasn't even aware he'd been followed! The case is still unsolved. I've followed lead after lead. Quong was like a son to me. Don't believe my advertisements, that I solve every case that comes my way."

"You blame yourself for his death."

"Mea culpa."

"Sir, London is a dangerous place, but you didn't send him on a dangerous mission. It was routine work. His getting shot was justЕ random."

"But today was not. You were almost assassinated. I shouldn't have left you alone. You're still new."

"Mr. Barker, I know I'm new, but I'll be all right. I survived eight months in Oxford Prison and I've lived through today so far. I may be as green as Ireland, but I'm a grown man. Heaven knows I've made a grown man's mistakes already. I realize now how serious this work can be and I shall endeavor to be more careful in the future. But you cannot solve this case and be occupied with my safety at the same time. You can't ride one ass to two fairs."

Barker gave another of his wintry smiles. "Where did you pick up that one?"

"It was in one of your Jewish books, sir."

"I still don't like it," Barker said between puffs, but I could see he was wavering.

"Well, I prefer not to be shot at, but I suppose an assistant to a private enquiry agent would be subject to the same dangers as his employer. I accept that, and so should you."

He stood, extended his pipe out the small open space in the window, and knocked the ash from the bowl. Then he carefully wrapped the pipe and tobacco up in the sealskin pouch and returned it to his pocket.

"Agreed," he said, and turned to leave. He was almost out the door, in that way of his, when I made a sound in my throat. He stopped and turned, inquiringly.

"Nothing, sir," I said. "A minor annoyance. I've slept hard these few hours. I shall probably be up all night now."

"Try the library," he suggested.

"We have a library? Where?"

"You're the private enquiry agent's assistant. Find it yourself."

I accepted the challenge. There were only a few doors in the house I hadn't tried. The two on the first floor turned out to be a guest room and a lumber room respectively. That left two on the ground floor. The first, hard by the front door, I took to be Mr. Maccabee's personal domain, which only left the one by the back door, across the hall from the kitchen. My deduction was correct.

The door was ajar, so I stepped in, turned up the gas, and looked about. The room had built-in bookcases on all sides, from floor to ceiling. Two comfortable chairs in studded green leather flanked an Arabian octagonal table, with an oil lamp. There was a fireplace in marble, with a fendered grate, and a faded Persian carpet that dominated the room in an abstract design of red and green. A ladder on rollers navigated most of the shelves, by means of a circular track. It was all a bibliophile could want. I ran a finger along one shelf, and it came away clean. Mac must dust the shelves weekly.

I haven't mentioned the books, of course. Hundreds of books, thousands, in fact. Any subject, any language; novels, philosophy, classics, language primers, and instructional books on just about everything. There was a shelf full of manuscripts, another of ragged scrolls, and a third fronted with glass to preserve the ancient volumes therein. I settled on Eliot's Daniel Deronda, as I thought it might be pertinent to the case, and was just about to sit down when there was a warning growl from behind me. I was about to sit on Harm. I let dozing dogs lie and moved to the other chair.