Will Thomas: Some Danger Involved

"Were you referring to the dog or me?" I asked.

"Don't tempt me," he responded, and left with the tray.

Harm and I settled back on the pillows and soon drifted off to sleep together.

Shortly after noon, Inspector Poole and a constable arrived to take down my statement. Poole wanted to be sure that Barker and I had not compared notes, and I could honestly say that we hadn't spoken more than a few sentences to each other since that day. The case, according to Scotland Yard, was officially closed, although they wanted the names of the sword-wielding Jews. Strange, but my memory was rather hazy about the specifics. As for the press, the papers spoke of little else for weeks, but the Golem Squad had disappeared without a trace.

After a slice of goose liver pie, which Mac fed me successfully, Dr. Allcroft stopped in for a short visit and pronounced that I was healing rapidly. Before leaving, he traded the morphine injections for a green, laudanum-based syrup that was particularly vile. Licorice is a flavor best left in the nursery. With the doctor out of the way, Barker and Mac brought in a little oriental fellow, who gave me an all-over massage. It was torture during the actual process, but when he was done, I felt a little better than before. He left me his own Chinese tonic in a blue bottle beside the laudanum. I had no intention of taking that, either.

It was shortly after six when Barker and Mac appeared with my dinner tray. Barker settled a napkin on my chest and prepared to feed me. I had never seen him looking so domestic. Mac returned to his duties.

"I think you dismissed the nurses too quickly, sir," I told him.

"It was necessary," he said, cutting up some roast beef on my nightstand. "A few more nights and there would have been an understanding between Mac and one of the nurses. Two, if he was persistent. Open."

I opened. It was beef in some sort of wine sauce. No doubt it had a fancy French name. Dummolard had outdone himself, but there were more pressing matters.

"Can we talk about the case now?"

"Of course," he said. "What did you want to know?"

"Only everything."

He loaded my mouth again. "Everything, is it? That's a tall order. You'll have to be a wee bit more specific."

"Very well," I said, after I swallowed. "When did you first suspect Racket?"

"I noted him at the beginning. I've had him as a cabman once or twice in the past, but only randomly. His sudden attentiveness, coinciding with the start of a new investigation, put me on my guard. However, he was only one of several leads at the time. I gave him more serious attention after the shooting. Later, he gave us information that proved to be suspect. I knew that Serafini didn't fire on you, and to believe that there was another assassin out there matching his description stretched my credulity.

"He was my key suspect after that, but I couldn't be certain he was working alone until we found poor Miriam Smith's body. That scripture he quoted made me certain of his sole guilt. He wanted me to know, I believe. Were the case to remain unsolved, no one would ever know how clever he had been."

"How far behind me were you when I was in the cab alone with Racket?"

"I saw you getting in the cab, but there were two dozen men trying to spill each other's blood between us. I also hazard some of the bigger fellows had been ordered by Racket to attack me personally. It took me a moment or two to get through the crowd. By then, the cab was halfway down the street and going at a fast pace. I had to run like the dickens to keep it in sight, all of five or six blocks. Of course, I had no idea he was choking you as he went along. I'm sorry about that, lad."

I smiled.

"What?" Barker demanded, frowning. I was getting better at reading his expressions behind those huge spectacles of his.

"†'Some danger involved,'†" I quoted. "Is it often this dangerous?"

"Not often, no," my employer said. "Sometimes it is. I won't lie to you. I'm very sorry that you were hurt, that I was unable to stop Racket from almost killing you. I cannot control every situation. I can understand if you wish to leave my employ. I shall pay you handsomely for your services and give a sterling reference."

I actually thought about it for a moment. Perhaps I could find a more normal position, something unthreatening, a quiet job clerking for a solicitor. But could I stand being locked in an office every day, dotting i's and crossing t's, after this? Could I live in a lodging house, wondering what Barker was doing just then or whether Dummolard had taken offense, and never seeing Mac in a hair net? Would I be able to sleep without Harm snoring at the foot of my bed? Most of all, could I live my life knowing that someone else was using my room, sleeping in my bed, and using my desk, because I had disappointed Cyrus Barker by turning him down?

"No, sir," I found myself saying. "I'd like the position permanently, if you'll have me."

Barker patted my shoulder and smiled. "That's grand, lad. Just grand."

"But have I given satisfaction, sir? I feel as if I've failed miserably."

"You did well," Barker answered. "Your survival in such a dangerous case is an achievement in itself. I threw you in, untrained, and you adapted yourself and worked very hard under threat of your life. I have no possible cause for complaint."

I have to admit, the words felt good.

"So, what happened in Racket's stable?" I asked, picking up our earlier conversation. "Was I already tied up when you arrived?"

"Yes," Barker continued. "He must have planned it all beforehand, because he had the cross already prepared for you. He hoisted you up on pulleys and tied the other end of the rope to the bale hook that overlooks the street. Racket must have been desperate, to use his own stable like that. Perhaps he planned to escape to the Continent. Some details we shall never know."

"I remember his taunting me. He said he enjoyed watching us take all those wrong turns in the investigation."

"As I said before, an enquiry agent must cultivate patience. One must be thorough, investigating every lead. There is no way to know which one will lead to the proper conclusion."

"You heard him, then?"

"Of course. I can't tell you what a pathetic sight you were, suspended upside down like Peter. I thought you were lost to me, as Quong was. But you're a plucky fellow, and a tough one, too, to have survived all you've been through."

"So what happened then?" I asked. "I must admit it was all a jumble after you struck Racket with one of those coins of yours. By the way, that was an incredible throw."

Barker shrugged. "As I told you, I've had a lot of training. After he dropped the gun, he shoved the cross, sending it spinning, and ran to the stairs leading to the loft, making sure you were between us the entire time, for I had drawn my gun. I ran to you, and actually had my hand on the crossbeam, when you suddenly shot out of my hands. Racket had seized the hook and swung out, you see, hoping to escape. As he plummeted down, you spiraled upward."

"And then?" I asked, still perplexed.

"I shot the rope in the middle, which brought you down into my outstretched arms, and by the way, lad, I could swear you'd put on a pound or two, despite my instructions. Racket came down in the street a little faster than he'd anticipated. I hadn't expected to kill him, just to slow him down enough to catch up to him, but I don't believe I'll lose any sleep over his death. Like yourself, I'll remember the pathetic figures of Louis Pokrzywa and Miriam Smith."

I shook my head. "Incredible. An inch either way, and the outcome might have been entirely different."

He shrugged, as if his marksmanship were nothing out of the ordinary.

"This is some profession, Mr. Barker," I mused.

"It's the only profession, as far as I am concerned."