engagements.”
“Since they threatened to go after the Royal Family, but the Queen is in Scotland,” Barker said, “then, presumably, they might go after the Prince, since he will be king someday.”
For once, we all agreed. While Poole shouted orders down the stairs to arrest McKeller and O’Casey, we followed Munro down the stairwell and out into the street. I saw Alfred Dunleavy, looking cool and unruffled despite the darbies on his wrists, talking to a reporter, while the Bannon brothers were being loaded into a Black Maria. Colin Bannon caught sight of me and shot me a look of cold hatred that I shall never forget. His brother, Padraig, was too beaten up to care.
Munro gave a whistle, and a brougham pulled up to the curb beside us. He climbed in, but barred us with his arm.
“Official police business, gentlemen. This is where I cut you loose.”
Before we could react, his vehicle rattled off.
I stamped my feet in frustration. How were we to beat the infernal Special Irish Branch inspector and stop Garrity before he assassinated the Prince?
Just then, a man stepped out of the shadows of an alleyway behind us and cleared his throat.
27
I raised my stick, ready to strike again if necessary. I must have looked a sight. My nose was swollen, the skin under my eyes already turning a dusky purple, my hair wringing wet, and my shirt red with blood. It was appropriate, therefore, for Jacob Maccabee to step out of the alleyway, immaculate in his crisp suit and bowler, as if he’d just stepped out of a tailor’s shop.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said, as if we’d just been out on a perambulation around Hyde Park instead of a month-long desperate attempt to save London from being destroyed. “Your vehicle is waiting, sir,” he said, turning to our employer, “and I’ve brought the items you requested.”
“Excellent,” Barker said, leading us through the alleyway to the back, as if it were any other day. When had he alerted Mac? I wondered. Our private hansom and our mare, Juno, were awaiting us. Mac reached into the vehicle and held something up for me to don. It was the coat my employer had made for me several months before, with lead lining in the chest and back and built-in holsters.
“You’ve got to be joking. I don’t need that,” I said. “It is nearly July.”
“Wear it,” Barker demanded, donning his own. “This business may get more deadly before it is all over.” We didn’t have time to argue but climbed aboard the conveyance. Our horse, Juno, looked back at us from her traces.
“Where shall I take you gentlemen?” Mac asked, climbing up into the back of the vehicle and opening the trapdoor over our heads.
“I need to find a telephone quickly,” Barker answered. “Have you any suggestions?”
“Yes, sir. I believe I can take you to one not three streets from here.”
It was closer to four, but I will not quibble. It was in a jeweler’s shop in Shaftesbury Avenue. I wondered if Mac knew every Hebrew in town. Though it was after hours, he knocked loudly at the door until it was answered by a small, portly man. There was a short conversation in Yiddish, which Barker, ever the linguist, joined in, and then we were led inside to a telephone.
“Mr. Anderson?” I asked.
“Exactly. It is vital we locate the Prince immediately.” He gave the operator an exchange number and waited. In a moment, he was speaking to Anderson, explaining what had just happened.
“You’re looking well, Mac,” I said.
“Thank you, sir. I only wish I could say the same of you. Allow me to get some ice for that swelling.”
“Later, perhaps.”
“Let’s be off, quickly, gentlemen. The Prince of Wales is in St. James’s Street, at White’s Club. It is but a few streets from here. We must get there immediately.”
The three of us bounded back into the cab. Mac called out his thanks in Yiddish, then cracked his whip in the air. Juno’s shoes bit into the cobblestoned roadway and we were off.
We were going as fast as the traffic would allow, but we were all on the edge of our seats going down Piccadilly. If we didn’t get there soon, the man next in line to the throne might be dead. Finally, we bowled up to the marble entrance to White’s, and alighted.
All seemed well. There were no constables in sight and no commotion. St. James’s still had the grand sedateness for which it is justly famous. Barker and I appeared to be the only thing out of place so far, a bearded bomb maker and a bloody anarchist, both glaring anxiously about.
We were moving toward the door when our quarry suddenly appeared from the far corner of the street. Like us, he’d acquired new clothes-a nondescript coat and a bowler, but I couldn’t miss those two satchels, having chosen them myself in Paris. Perhaps if I’d been more prepared, I would have shut my mouth until he came closer, but my nerves were at fever pitch. I sang out as soon as I saw him.
“There he is!” I cried.
Garrity was still a couple of hundred feet away. I saw him skid to a stop, pull his hat down, and turn around, running off in the direction of Pall Mall.
“After him, lad!” Barker cried.
We both outraged the public peace by running flat out after the rapidly departing bomber. In doing so, I narrowly avoided colliding with a group of men just coming out of the club. I turned my head in time to see one fellow in the middle-a stocky, bearded chap with hooded eyes-who was removing the cigar from his mouth and staring at us with some interest. I was a block away before I realized that it was the Prince of Wales. It was as close to any royal as I’d ever been in my life. I don’t think Barker noticed, and if he had, I doubt he’d have given two straws. His nose was to the scent, and he wasn’t going to quit until he’d brought down his quarry.
We ran through Pall Mall after the bomber. When we reached Trafalgar Square, Garrity’s arrival had sent dozens of pigeons into the air. Barker had a keen eye, or we would have missed him, amid all the flapping and feathers. Without stopping, he pointed south toward Whitehall, where this had all begun.
I heard a crash of glass ahead of us, as we reached Whitehall, and a minute later, we reached Craig’s Court. A new hole stood in the fresh pane of our chambers at Number 7. I saw no sign of our prey anywhere.
“Surely, it hasn’t been half an hour since we set the bomb,” Barker said, trying to convince himself. It was near time, however, and the last thing he needed was to blow up the chambers he’d just had refitted. Stopping to defuse one bomb would keep us from following Garrity, who still had another. The time had come, I realized, to separate.
“I’ll go in and defuse it, sir. You go on after Garrity.”
Having no key, I climbed the brick at the front of our building until I reached the bow window. Avoiding the glass, I tripped the latch, opened the window, and crawled inside. It was a matter of only a minute to disarm the bomb. That left only one, but of all the hands it could be in, Garrity’s were the worst. He could easily reset the timer and blow up Scotland Yard a second time. I half expected to hear the rocking shudder of an infernal explosion any minute, but it didn’t come. I jumped from the windowsill to the pavement and ran along Craig’s Court.
I made my way through a narrow alley beside the Telephone Exchange. There was no sign of Garrity or Barker anywhere. I ran around the corner to Scotland Yard, worrying that history might repeat itself. I passed the Sun, which was open and doing a brisk business again. Had I the time, I would have gone in and spoken to Jenkins, who, according to his own orbit, would be reigning over his little corner of the public house. As for the Yard, it was like a beehive, with constables on the alert for the missing bomber. There was no sign of Garrity, and the trail was growing cold.
I was beginning to despair that I’d lost him, and hoping that Barker would arrive any minute, when I heard the sound of feet running. Looking up, I saw movement ahead. Before my mind even had time to react, my body was loping along toward the sound ahead of me. I ran toward the Thames.
On the far side of the railway bridge, right near the water’s edge, there was a flurry of movement. Close to a dozen constables were on the ground struggling. I was looking to see if Garrity was among them. Abruptly, my
