'Scotland Yard?'
'No, the gardening crew. My garden is a disaster! It shall take months to get it back the way it was. And someone shall be coming to take Harm away. I want you to handle that. They shall arrive in a black carriage. Carry him out on the pillow.'
'Yes, sir,' I said. 'When will Scotland Yard come for the fellow in the basement?'
'I haven't called Scotland Yard just yet,' Barker replied. 'I wanted to question him myself first.'
There was something in Barker's look that I didn't like. If he had been stone-faced before, he now looked like solid granite.
'But, sir, isn't it unlawful to detain a man against his will?'
'Mr. Llewelyn,' Barker said, 'I'm not sure of your meaning. The fellow is our guest.'
It was several hours before we got back to our 'guest.' We ate a cold supper of French sausages, cheese, and hard-boiled eggs, then Barker had his bath, as if it were any other night. I sat in the front room, with Harm on his pillow, waiting for the carriage to arrive.
Almost an hour after Barker's phone call, as he'd predicted, a closed carriage arrived at the front door. No one got out to ring the bell. I opened the door and carried the pillow and Harm out to the vehicle. The driver got down from his box and opened the door; I got a glimpse of a female figure all in black, with a heavy veil. She took the dog, pillow and all, into her lap. The driver closed the door before I could speak, and they drove off without a word. I hoped Barker knew what he was doing, trusting Harm's health to these mysterious persons.
By the time I reached the back garden to tell Barker, the garden crew had arrived. They carried paper lanterns on long poles. There must have been twenty workers at least. They swarmed all over the garden, sweeping, clipping, digging and replanting, while Barker moved about in shirtsleeves, inspecting everything. I helped by picking up pence. They were in the path, on the lawn, and buried in the back wall. I only found about a dozen. Presumably, the rest went home with our attackers as souvenirs.
I gave Barker his pence and told him that the carriage had taken Harm away. He nodded without speaking, rolling up his sleeves. I noticed that the marks on his arms made the Chinese nervous. Perhaps there was some emblem there that had meaning to them. My employer was not pleased with the way one fellow was raking the stones, and he took the rake himself, working until he was satisfied with his own efforts.
Finally, close to midnight, the gardeners finished their work and loaded their tools into an ox-driven cart. By the time they left, the garden had returned to its general appearance, or so it seemed to a layman such as myself. Barker washed his hands at a delicate pump by the windmill and struggled back into his suit jacket, clean as ever.
'Let us go speak to our guest,' my employer said. 'He should be well primed by now.'
Our 'guest' was wide awake and wary as we came down into the cellar. He looked frightened, and well he might. Sitting alone for hours, not sure of his fate, must have terrified him. I noticed his wrists were chafed from struggling to get free. Barker took another chair, spun it around, and straddled it.
'So,' he said conversationally, 'what am I going to do with you?'
'I ain't peachin' on my mates,' the poor man spoke up, bravely. 'That's a promise.'
'Oh, you'll sing like a nightingale before I'm done with you. I'm no Scotland Yard inspector, you know. I don't have to play by any rules. I could keep you here indefinitely. Your mates, as you call them, are long gone. They've probably written you off as a loss. For all they know, this place is crawling with constables. I could keep you down here for days. Weeks even. No one's coming to save you. This could very well be the night you disappear from the face of the earth.'
The poor soul went to work, struggling against his bonds again and grunting for all he was worth. It was a helpless ordeal. Barker sat there and watched him. The man finally gave up and almost swooned from fatigue.
'What is your name?' my employer asked.
'Jim Brown.'
Barker brought his foot up, kicking the bottom of the man's seat. The fellow jumped and grimaced. After the kick I had recently given him, he must have been sore.
'What is your real name?'
'McElroy, sir,' he responded. 'Albert McElroy.'
'Very well, Albert. Now we're going to play a little game. I'm going to ask you some questions, and you're going to answer them if you wish. Strictly voluntarily, of course. What do you say?'
'Do your worst, peeler. You can't scare me.'
Barker's foot came up again, and this time McElroy and the chair went with it. All four legs lifted off the floor, and the chair smashed into the padded wall, breaking apart like a matchstick. Our guest fell hard on the mat, and pieces of wood rained down all around him.
'Mr. Barker!' I protested.
'Mr. Llewelyn, our guest seems to have had an accident. Would you pull up another chair for him? I don't think you shall have to tie him up again. He'll be much more cooperative now, won't you, Mr. McElroy?'
The man groaned as I helped him into another chair. I was very concerned now. Mr. Barker was cutting it quite rough. Just how angry was he about Harm? I feared he might go too far. In fact, I believed he'd done so already.
'Now,' Barker continued. 'We were about to begin our game. Any objections, Albert? No? Excellent. Question one: Do you belong to any organizations?'
'Yes, sir.'
'To what organizations do you belong?'
'Do I have to answer, sir? Didn't you just say they were voluntary-like?'
'They are.'
'Then I'd rather not say.'
Barker reached into his pocket and McElroy flinched, no doubt expecting a gun or some knuckle-dusters. Instead, he produced his pipe and filled it with tobacco from his sealskin pouch.
'Very well. Let me rephrase the question. Are you involved in any organizations that aren't for the benefit and support of the Irish people?'
'No, sir, I am not.'
'So, you don't belong to any organization whose purpose is to harm or remove the Jews from London.'
'No, sir.'
'Have you ever heard of a group called the Anti-Semite League?'
'No, sir. Can't recollect any group like that.'
'What do you do for a living, McElroy?'
'I'm a carpenter as was, sir, afore the Jews moved in and took over all the work.'
'And might I assume that you now spend your days with some of your fellows, bending an arm and talking about general conditions in what one might call a social club?'
'Social club! That's a good'un, sir. Aye, we philosophize most afternoons, down at the Crook and Harp.'
'Oh, the good old Crooked Harp. I know it well. Excellent. Now, Albert, I'm not going to ask you to name any of your mates. I'm not after the little fish, only the big one. Did someone come in and get you fellows all stirred up, someone blaming all your present troubles on the Jews? Not one of the regulars, mind, but someone new? Someone extra?'
'Aye, sir, he did. Said there was no end to 'em and that they'd run us out of England. Said he knew how hard we worked to start a new life after bein' forced out of Ireland. Said they needed to be taught a lesson. A good hard lesson, if you get my meanin', sir.'
'You're being wonderfully cooperative, Mr. McElroy. My, but this is thirsty work. I believe we still have some good homemade porter in the lumber room. Mr. Llewelyn, would you be so good as to get our new friend a drink?'
In a moment or so, I had the Irishman seated at the table with a glass in his hands. McElroy was obviously relieved, but he kept flicking his eyes Barker's way, in case his mercurial temper suddenly rose again.
'Thank ye, sir,' he said.
'Not at all. Pray continue. What did your fellows say when he made this proposal?'
'Oh, they was all for it. They've been spoilin' to smash a few heads for months, only didn't know how to go
