the sewers or floating in the Thames.”
“So why leave me out of it?”
“Because the lad and I are up to our necks in socialists of every description. Young and old, male and female, Christian and otherwise. I knew you were a friend of Bram Booth.”
“Knew his dad, the general, too,” he said. “Tried to turn me into an officer when his Salvation Army first began. But I was still battling the bottle then, and could not trust myself. Missing girls, eh? I’ve heard of them. Had to prop up Danny Rice before he went in to identify his daughter. This madman had cut off her nose. Cruel thing, leaving a pretty girl like that dead for her father to find and then hacking off her nose. Makes me feel downright un-Christian. So, you’re going after him, are you?”
“I’m after him now,” Barker said. “I’ve been after him.”
“Good. Find him. Get your teeth into him. Or the next time we’re in the ring together, I’ll stop going easy on you.”
The two men gave each other a grim smile.
12
“Do you still have the address of the estate agent, Thomas?” Barker asked on the walk back to Bethnal Green.
“Yes, sir,” I said, pulling out my notebook and flipping pages. “His name is Ezra Levitt. It’s on Commercial Street.”
“Excellent. He is Jewish. His offices will be open today. I want to see that property as soon as possible. If it all works out, we shall move in tomorrow.”
We found Mr. Levitt’s office and discussed our need for a short-term rental of the property. The estate agent countered that such a thing was irregular but finally agreed it was best to have some revenue coming in. A possible fee was discussed for a months’ use, the Guv counteroffered, and a price was agreed upon, pending approval. Then the agent took us to the site.
There was not much to recommend it. It was an empty warehouse, dusty from disuse, with three floors and a ladder going up to a roof hatch. The grimy windows offered an excellent view of traffic heading east and west along Green Street, and by moving to the window on the far east side, one could see all the way down Globe Road. We were so close to the charity that had I opened a window and shouted, I would have attracted attention from everyone inside the building. Barker pronounced it satisfactory, and we marched back to the agent’s office to sign the lease.
Someone said to me once that enquiry work was just the sort of work for men who could not handle routine, implying that we lacked stamina for the eight-to-six workaday world, as if we never fully grew up somehow. Sitting in an office all day, filling out endless reams of paper while gradually emptying inkpots, was obviously his idea of being a man. In my defense, I told him that my position required taking dictation, keeping records, and filling out forms as he did, and that the only difference between our positions was that he didn’t have to stop writing every now and then to duck a bullet or receive a fist in the face. I don’t know whether I convinced him or not. In any case, sitting in the estate agent’s office, filling out forms, signing, countersigning, initialing, stamping, and sealing made me glad for once that I had such an unusual occupation. A week shut up in that office and I’d have been moved right into the lunatic asylum.
After shaking hands with the fellow twice over, we finally quitted the establishment. It was just after six. We stopped at the Prospect of Whitby and had our dinner. A hot leg of lamb with plenty of mashed potatoes was just the thing to drive the dust of the warehouse and the more figurative dust of the estate agent’s office from our lungs. The meal, however, was still tempered by the terrible sight we had seen on the dock at Wapping Old Stairs that morning and now that our business was concluded, we naturally fell to talking about it again.
“I expect the funeral shall be in two days,” Barker said, pushing back his plate and taking a sip of his tea.
“I hope the DeVeres have close friends and relatives to help them through this,” I said. “I cannot see either of them in any condition to attend their daughter’s funeral.”
“You know that I have limited experience with children, save perhaps with Fu Ying, who was thirteen when she came to live with me,” my employer began.
“When she came to live with Harm, you mean,” I interjected. The Dowager Empress of China had given this slave girl to the dog to care for him unto death. Harm, in turn, had been a gift for some service the Guv had done the Chinese royal family; but what it was, he would not tell me.
“I was going to say it is amazing how a child upon its birth quickly becomes the focus of its parents’ lives, and not merely the mother’s. Now their focus is lost. Twelve years of intense caring shall be buried in the ground the day after tomorrow. All their dreams for their daughter-to see her grown, married, having children of her own-are all gone now.”
“Perhaps they can have another child.”
“Perhaps,” Barker repeated. “I hope so, for their sake. There are so many alternatives, none of them good.”
“Sir, if I may say it, your plan needs a little working out.”
Those were the words I had wanted to say to Barker about our move, but they weren’t issuing from my own mouth. Rather, they were coming from the mouth of Barker’s factotum, Jacob Maccabee, as he set down a fresh pot of tea in front of him. The Guv frowned behind his spectacles. I couldn’t recall the last time Mac had issued an objection. Perhaps he never had.
“A little working out?” the Guv asked.
“You intend to continue the investigation, do you not, interviewing suspects and the like?”
“Certainly.”
“Then you shall need fresh changes of clothes. How shall you get food?”
“I had assumed we would go to public houses or tea-rooms.”
“Very good, sir,” Mac went on. “But, then, you shall still need meals in the morning and tea in the evening. You gentlemen shall need looking after.”
“Hmm,” Barker said noncommittally.
“Then there is the problem of the two of you trying to keep a twenty-four-hour watch. First of all, you will both be investigating the area, so there is no one watching what is going on during the day. Also, it’s difficult to work during the day and then split a shift at night.”
“I see what you are getting at,” our employer stated.
I did, as well. Mac wanted to come with us. He was concerned for our welfare, or at least for Barker’s, but it was more than that. Mac had very nearly had my position before I arrived, and I believe he coveted the chance to be a part of the investigation. At least it would get him out of the house.
“Well, sir, three is generally better than two in such situations.”
Barker took a sip of his tea and began patting his clothes for his postprandial pipe. “You understand the requirements?”
“Yes, sir.”
“No pampering, no coddling, strictly Spartan, as they say. And no exceptions. Have you got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Of course, you may live according to your own dietary restrictions. In fact, if it is easier, you may serve us all kosher now and then. The Bucharest is nearby.”
“Mr. Ho’s tearoom is not far, either. If you give me the key now, I can take a lantern and sweep and mop the floors this evening and get everything in readiness.”
“No,” Barker said. “No light. No light at all, in fact. We work in darkness. That goes for you, too, lad. I know you like to read in the evenings, but I do not want to alert Miacca to our presence.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. This entire exercise was beginning to sound like a punishment.
“How many changes of sheets shall you require, sir?” Mac asked.
