“Cases often do about this time,” he responded.
“You will try to clear Charlie’s name, won’t you? He’s had a devil of a time in England since he arrived. As for you, Thomas, we shall talk later, shan’t we?”
I gave her a weak nod. We put her into the cab and she rattled off. Another one came into Whitehall and I secured it, leaving Barker to return to our offices.
I’m normally curious but just then I was too tired to care what might be said when Poole met with Barker. At home I checked that all the doors were locked and turned down the gas in the hall. Upstairs, I changed into my nightclothes again, crawled into bed, and drifted off to sleep, or tried to, anyway. With my cast biting into my shoulder, it was a wonder I got any sleep at all.
25
The next morning Barker seemed remarkably nonchalant about the events of the night before. The Guv did not mention his conversation with Poole. He was more concerned with the morning post.
A pair of letters had arrived, their envelopes highly visible, for they were a deep crimson color and of an unusual rough texture. One arrived for Barker and the other for me. We each took one from Jenkins’s salver and slit them open, he with his Italian dagger and I with a more prosaic letter opener. The inside of the envelope was lined with gilt paper and the enclosed letter backed with a piece of paper that matched the envelope. The letter was beautifully executed, but I had no idea what it said, for it was all in Chinese. I looked at Barker, who was reading his.
“It is an invitation to a New Year’s banquet tonight given by Ho,” he explained. “You have been invited, too, I see. It is quite an honor. I had not anticipated you would receive one.”
“It is addressed to me?” I asked, looking at the letter. “What does he call me?”
“Little brother.”
“Are you seriously telling me that Ho considers me his little brother?”
“Not his, lad. Mine.”
“How do we accept the offer?”
“I must respond in kind. Fetch some water, would you?”
Retrieving a ewer from a lacquered tray, I took it out into the yard behind the office and filled it from the pump. The wind snatched the frigid breath from my lips, and the silver ewer grew icy in my hand as I eased the handle up and down. I hurried back inside to find Barker occupied.
There was a small black tray on his desk, a brush, and several sheets of paper. Barker pulled a minuscule bowl no larger than his thumb from a bottom drawer, a tiny spoon, and finally, a box containing a stick of what looked like coal. He was composing a response to the invitation.
Barker picked up the stick and began to grind it against the surface of the tray, which was made of slate.
“Is that ink?” I asked.
“Yes. It is made of soot and resin. Pour the water into that bowl there.”
He whisked the ink around with one of the brushes, mixing the water and soot and then pulled a paper in front of him. He placed the brush near the right-hand corner and began to paint.
“What are you writing?”
Barker raised a finger and went back to finish his note. I’ve noticed his power of concentration was sometimes complete. Chinese calligraphy is something of an art, I understand, and my question was not unlike interrupting an artist at his easel. He finally finished and leaned back to examine the completed letter.
“I have graciously accepted the invitation and thanked Ho for the honor. He is a stickler for protocol.” While the letter dried, Barker put the writing materials back. He sealed the letter, affixed Her Majesty’s penny effigy in the corner, and gave it to Jenkins to post. Then we forgot the matter for the rest of the afternoon.
As we made our way to Ho’s that evening, I attempted to turn the Guv’s attention back to the banquet in my usual manner, by hitting him with a barrage of questions.
“How many invitations were sent out, do you think?” I asked.
“Not over fifty. Ho would want it to be exclusive.”
“So, it is a kind of party, then?”
“Of a sort, though the meal is the most important part.”
We stepped out and found a cab within a few minutes. I pressed him further.
“Will we be the only Occidentals?”
“I would imagine so.”
“And the purpose of the event is to celebrate the New Year and the fact that Ho has been released from custody?”
“Correct.”
“I don’t believe that is the whole story. I admit Ho might celebrate these things, but he has other reasons, I’m certain.”
“Very good, lad. I see you are developing your deductive skills. What other reasons might he have?”
I hadn’t expected the question to be thrown back at me so quickly. “Well, he’s been in jail, which must include some sort of loss of face among the community. He might have a banquet as a show of strength that he has not been inconvenienced.”
“Good. Go on.”
“He deals in secrets and information. While he was away, it might have gone elsewhere. This meal could be an attempt to bring it back again.”
“And?”
I had run dry. I thought for a minute or two. Nothing came to mind.
“Consider Mr. K’ing.”
“What would such a meal mean to K’ing?” I asked. “Is Ho trying to say ‘We have the same friends and are one’ or ‘These are the supporters I can take away from you, if I wish’?”
“Surely you know the answer to that question. Think more subtly.”
I pushed my imagination as far as it could go. If I were Ho, what would I do with K’ing breathing down my neck? “Both,” I finally answered.
“Very good, lad. Now you are thinking like an Oriental.”
“Will K’ing be there, do you think?”
“He will be issued an invitation, surely. It is not only given to friends but to all respected members of the Chinese community, even those with dubious reputations.”
“Shall Bok Fu Ying be there?”
“Ho treats her as a favored niece, but she is busy preparing for the New Year’s festivities. She has been asked to perform. She will not be in attendance.”
My mind flitted between two thoughts just then. The first was wondering what sort of performance she would give, while the second was trying to imagine Ho as a doting uncle and not succeeding. Bellicose, perhaps; ungracious, certainly; but not doting.
We arrived in the narrow lane but found it transformed. The broken stone arches overhead were unchanged, but the debris had been swept away and the walls around the entrance given a coat of whitewash. We stepped through the door and found the tunnel lit by two naphtha lamps, and as we progressed down the steps, we found another lamp halfway down. At the bottom there was a red carpet about five feet wide, extending the entire length of the tunnel, with lamps on each side every ten feet or so. There would be no bumping into things in the dark for the distinguished guests, not to mention opportunities for further assassinations.
“Ho is sparing no expense,” I said.
“Far be it from him to leave anything out,” Barker agreed.
The main dining room had been transformed. Red paper lanterns hung from the ceiling and the walls had large letters cut from gilt paper, which I assumed offered luck and prosperity in the coming year. A long table ran down the center of the room, laden with bowls full of every kind of edible thing imaginable. Each bowl appeared to
