Old Scores--A Barker & Llewelyn Novel

by Will Thomas

  “If you get a chance for a telephone call, call Lord Whatsit,” I told Ohara.

  “Lord Whosis?” he asked.

  “The fellow whose house you’ve been staying in. Have him come and take you out before you have to answer any questions. This Special Branch crowd is liable to cut up rough.”

  “Do you mean Lord Diosy?”

  “That’s the bloke,” I said.

  “But I must stay and tell them what happened so that Mr. Barker can go free.”

  “There are men here at Scotland Yard who would like nothing more than to see Cyrus Barker busted down, you see.”

  “Surely they cannot blame him for meeting the demands of the general. It is a long-held custom of my people.”

  “They do it here, as well, though not as dramatically. However, it is still illegal.”

  Ohara heaved a sigh. “Actually, it is illegal in my country as well, but people do it, anyway.”

  “That’s no comfort,” I told him.

  We were locked away in a cell, the three of us. Ohara sat cross-legged on one of the beds, tucked his hands into his sleeves, and closed his eyes. Meanwhile, my employer sat down in a chair and waited patiently. Apparently, I was the only impatient one. I paced the cell.

  “You got what you wanted,” I told him.

  “How so?” he asked. I suspected his eyes behind the dark lenses were shut as well.

  “After what he did to your late wife, you’ve had your revenge.”

  “That has been twenty years.”

  “Best served cold.”

  “I have long since given up a desire for revenge. I understood his reasons. How was he to know that the samurai class would be outlawed? When he overtook our village, his men knew who she was. He had to make an example of her.”

  “I’m sure you did not feel that way at the time.”

  “No. No, I didn’t. But we were in the middle of a civil war. It set families against one another.”

  “What was it about the sixties? Japan had a civil war, China had one; even the United States.”

  “One must learn to forgive, for one’s own sake, if not for others’. Of course, that takes time.”

  “You’re a Scotsman. They don’t forgive anything. I’d assume you would have forgiven Culloden before this.”

  “The treachery of the English at the Battle of Culloden is another matter entirely,” he stated.

  “But she was your wife.”

  “Aye, she was. I would rather he hadn’t asked me to be his second, but he did. I promised her I would not kill him.”

  “Why did you invite him to play Go with you?”

  “To gather information, of course.”

  “This is one for the books. You managed to have our client’s head cut off.”

  “You understand hiring us was merely a ruse.”

  “If by that you mean the general had committed the murders himself, I had worked that out. Or perhaps Kito had done the murders on his orders. I assume that in fact all the bodyguards worked for him.”

  “No,” Ohara objected. He ran a hand up through his kimono and scratched his neck. “As I said, I work for the Kempeitai, the Secret Police.”

  “On whose authority?” Barker asked.

  “The emperor. You would call him a very canny fellow.”

  “He might,” I said, indicating my employer.

  “With the ambassador dead,” Ohara continued, “the general made several orders without authority. Now the emperor can punish the families for whom Mononobe worked.”

  “Conquest,” Barker said. “China?”

  “Korea first, I suspect. And Formosa. Of course, we have the fine example of the English when it comes to securing territory.”

  “I would argue,” I said, “but nothing springs to mind.”

  “Mr. Ohara,” Barker said. “You say you work for the emperor. How, pray, have you influenced events while you have been here?”

  “Not enough to make up for allowing the ambassador to die. Mostly, I collected information for my report and followed people about. Again, I apologize for attacking you in your rooms. The general assured me that you were responsible. I did speak to your Mr. Stead yesterday morning and assured him that all the information in the article was accurate and that if he wished to scoop his competitors, he should publish.”

  “Scoop?” I asked. “You have a fine grasp of English. Where did you learn?”

  “Oxford,” he said. “I was the bodyguard of the emperor’s nephew when he was educated there.”

  “I remember him!” I said.

  “The general was not the only one making purchases,” I said. “The admiral signed contracts for ships, engineering equipment, and manufacturing engines.”

  “This is true,” Ohara said. “But these supplies were ordered by the government, but General Mononobe had associated himself with the most important families, manufacturers and such, and was doing their bidding, which happened to go along with his interests.”

  “To what end?” I asked.

  “The conquest of all Asia. The general believed such a thing was possible. He used all his knowledge gathered over the years and his connections to the government.”

  “Even China?” I asked. “It’s a hundred times Japan’s size.”

  “Especially China! He had a plan for dividing and controlling the country. The old Qing dynasty cannot stand much longer.”

  “And how do you feel about such imperialism?”

  “I am a servant of my government. I’m not entitled to an opinion.”

  “Nonetheless, you have one.”

  Ohara shrugged his massive shoulders.

  “The West had taken over Hong Kong and Shanghai and even Peking. The Americans streamed into Yokohama harbor forty years ago and began to dictate terms to us. I don’t care for conquest, but we must have a way to defend ourselves at the very least. Especially—”

  The door to our cell opened and the commissioner of Scotland Yard entered, along with several detective inspectors, including Terence Poole. There was no love lost between Commissioner Munro and Barker.

  “You have finally gone too far, Barker. You cannot slice the head off the Japanese ambassador and expect to get away with it.”

  “Mr. Barker is taking the blame upon himself,” Ohara said. “It was I who was General Mononobe’s second. I asked him merely to find a room for the ritual to be performed.”

  “And who the bloody hell are you, sir?” Munro demanded.

  “I am the new ambassador, now that the general is dead. He formally handed over his office to me this morning, before we left for the ceremony. I speak for the emperor in this matter.”

  “It was I who removed the general’s head,” Barker insisted.

  “Nonsense,” Ohara said. “Mr. Barker was once married to the general’s daughter. Why, they were playing Go in his garden three days ago.”

  I wanted to elbow my employer in the ribs and tell him to be quiet. Ohara was spreading diplomatic immunity over us like a mantle, while Barker was kicking against the goads. As for the commissioner, he looked like a child who has had his lolly taken from him.

  “There is still the matter of breaking into a government building.”

  “Guilty as charged,” Barker stated. “While I understand the ceremony of seppuku as a means of escaping disgrace, I do not condone it. I would not have it in my back garden, and so I felt I must choose an appropriate locale. I was aware the Jewel Tower was currently vacant.”

  “You had a key!” Munro cried.

  Barker nearly smiled. “A key! It was a common padlock and a fourteenth-century lock. Even the lad could get through it in five seconds.”

  Even? I thought I would let that one pass.

  “How do we know any of what you say is true, Mr.…?”

  “Ohara. The coat I was wearing contains all the papers necessary to prove my assertions. I believe Lord Diosy would be willing to translate.”

  “Your embassy was a failure, sir.” Terence Poole
spoke for the first time. “Will you be going home in disgrace?”

  “Not I. The general in a letter took full blame for all matters that occurred here in London. My duties are merely to facilitate our journey back to Tokyo.”

  “You still butchered someone on British soil,” Munro said. Not able to fix the blame on Barker, he turned to Ohara.

  “I am an officer of the Japanese Police. I was working at the request of the emperor himself. If you wish to take this up with my government, pray do so. I’ve got work to do. I demand to be released in the name of Emperor Meiji himself!”

  None but us had even heard of the emperor, but it was spoken with such authority that, in the absence of a higher government entity, Munro kowtowed to the pressure of diplomacy. I shuffled to the door and looked at the commissioner. He could only hold us for trespassing.

  “Oh, get out, the lot of you. Quit wasting the Yard’s time. And stay out of trouble!”

  I didn’t need to be coerced on that score.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  One would think that having been freed from a murder charge, Cyrus Barker would be elated. Not a bit of it, as it turned out. He asked the cabman to take us to our home in Newington. I had assumed we would go to the office. It’s the sort of thing he would normally do. There would be no shirking. The fact that we just ended a case did not mean that he would not want his usual eleven-hour workday out of me. I knew he had a change of clothes at the office, so there was no need to cross to the Lambeth side of the river. Not that I was complaining, mind you.

  Barker was unusually taciturn the entire way home. He looked grim, which on his rough-hewn face was practically savage. However, we had just witnessed something that would make anyone grim.

  Once in the house, Barker did not change clothing. Absently, he scratched Harm’s head, then passed through the hall and out the back door into the garden.

  Mac looked at me, with a question in his eye.

  “Mononobe’s dead,” I said in a low voice. “Gutted himself. Mr. Ohara cut off his head, then claimed diplomatic immunity.”

  I know Jacob wanted a longer explanation, but I didn’t have time for it. I went outside and crossed over the bridge. First I thought he was taking another bath, then I saw him in the pagoda-roofed gazebo. I crossed to it and found him contemplating the half-finished game in front of him.

  There is a time for studious silence while picking up on the subtle signals another gives. Then there is a time for blundering in with the best of intentions because one cares about someone. This was the latter.

  “What is it, sir?” I asked.

  He sat shaking his head over the Go game they had been playing. He put down a white stone, but there was no one to pick it up again. I did not know how and, besides, I felt it wasn’t my place.

  He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a faded blue velvet frame, the size of a ring box. He opened it and offered it to me. Inside was a small photograph of a young Asian woman. It was hand-tinted, the kind one sees from the Orient. It was just like the one in Mononobe’s office, the one he had shown to Barker. She had been pretty. Delicate features, neat hair, pulled back and pinned, a few shades lighter than the deep black I had seen in photographs of Japanese women. I tried to connect with it, with her, but I couldn’t. It was too long ago and too far away. She was dust and bone somewhere now, and her soul at rest. Her spirit, well, I’ll leave that to the theologians.

  “Very nice,” I said.

  “A good woman.”

  “You’ve got another one now. Mrs. Ashleigh.”

  “Aye, I do, lad.”

  “Why don’t you take a couple of days off and go down to Sussex,” I suggested. “I’ll mind the office. If a case is too big, I’ll call you.”

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  “Please,” I insisted. “You should call her now. She should be here, or you should be there. You’d go there if she went through something half as difficult as what you’ve just been through. You’ve never taken a holiday before. I’ll even teach your antagonistics class for you. We’ll go over basic drills.”

  “Do you think you can manage?”

  “Like I said, I’ll ring.”

  “Thomas, I want you to do something for me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I have been a poor son-in-law. I will not be a poor father-in-law. Find K’ing. Turn over every opium den in London until you find him.”

  “What shall I do when I find him?”

  Barker shrugged. He had not worked that out yet. Too many things had happened over the last two days.

  “Take him to Fu Ying. She is the one who cares and will care for him.”

  He nodded, but it was as perfunctory as when he had petted Harm. He was far off somewhere in his mind and possibly in pain.

  Barker put down the stones in his hand and started toward the back door of the house. I stood and followed after. Mac was standing in the doorway, and we met by the little pebbled sea in the middle of the garden after Barker had gone into the house.

  “Where’s he going?”

  “To call Mrs. Ashleigh. I’ve convinced him to take a short holiday. Very short, if I know him. You’d best start packing his cases.”

  “I will. Shall he close the offices?”

  “No, I’ll run things for a few days. I can call him on the telephone set if something is too big for me.”

  “Good thinking. Was the general really killed?”

  “Ohara sliced his head nearly clean off, but only after the man had disemboweled himself.”

  Mac made a grunt of disgust, and went off to pack. He had something to do, while in fact, I didn’t. I decided to go back to Whitehall, open up the offices, and get on with my day. There would be people in need of an enquiry agent, the best to be had in London, actually, and they shouldn’t have to go away disappointed.

  I passed Barker who was talking to Philippa on the hall telephone. I passed Mac by his door and told him I was going to work then. I passed Harm and chucked him under the chin. He actually wagged his tail. It had only taken me six years to make a friend of him. Then I went out and hailed a hansom cab. It was one of those moments when one realizes that somehow one had turned into an adult. I suppose it had to happen sooner or later.

  I took a cab to work, and as it happened, we went over Westminster Bridge. As we passed Abington Street, I looked south. There was a knot of carriages near the Jewel Tower. It wasn’t my problem anymore. The cab turned and we headed north.

  When I reached the office, it took half an hour to relate to Jenkins everything that had occurred since he had helped us the night before at the Gazette. It was his duty to type all the facts and every suspect of a case for our records.

  “The offices are shut down, then,” he finally said.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Mr. B’s gone to Sussex.”

  “But I haven’t.”

  “You’re going to run the office yourself?”

  “Stranger things have happened this morning,” I pointed out.

  “Suppose you need him for advice?”

  “He’ll be in Seaford within the hour. They actually have a telephone exchange there.”

  “It’s your funeral,” he finally decided, shrugging his bony shoulders.

  “Thank you. Your confidence overwhelms me. Get those notes typed for me, would you?”

  As it turned out, I had a case that morning. It was simple enough and I had it done and ready for my client by five-thirty. I’m afraid I put Jenkins through his paces. I wanted everything typed and perfect, even if it was a simple case of a husband with an overly active imagination. He feared his wife was having a dalliance, and she was, but only with the suffragette movement. Women hoping to vote, quelle horreur. Next, we’ll all be ironing our own shirts and the empire will go to ruin.

  I let Jenkins go to the Rising Sun a half hour early. I also made certain he would be paid extra for the work he had done for us in the middle of the night. He’s a lazy r
ascal, but I suppose Barker said the same about me. The thing was, Jenkins was talented, and we couldn’t have found someone who knew how to set type and was willing to work overnight. I wanted him to know we appreciated his efforts.

  Mac called me on the telephone set, wanting to know if I would be home and should expect supper. I told him to take the night off. I didn’t require a butler, knowing how to light lamps and dress myself, and even to fix my own dinner. Those of us privileged enough to work for Cyrus Barker are paid very well by London standards, but we are required to do an awful lot and often our lives are in danger. I know for a fact that Mac worked sixteen or more hours a day. If he were wise, he’d use the time to sleep or at least go visit his parents.

  So, of all things, I was free, except for one matter. I had promised to tell Rebecca how the case had ended, since she had some small connection to it. I called her on the telephone and requested to speak to her, apologizing for the suddenness of my call. Yes, I could come over to her house. She had something to discuss with me. Her maid would act as chaperone. It was not strictly necessary now that she was a widow, but she was careful, being the daughter of a rabbi. I was not to bring flowers or chocolates, which would tell one and all that she was being courted by a Gentile. In fact, we were engaged, but I would not press her and make her uncomfortable.

  I had dinner at the Barbados Coffee House, which grills a fine cutlet and chips and serves the best coffee in England, not that that is anything to boast about; most coffee here tastes like it was strained through an old sock. I had a pipeful of tobacco and a second cup and still arrived early at her door for our seven o’clock rendezvous. Strange, I had been seeing her for almost a year and I still had palpitations whenever I approached her door, at the very thought of seeing her. I hoped that feeling never went away.

  The door opened and the maid looked at me sourly. I believe she thought enquiry agents should use the servants entrance. When Rebecca and I were wed we would discuss servants. I asked to speak to Mrs. Cowan, and after a deep rolling of the eyes, she complied. Rebecca met me in the hall as if she was glad to see me. I was certainly glad to see her.