by Will Thomas
“There was an incident in Sussex involving three American citizens, all of whom died in a hail of bullets.”
“Caleb was involved, I understand.”
“Yes, sir. I am to escort him to the embassy and then to a ship bound for the States. He is no longer welcome in this country. I wish your cooperation in apprehending him.”
Yeager was an earnest young man who spoke in a clipped monotone.
“I’ll certainly cooperate.”
“When shall he return?”
“He comes and goes on a whim,” I answered. “He is in London visiting his brother, Cyrus Barker. These are his offices and he is my employer.”
“This Mr. Barker, is he likely to hide his brother?”
“He is in hospital, so he cannot hide anyone. I suspect even if he could, he would not. The brothers are not particularly close.”
“I see,” Captain Yeager said, scrutinizing me carefully. “What is a private enquiry agent? Some sort of detective?”
“Yes, but a top-drawer one.”
“So, Cyrus Barker is an enquiry agent and Caleb Barker is a Pinkerton agent. Is your boss working for the Pinkertons on a case, or was he?”
“No. There was a bombing down in our regular chambers, which are one floor below. I’ve been investigating the suspects in the matter.”
“Has Caleb Barker been helping you?”
“He has been following me about. I would not exactly call it helping. As I said, he comes and goes as he pleases.”
“If the two of them are not close, why would he involve himself in the investigation at all?”
“He considers it a debt of honor to capture the man who almost killed his brother. Some sort of Scottish oath, I believe.”
Yeager began to pace, the sound of his heavy boots echoing in the nearly empty room. “Why is your boss willing to allow him to help if he does not trust him?”
“I suppose there are two reasons. First, because he knew Caleb would go after the man himself and ruin our investigation, and second, to keep him close as much as possible to make certain he stays out of trouble.”
“I believe it’s a bit too late for that. Where does Caleb Barker go when he isn’t with you?”
“I confess I don’t know, Captain. He keeps saying he is on Pinkerton business. Have you met him?”
“No.”
“He is very secretive. He’s also irritating, ill-mannered, and moody. Mr. Barker—that is, my Mr. Barker—said he was a ‘loose cannon,’ whatever that means.”
The young officer nodded to himself as he paced. “Has he spoken of the shooting down south?”
“Only once. He claimed that he was purchasing supplies when there was an exchange of gunfire between the agent he was protecting and two Americans from a secret society.”
“The Knights of the Golden Circle?”
“That’s the name, yes.”
“So he did not protect the man, did he?”
“No,” I answered. “That’s what—”
I stopped myself. I had almost uttered Chief Constable McNaughton’s name. I did not want to bring him into this.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Mr. Llewelyn, I cannot arrest you in this matter, being a British citizen. However, if I feel you are obstructing this investigation, I will turn the matter over to the commissioner of the Metropolitan Police.”
I had a sinking feeling. The commissioner of the Met was named Munro. He hated us, both myself and my employer. One cannot get married while in a jail cell. I assume there is a law against it.
“Captain, I have answered each question truthfully. I am cooperating.”
“If Caleb Barker appears again, are you willing to send a message to the American Legation?”
“I don’t know.”
He smote the edge of the desk with a strong hand. “Why do you not know?”
I felt my own temper start to rise. “I don’t know because I am merely an employee, and not allowed to make such decisions.”
“What hospital is Mr. Barker in?”
“It’s a private hospital. St. John’s Priory.”
He pulled a notebook from his pocket and wrote the name on it with a pencil. “Would you be willing to accompany or follow Caleb Barker to his current residence?”
“If Mr. Barker agrees.”
Captain Yeager sighed in frustration. “Do you not understand, sir, that he is precipitating an international incident? He’s skulking about London under our very noses and you are abetting him. If he is not captured soon, the American minister will be forced to speak to the prime minister.”
“I understand.”
“Very well, Mr. Llewelyn. Don’t think we shall leave this matter alone.”
He turned and left. The very stairs complained about him. I took out my frustrations on the desk as Yeager had. I rued the day Caleb Barker set foot in this country. More than likely, I was not the only one.
As soon as Captain Yeager was gone, I waited a few moments and then hailed a cab and followed him. He was in a closed carriage with an eagle emblazoned on the door. As expected, he led me straight to the priory.
As I rode, I looked out for anyone who might be following or watching me, but I saw no one. I alighted and sauntered up and down the street until I saw the vehicle leave, heading back the way he came. Then I went inside.
Cyrus Barker was resting on his bed.
“Damn and blast!” he said when I came into the room.
“International incident.”
“Yes, Mr. Llewelyn. I heard him myself.”
“It looks as if we’ll have to give your brother over to his government.”
“I wish it were that easy,” he muttered.
He was sulking again. It took me a minute or two to work out everything that was going on.
“You’re not going to turn him in, are you?”
“No.”
“Because blood is blood.”
The man actually looked guilty.
“Because of an unwritten clan law in Perthshire five hundred years ago. He swore to avenge the attack upon you, and you promised to provide sanctuary.”
The Guv continued to look grim and said nothing.
“The two of you haven’t been back to Scotland in thirty years.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It’s not logical. It’s not even legal.”
“I know it.”
“But you won’t turn him over to his government.”
“No,” he said.
I stared at him. At that moment, it was a toss of the coin to decide which was the most exasperating.
“You’re right.”
“About what, lad?” he asked.
“Damn and blast!”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Caleb appeared in the office when I returned and agreed to join me, but his mood and my own grew more somber and quiet as we reached Newgate Prison to interview Henry Strathmore. I wasn’t certain about Barker’s brother, but I thought it likely he’d spent some time in jail. It’s the price one pays for being an enquiry agent or any other kind of detective. However, jail and prison are two different things entirely. I thought I’d ask.
“Have you ever been in prison?”
“Five months in Mexico in a federale prison. Not my fondest memory. You mentioned something when we were in France?”
“Eight months in Oxford Prison for theft. Unproven, but my accusers had money and a title. I was a collier’s brat.”
“Hard cheese,” he said.
“My sentiments exactly. You’d best be careful. You’re picking up English phrases. That won’t be helpful in … California? Montana? I’m sorry, I’ve never looked at a map of America.”
He nodded, reluctant to discuss the matter further.
I was overdressed for Newgate Prison. Practically anyone was, but I in particular had become a slave to fashion to impress my intended. I was in danger of becoming full of my own pride. It was a jolt to return to a place exactly as
I had begun.
Newgate is one of the oldest prisons in the world, having been built in 1166. It wasn’t a large prison as prisons go, and was little more than a rectangle in shape. Someone had told me that nearly half of the prison was for upper-class or wealthy felons, men like Henry Strathmore. This was the place where, having been convicted, prisoners can receive rich foods, comfortable furniture, and the like. I’m sure it would be quite a change from the picking oakum I experienced in Oxford Prison.
As one approaches the building, the walls grew taller and taller, and eventually one reached an open gate shaped like a Brobdingnagian keyhole. I imagined a giant key coming down at night to secure the entire prison.
We entered, and met the guard at the gate, while the cabdriver turned and fled the area. Apparently the proceedings were of particular interest to the inmates therein. We were shown into the building by a second guard, who led us through gray, impersonal halls to the warden’s office. The latter was built along the lines of a schoolmaster: spare and almost birdlike, with the tail of his coat behind him.
“Oh, yes,” the man said when I told him who we wanted to see. “Strathmore. He keeps himself in relative luxury, a wealthy prisoner’s prerogative, but otherwise, he is a model prisoner. He’s won a small following here, but I have seen no reason for assuming he is involved in anything untoward. I will say that his finances interest me. The government had confiscated his notes, securities, and assets when last I heard. Where is he finding the wherewithal?”
“Perhaps we can ask while we are here,” I said. “Tell me, sir. Do you have any record of anyone visiting him here?”
“Mr. Dunning!” he asked a reedy-looking young man sitting behind a desk. “Get me Mr. Strathmore’s visitor sheet!”
The clerk looked through some files and came around the desk with a sheet of paper in his hand. “Here it is, Warden Barry.”
The warden glanced over the list, after taking it from the clerk’s hand.
“There are three names here, gentlemen. Emerson Cullen, a solicitor. Second, George Bryant. Dunning, who is Bryant?”
“A financial advisor, sir.”
“And the final name?” I asked.
“It is difficult to read, Mr.—”
“Llewelyn.”
“Indeed. It appears to read ‘A. Mercer.’ Does that name seem familiar, Mr. Dunning?”
“Do you mean Mercier?” I asked.
Barry consulted the paper again. “It says ‘Mercer’ here.”
“Mercer,” Dunning nodded. “Tall chap, well built. Small black mustache.”
“And what did he do?” Caleb asked. “Why did he want to see Strathmore?”
Dunning shrugged his shoulders. “He didn’t say, sir. I assumed he was a business associate. He requested to see Strathmore and signed the visitor’s list.”
“Where was I?” Barry asked.
“In Exeter, sir. Your mother was ill.”
Barry colored a little, slightly embarrassed to have a mother at this stage in life, let alone that such an individual should be so unsolicitous as to be ill.
“Mm, yes.”
Barry opened a drawer, took out a small card, signed it, stamped it, and gave it to me. He gave a second to Caleb. Then he had us add our names to the list of visitors.
“Dunning, see that these gentlemen are escorted to ward five.”
“Yes, Warden Barry.”
Outside of the office, Mr. Dunning visibly relaxed. He accepted my companion’s offer of a Sobranie, and sucked in the smoke.
“Tall, thin, mustache?” I asked.
“He was well dressed, too. Fastidious, I’d say. I was impressed by the shiny polish of his shoes. His mustache was waxed to points.”
“What did he say?”
“Not much at all. He wasn’t communicative, if you know what I mean. Just gave his name and signed the register. He was what you might call a bit of a cold fish.”
Dunning gave a loud whistle down the hall, and waved a guard toward us.
“The power behind the throne,” Caleb murmured in my ear.
A guard led us down the long hall to a cell. We were taken into the second on the right. The guard there took our identification cards, and scrutinized them as if we would pull pistols from our pockets and attempt to release his charge. Reluctantly, he unlocked the door and allowed us to enter. Inside, I caught a view of a book-lined room with a large desk and some sort of carpet on the floor. Save for the bars, it was better than my rooms in Newington. We saw a figure standing there regarding us.
“Prisoner 54972, you have two visitors!” he announced, as if the man were a hundred yards away.
“Yes?” the man asked. He came forward.
Henry Strathmore was a well-built, good-looking man, with curling hair and bushy side whiskers. The hair on the back of his head was nearly black, which made the gray at his temples resemble wings. His eyes were gray, and his face tanned, no doubt acquired in the Côte d’Azur. His features were fine, even aristocratic. One could see how such a man could dupe so many people. Instead of regulation broad arrows, he wore a suit that probably cost more than mine. Far from being a dispirited and defeated wretch, he looked as hale and robust as anyone I’d ever known. It was nothing like my days in the Oxford Prison.
Strathmore gave us a haughty look, as if he were expecting more highborn visitors.
“Can I help you?” he asked. “You look familiar.”
“I work for Cyrus Barker.”
“Oh, yes. The little clerk who ferreted out my assets.”
I looked around at the comfortable room. “Apparently not all your assets, Mr. Strathmore.”
“And who is this fellow?”
“Mr. Barker’s brother.”
“Charmed,” Caleb said, in his most toney aristocratic accent.
“Indeed. I fear the accommodations here are rudimentary. Won’t you come in?”
“No, thank you,” I answered.
“Suit yourself. Now, what can I do for you, gentlemen?”
“We’d like to know who Mercer is.”
“Mercer? Who are you talking about? I know no such person.”
“He is listed on the visitor’s logbook. Last April thirtieth.”
“A visitor for me? Wait. Was he a tall fellow?”
“I could not tell you.”
“It appeared he came to the wrong cell. To be frank, I was hungry for some company. We spoke for a few minutes only.”
“What prisoner did he come to visit?”
“How should I know?” he asked. “For that matter, why should I tell you?”
“Because you’re in a cell,” Caleb growled. “Accidents happen in cells.”
“Are you threatening me, sir? My barrister is Edward Curzon.”
“And mine is Bram Cusp,” I said. “I do not believe one shall handily win over the other. What did this visitor look like?”
“Let me think.” He closed his eyes, either trying to recall the man’s appearance or trying to invent a convincing lie.
“As I said, he was tall, with a small mustache. Thin faced, long nose. Not English-looking, I thought, though he had a little trace of an accent. He wore a nice suit and polished shoes. Yes, very glossy shoes. At the time, I thought him a confidence trickster trying to cheat me out of the last of my resources. Too late, I am afraid. Thanks to you, I am a pauper.”
“That hardly concerns me, sir, since you were using other people’s money.”
“They had no skill with it. I was able to double the income in six months. Then I returned their money.”
“Certainly,” I said. “After they endured the hardship of no money for half a year.”
“Mr.— What is your name again?”
“Llewelyn.”
“Ah, yes. How could I forget? Mr. Llewelyn, if you are trying to help me gain a conscience at this late date, I fear your plans are in vain. As far as I am concerned, the amount of work I did to acquire and use that money to my own advantage has convinced me that I
earned it.”
“That, Mr. Strathmore, is why you are in prison and I am walking about a free man.”
“Is there any honor among prisoners? I understand you were once one yourself.”
“How come you by your information?” I asked.
“I had my solicitor look into the two of you.”
“I’m glad my past has been of such entertainment to you.”
“Oh it was, but not as much as your employer’s.” He smiled coldly. “He is a colorful fellow for one who dresses in black. I saw the newspaper. You had some doings at your office. Your governor was injured in the blast.”
“He is recovering well, thank you,” I said.
“I won’t say I’m overjoyed he lived,” he admitted.
“Your solicitor comes quite often, I understand,” I noted, trying to resume the questioning.
“Yes. We are appealing the case. It was an appalling miscarriage of justice.”
“Does he bring you news of the outside world?”
“How could he not? There are many who feel that I have been unjustly imprisoned, and wish to finance my appeal.”
“Since you have no other income now.”
“Precisely.”
“Since all of your money has been taken away,” I said, looking about his cell, a hundred times more opulent than any other.
“Every sou.”
“Pity about that,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Losing all that money. Other people’s money.”
“Are you going to discuss that again? A fellow can only take so much moralizing in one day. What about your partner, here? What have you to say, Mr. Caleb Barker? You’ve been awfully quiet.”
“Our mother taught us to give our full attention to a performance, sir. I find yours very imaginative.”
Strathmore gave that demi-smile again. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
I stood. “Mr. Strathmore, I believe we could banter all day and never reach a consensus. I appreciate your willingness to see us.”
“Oh, anything in the interest of justice. Tell your employer and his barrister that I was cooperative.”
We left the chamber, and waited at the door for the guard to return. I felt a moment of concern as we left that we might not be permitted to leave, but it was merely nerves. Finally, we were released. Even Caleb gave a sigh of relief.
