"You've got a bruise on your cheek," Arrow said, inspecting it. "And your head hit the ground."
"At least the ground is soft," I said, and since it had, apparently rained during the night this was true. I sat up and Arrow brushed some dirt off my back.
"Tell me," I said, "what did you do to our friend to make him scream like that?"
Arrow grinned. "I took a course in self defense. The instructor told us about vulnerable parts of the human body; one of them is the ear. First I pulled his ear, but that didn't faze him so then I really yanked it; I think I almost tore it off."
"Thanks. That makes us even," I said, taking her offered hand to help me up.
"That was an amazing exhibition," Mr. Zeebarth said.
That brought me back to the reality of the moment. Not only he but also others must have witnessed the altercation. I looked around; we were getting some curious glances, but since one of the combatants had exited the scene, apparently they thought everything was all right now. At least no Bobbies were approaching.
Mr. Zeebarth had stood up. Arrow said, "I'm Arrow and this is Karl."
"Seamus Zeebarth." He formally shook both our hands. Under his tam his hair was all white and his face was rugged and ruddy. His neat attire included a pressed pair of pants and an ironed shirt.
"Your chin is bleeding," he said to Arrow.
"He butted me with his head when he tried to get away," Arrow said, feeling her chin. When she pulled her fingers away they had blood on them. She opened and closed her mouth a few times to see if her jaws worked.
"His head should be registered as a lethal weapon," I said, ruefully. "My ribs hurt." I hadn't noticed them before.
Mr. Zeebarth took a clean white handkerchief out of his pocket.
"I'll get it all bloody," Arrow said, seeing that he meant to use it on her chin.
"It's the least I can do. Hold still." He pressed it to the cut and said, "Hold it there until the bleeding stops."
Arrow obediently placed one hand on the handkerchief and held it in place.
"I'm sorry about what happened," Mr. Zeebarth said, "but I must confess that I never saw that man before in my life. He came up to me and told me he knew I was meeting some people. He said they-you-were dangerous and not to talk to you. Since he was not exactly what I would call a savory character I was skeptical and I started asking him questions. He became belligerent and shoved me. That's when you came up." He indicated me. "I thank you for that but I'm sorry you had to suffer for it. And you," he said, turning to Arrow, "are about the bravest lass I've ever seen."
Arrow acknowledged the compliment with a smile and a curtsy.
"We may be able to shed some light on what happened," I said. "Do you want to talk here or should we go somewhere else?"
"As much as I like the park, I would be just as happy to leave it for the moment. I know a nice pub not far from here where we can drink a pint to calm our nerves."
"We don't get into fights on a daily basis," Arrow said, holding the handle of a beer mug. Her chin had clotted, leaving a black scab.
The pub we were in was almost deserted, except for a few darts players. Nobody was close enough to hear us talk. Mr. Zeebarth had just expressed admiration for our fighting ability-or at least Arrow's fighting ability.
"Lately, I'm afraid we've had more than our share of fights," I said. And then to change the subject, "We were just in northern Scotland." Mr. Zeebarth's eyes showed interest. "Do you remember a Michael McTavish from your youth?"
"Aye, that I do. He was one of me mates, but I didn't like him much. Sneaky bloke."
"He knew we were coming here to see you. It's a complicated story, but I think he may have been involved in recruiting the hooligan who attacked us." In fact, I was sure of it. I had called McTavish from Glasgow after I had talked to Zeebarth-at McTavish’s request. His pretence was that he was trying to locate another of Buchanan’s mates for us to talk to. When I told him on the phone that I had reached Zeebarth, he wormed the information as to the time and place of our meeting out of me. I was going to have to learn to be more discreet.
"It would not surprise me. We never did see eye to eye."
"We'll tell you as much as we know." He had an honest face and I was inclined to tell him everything. "But first, how did somebody from Scotland get a name like Zeebarth."
His laugh was engaging. "My ancestry is all mixed up, but at least there is enough Scottish in it for me to get along there."
"I know how you feel," Arrow said. "I have a mixed-up ancestry too."
"But in your case you got the best of all the pieces. I have never seen a more becoming lass. I always thought red hair and freckles were over-rated."
Arrow basked in Mr. Zeebarth’s words. I told him the major points, including what Michael had said about Ned and Dickie and the cliff. He listened, intently, without interrupting.
When I finished he said, "Michael has it all wrong. That must be why he didn't want me to speak to you. James always kept him in his hip pocket. It sounds as if he is still there.
"I remember that particular incident very well because it led to Dickie's death. Dickie was not a great scholar; in fact, he was failing some of his courses at school. His da beat him when he received a bad report. Dickie came to James for help because James had the brains in our group. He received top grades without much effort.
"The arrangement was that James would write some papers for Dickie and otherwise help him with his studies. Of course, Dickie had to play The Game first. He lost, but it was James who insisted he go through with his penalty on a stormy day, not Ned. In defense of James, he always kept his promises and he expected others to do the same."
Mr. Zeebarth paused, took a long drink of beer and said, almost as an afterthought, "It amused James to play games with other peoples' lives."
We chatted some more about James and Ned and the others, but Mr. Zeebarth didn't say anything else that was earthshaking.
When I suggested another round of drinks, he looked at his watch and said, "Not for me. I have to be at work in something over an hour, in a reasonably sober state since I work in a hospital. But we have time for a game of darts."
"I've never played darts," Arrow said.
"It should be an easy game for a lass as coordinated as you," Mr. Zeebarth said. "I'll show you."
I had never played darts, either, but it was obvious I wasn't going to receive individual instruction like Arrow. Mr. Zeebarth very carefully helped position her body and then showed her how to hold the dart lightly between thumb and forefinger and guide it with her third finger. He pulled her arm back to her ear, and told her how to aim and release the dart in an economical overhand throw for maximum accuracy.
He was so solicitous of her that it made me want to barf. And she soaked it up. Everybody was getting along better with Arrow than I was.
Naturally, she beat me.
While we played, the talk turned to the Internet. Mr. Zeebarth said that the owner of the pub had Internet access. Half-jokingly, I wondered aloud whether he would let me check my email. Mr. Zeebarth asked him and next thing I knew I was sitting in his office in front of a monitor.
I read several routine messages. Then came the shocker: a message from eBay to the effect that I was the winner of the T-206 Wagner baseball card, with a bid of just over $380,000. I hadn't thought about that card since leaving the US. Now what should I do?
I read the next message. It was from the seller of the card, congratulating me, telling me the amount of the postage and where to send a check. I had to stall him. I quickly typed a response to the effect that I was out of the country and would mail him a check in a few days.