I was called as the first witness and moved to the chair, feeling nervous. Barker had counseled me to keep my usual levity in my pocket for once, and I told the main features of the case as lucidly as possible. Also, on his advice, I left out any mention of the book. Perhaps it was because I went first, but there were comparatively few questions asked me by the coroner and none from the jurymen. Soon Vandeleur dismissed me and I crossed the room to my seat again.
Barker was interviewed next. He had replaced his dark spectacles with a simpler pair, with plain leather strips covering the sides. The attempt was to make him look like any other Londoner; and, as might be expected, it failed. His appearance created a murmur in the court which Vandeleur had to suppress with his gavel. For once, Barker was not as lucky as I. They asked him about the book almost immediately.
“Mr. Barker, would you please give us your history with Inspector Bainbridge?”
“A year ago the inspector was in charge of the investigation of the murder of my assistant Mr. Quong,” the Guv said in his Lowland Scots accent. “The case had never been resolved. Inspector Bainbridge came to my offices Wednesday morning, the fourth of February, 1885, having discovered a pawn ticket among the effects of my late assistant. With my assistant, Mr. Llewelyn, we proceeded to the establishment at 21 East India Dock Road and redeemed the ticket for a book on Chinese boxing.”
“Do you mean a book in Chinese or in English?”
“In Chinese. The book gave every indication of belonging to a monastery, so we took it to Mr. Ho to look at it, for he is a former monk. We discussed the book but came to no conclusion as to its worth or what we should do with it. Returning through the tunnel, Inspector Bainbridge was fatally shot and Mr. Llewelyn had a lantern shot out of his hand.”
A man spoke up from the side of the court. “I have a question, sir, about the book-”
“Might I know who the speaker is?” Vandeleur asked.
“Yes,” said a sturdily built man in his late fifties with a thick mustache. “I am Commissioner Henderson of the Criminal Investigation Department. I wish to know what has become of the book.”
“I gave it to a Chinaman, sir,” Barker replied, turning his head slightly in Ho’s direction. “It was a Chinese text, after all, and of no use to me.”
“My eye!” the commissioner grumbled, loudly enough for everyone to hear. There was a laugh, which Vandeleur quelled with the tap of his gavel.
The head of the jury, a bucolic man who looked more like he should have been planting wheat than participating in an inquest, spoke up. “How long have you been an enquiry agent, Mr. Barker?”
“Six years, sir.”
“And do you often work with Scotland Yard?”
My employer gave a stony smile. “The Yard has little need for my services. They have within their ranks some of the best investigators in all Europe. Occasionally, I will be offered a case first, because the victim wishes to keep the matter private. Other times, I am given a case that Scotland Yard has in its wisdom decided to turn down.”
“Which one was this, Mr. Barker?” This elicited more laughter from the court.
“Neither, sir. This I believe to be a continuation of an earlier case, in which my assistant was killed. Both men were murdered in the same manner.”
“Do you suspect anyone in particular of being guilty in the inspector’s death?” Vandeleur asked.
“No, sir. It remains an open case.”
“Very well, Mr. Barker. You may step down.”
There was widespread conversation among us all after Barker’s interview. Behind me, a reporter from the Weekly Dispatch asked me if Barker would be willing to be interviewed by a reporter. Before I could answer we were all hushed again by Vandeleur’s gavel. Ho was called to the chair next. His appearance was quite interesting. He was wearing an English suit, including a claw hammer jacket and wing collared shirt. One couldn’t get beyond the fact that the top of his forehead was shaved, and his earlobes hung to his shoulders, but his queue was discreetly tucked inside his clothes, and he was surprisingly presentable. The most savage part of him-the thick, tattooed arms-were covered by his jacket and boiled shirt.
Vandeleur began the questions. “Is Ho your surname or given name, sir?”
“It is the only name I have,” Ho answered stoutly, causing a ripple of laughter in the court.
The coroner turned to his bailiff. “Is this witness sufficiently able to communicate in English?” After receiving a nod, he continued. “Very well. Mr. Ho, what kind of establishment do you run?”
“It is a restaurant and tearoom.”
“And yet there is no sign outside, nothing which shows that you are open for business?”
“We do local business. I do not encourage Westerners, but some find their way into my establishment all the same.”
“How long have you known Mr. Barker?”
“I have known him for twenty year, in China and in England.”
“According to the police, your restaurant is frequently used for clandestine purposes. Is this true?”
“Who says this?” Ho said, looking around fiercely. “It is a lie. I run a respectable business.”
“And yet there have been some disturbances here in the past year. Isn’t it true that in this very establishment Inspector Bainbridge apprehended an anarchist who was wanted by Her Majesty’s government?”
“Yes,” Ho admitted, “but only after I throw him out. I do not ask of politics. He was drunk and disturbing other customers.”
“What time did Mr. Barker, Mr. Llewelyn, and the inspector arrive?”
“About eleven o’clock, right after we open.”
“Did you at any time accompany them into the tunnel?”
“No. I stay in my office.”
Vandeleur leaned back and considered for a moment. “Tell me about this book. Did Mr. Barker show it to you?”
“I saw the book.”
“In your opinion, is such a book valuable?”
“Not the book but the knowledge inside.”
“Might someone kill to obtain such an item?”
Ho considered the questions for a moment. “I believe someone already has.”
Any witness following Ho would be anticlimactic, and that position fell to Inspector Poole. I believe Mr. Gilbert said it best: “A policeman’s lot is not a happy one.” The inspector took the stand and answered questions.
I personally thought Poole gave a rather antiseptic version of what happened, making himself sound the calm, logical officer leading the case with a cool head, whereas at the time, I thought the inspector had been overdramatic, while Barker alone had remained cool.
“Do you feel your acquaintance with Inspector Bainbridge might have in any way prejudiced your judgment in the case?” Vandeleur continued.
“No, sir. I was acquainted with the inspector. I was more concerned that a member of the Metropolitan Police force had been shot.”
“Was the second bullet found?”
“It was, sir. It had knocked a chip out of the second step and bounced along the tunnel. It was all out of shape, but by its weight, I could see it was a thirty-eight millimeter shell.”
“Were either of the preceding witnesses armed?”
“Mr. Barker was. He carries two American Colt revolvers, both forty-four millimeter. Such a weapon would have done much more damage.”
“Did you search the restaurant for a possible weapon?”
“I did, sir. There were no firearms to be found.”
“The restaurant’s customers left before you got there, however, and one could have taken the gun.” Vandeleur turned to the jury. “I am trying to eliminate any blame for anyone on the premises, you see.”
“Yes,” Poole stated, “it is possible someone might have picked up a gun and carried it out.”
“Did Mr. Barker, Mr. Llewelyn, or Mr. Ho leave the premises?”
“Mr. Llewelyn left to telegraph Scotland Yard, sir.”