I let the lid of a dustbin fall as an Oriental youth came running around the corner of the alley we stood in, calling out. He spoke for a moment with Barker, then ran back the way he had come. The Guv crossed his arms and stood for a moment expectantly.
“What’s ‘Shi Shi Ji’?” I asked in Barker’s ear, remembering what the youth had been calling.
“I am,” he said. “It is the name I went by in China.”
“What does it mean?” I asked. “Names generally mean something in China, don’t they?”
There was a commotion in the street ahead of us.
“It means ‘stone lion,’” Barker said, looking over my shoulder.
A crowd of Orientals surged around the corner and parted, and a man stepped forward, his arms full of black fur and a wagging plume tale.
“I say, chaps, might this little fellow belong to you?” the man asked.
Harm barked at us as if he had done something clever and weren’t we the fools to be taken in by his little ruse. He jumped out of the man’s arms, landed as lightly as if he were a cat, and scampered down the alleyway toward us as fast as his short, crooked legs would allow. Barker reached down and scooped him up, and the dog lay in his arms, as snug as if he were in Abraham’s bosom, with his ridiculously long tongue hanging out of his mouth, licking at Barker’s spectacles. Unlike myself, he seemed completely unscathed by his adventure in Limehouse. If anything, he looked refreshed.
Barker had his arms full and was paying attention to the dog, but I was free to concentrate on Harm’s rescuer. The fellow doffed his top hat and gave a formal bow. As my eyes took him in, I began to wonder if I had somehow followed Alice down the hole after the White Rabbit. For strangeness, the fellow rivaled the mad Hatter or the Cheshire-Cat, but he gave no impression that he knew how bizarre he looked. He merely placed the hat upon his head again and favored me with a big smile.
“Pleased to meet you, old sport. Woo’s the name. James Woo, but everyone calls me Jimmy.”
Jimmy Woo stood about five foot six and wore a spotless charcoal gray coat with striped trousers. His tie was lavender silk, as were his gloves and handkerchief. He wore a monocle and his pumps were polished to a high gloss that even our butler, Jacob Maccabee, would respect, and all this topped by a face as Chinese as fried rice. He wore no queue and his hair was combed back in one long wave to his neck, brilliantined to a shine that rivaled his shoes. I admit I gawked and am certain my jaw was hanging open, but he did not seem to notice. By now, he must have been used to it.
“Er…Thomas Llewelyn,” I finally got out. “Where did you find him?”
“Gorging himself on a dead haddock on the docks. The dog and I have been taking the air of the quarter. He’s a corking little fellow.”
He had no trace of an Oriental accent, but his manner was like a music hall version of an English lord. What series of circumstances had come together to create such a person as this? It was too much to take in.
The Guv came forward and shook Woo’s hand, as if he were any other Englishman. “Mr. Woo, I’m Cyrus Barker. Thank you for taking care of my dog.”
“Oh, ’twas nothing, a trifle. Couldn’t leave the poor chap to fend for himself, now could I? Frightfully dangerous down in Limehouse come nightfall.”
“Upon my soul, Mr. Woo, your English is excellent, if I may say it,” Barker said.
I’d have been scratching my head if my arm could have reached it. Barker seemed to like the blighter, but then, he always has a soft spot for eccentrics.
“Read history at Cambridge. Been here for a dog’s years. I’m an interpreter. Might you be Cyrus Barker, the detective?”
“Enquiry agent, yes.”
“Deuced convenient. I’ve been looking all over for you, you see. I am working for a chap in the Foreign Office upon a certain private matter and he would very much like to make your acquaintance.”
“I am rather busy at the moment,” Barker told him.
Being refused brought the Oriental out in him. He smiled and bowed his head to my employer. “Sorry, but I am afraid a meeting is essential. You may speak with him today at his club or he shall hie it over to your chambers tomorrow and cut up ever so rough. What do you say? I did find your dog. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to the F.O., eh? Say, one o’clock? I’ll arrange it.”
Barker absently stroked Harm’s forehead, which the dog leaned into with his protruding eyes closed. “Where?”
“That’s the spirit. The Oriental Club, near Hanover Square. The chap you want is named Trelawney Campbell-Ffinch. I won’t be there, I’m afraid. It would be simply too much for them, having an actual Oriental on the premises. Wouldn’t want the old duffers choking on their port. Must dash. I’ve always got my fire stoked with irons, don’tcha know. Nice meeting you, gents.”
He patted the dog on the head with his lavender-gloved hand and then skipped off to his next appointment, whatever it was.
“So, the Foreign Office wants me, does it?” Barker mused. “Why did they not send someone ’round to the office? We are but a few blocks away. Speaking of the office, let us return. Mac shall have to harness the hansom and come retrieve Harm.”
I would have paid a week’s salary to see Mac’s face when he heard. He cannot abide the dog and especially any added bit of pampering the Guv orders. This would send him through the roof.
“Certainly, old sport,” I said.
“None of your cheek, now, lad.”
We walked three or four blocks north, where we met the tram service that runs longitudinally across the East End. I was wondering if they would allow the dog aboard the old vehicle, though Harm had insinuated himself inside Baker’s cavernous coat, with only his goggly eyes peering out. Like a dolt, I reached for the bar to pull myself onto the vehicle with my injured arm and instantly regretted it.
“Ahhh!”
Barker stopped and surveyed me quizzically. “Is your shoulder bothering you? Perhaps you have put it out of joint. Let’s get back off the tram, lad. There is only one thing to be done.”
“What is that, sir?” I asked, wincing through the pain.
“I must get you to a Chinese bonesetter. It is fortunate you were injured in Limehouse.”
Fortunate was not the word I would have used.
5
"I say, is this really necessary?I’m sure I’ll be all right in a day or so,” I assured Barker. I had no idea exactly what a bonesetter was, but the word conjured up a vision of bloody saws, ropes, and tackle.
“Nonsense. Ignoring an injury may result in permanent disability. You have injured your shoulder twice this last year. It must be looked after.”
Barker led me down a few streets and turned in to a shop in Canton Street remarkable only for having a sign with actual Oriental letters on it, almost the only one in the quarter. With misgivings, I followed him. Inside there was a counter, behind which was a wall full of small drawers. Bottles stood on the counter with various unguents and roots steeping in liquids. Overhead, drying herbs in racks on the ceiling gave the room an earthy smell. An elderly man came from a back room through a beaded curtain and raised a hand in greeting to Barker. He looked a typical Limehouse dweller, an old Chinaman with a round face and long queue wearing a shapeless tan jacket with cloth-covered buttons and matching trousers. He and the Guv conversed in Chinese for a few moments, during which the man eyed me professionally and then waved us into an inner room.
“Take off your coat and shirt, lad, and lie down on that table on your stomach,” Barker ordered.
“Really, sir, there’s no need to go to all this trouble. I shall be fine. Right as rain by tomorrow, I am sure.”
“Thomas.”
I sighed and began tugging off my tie. The table was a hard wooden affair. I set my clothes in the corner and gingerly crawled up onto it, hoping it would bear my weight. As soon as I did, the fellow seized my arm and pulled it. I let out a yell of surprise and pain. Ignoring me, he said something to my employer, and they both nodded sagely. The bonesetter pulled a stool up to where I lay and sat on it.