“So,” Barker said, “the government will be crippled, along with the train stations, the post offices, telegraphs, and the banks.”
“Yes,” Dunleavy continued, “and the gas and water as well. We’ll throw London back into the Dark Ages. Oh, and there is one thing more.”
“And that is?”
“We’re no longer targeting mere buildings, gentlemen. This time there will be casualties. It is time for the gloves to come off. That is why we’ll time our first attack for six o’clock, when the businesses are closing and street traffic is at its highest. Let us see what kind of carnage and terror we can create then.”
18
We waited for two days for Scotland Yard to appear on the doorstep. The wait was agonizing. Any minute, I thought, Inspector Munro and his boys were going to kick in the door, clap us in darbies, and haul us off to the constabulary for an indefinite stay, all our plans in ruins and Barker’s reputation in disgrace. After two days, however, we saw no sign of the Special Irish Branch in the area. It was a good thing, too, for all this confinement was wearing on our nerves.
“I must get out of this house,” Barker complained to me. “I cannot think here. I believe we can risk relaxing our vigil. Miss O’Casey!”
Maire O’Casey came in from the parlor, where she had been studying Gaelic. Like the others, she never knew how close the Special Irish Branch had been to discovering all of us. “Yes, Mr. van Rhyn?”
“Mr. Penrith has expressed an interest in seeing the docks. We shall take a walk and perhaps see a little more of the city. Would it inconvenience you if we dine out?”
“Not at all, sir. As you wish it.”
“Thank you. You are very kind to a pair of refugees. Come, Thomas.”
My employer seized his ivory-inlaid cane and made his way out the back door and through to the next street while I followed. My duties as assistant to a prominent enquiry agent seemed to involve following Barker, never knowing where he was going or in what situation we would find ourselves once we got there. I was the apprentice, and he the master, but we were also each other’s safeguard, there to help each other out of any possible scrape. Of course, so far, Barker had done all the helping.
We did actually go to the docks. I’ve never been one of those people who has romantic notions of the sea and ships. The life, when it isn’t banal, with its thousand tasks to be done constantly, is often brutal and dangerous. The sea is a cold mistress, and she doesn’t care a fig what happens to you. I had to remind myself, however, that my employer had grown up on it, rising from dockhand through the ranks on various ships until he was captain of his own, the Osprey. I didn’t know a belaying pin from a bo’sun’s whistle, but it had significance to him, significance and a degree of comfort. When we reached Liverpool Quay and looked out upon the forest of masts and the bustle of men loading and unloading, I let him have his head and remained silent for a while, knowing that he had come here to think.
Half an hour later, we stood at a railing overlooking the ships, and my employer had not moved for fifteen minutes. I’d used the time reflecting on the enigma that is Cyrus Barker. Perhaps it was a makeup of his constitution, but, though he had surrounded himself with a number of friends and acquaintances-not to mention an assistant who lived in his very house-he was a very solitary individual. Sometimes, I wondered if I were an irritation to him, as I am inclined to blather. At least, for once, I knew to keep my mouth shut.
Slowly, he turned and clasped his hands behind him, as a ship’s captain would, and I pictured him in command of his own vessel.
“We have accomplished several things so far,” he said, as if in the middle of a conversation with himself. “We have located the faction, joined them, and gained their confidence. We’ve destroyed their supply of dynamite. Soon it will be time to gather the materials for the second attempt upon London. How do you feel about making our own nitroglycerin?”
“It certainly would impress the faction, but where would we get the materials? We would need a lot to make thirty bombs, as Dunleavy described.”
“England is too tightly controlled for such large quantities. As he said, we may have to go as far as Paris for supplies. The fellow still puzzles me. After all this time with him, I still do not countenance that this plan is his. I think we should search his hotel room.”
“Is it really necessary?” I dared ask. “I mean, we’d be going to a lot of risk, possibly for nothing.”
“We might come up with empty hands, but we also might find something of value.”
“If we can get in,” I countered.
“Get in?” the Guv scoffed. “A simple matter.”
It was indeed a simple matter, as Barker said. After a quick meal at a tea shop, we found ourselves in the hallway at the Midland Hotel, where he removed a skeleton key, or “betty” as he called it, from his pocket and inserted it in the keyhole. After an agonizingly long moment in which no one appeared in the hall, we heard the soft click of the lock, opened the door, and stepped inside.
“How did you know he wasn’t here?” I asked, thinking it was a mercy Barker had not been a criminal. What other little contrivances did he carry about in his pockets?
“I asked him what he had planned for today. He’s got a meeting with a Liberal Liverpool MP, trying to make him more sensitive to the Irish cause and to convince him to throw in the odd shilling.”
Number 314 was a suite, with fresh flowers on the table. There was a pile of papers on the table that attracted Barker’s immediate interest. He crossed to it and began looking through a stack of messages.
“Tailor’s bill. Creditor. Creditor. Oh, dear. Dunleavy appears to be in a spot of financial trouble. Start looking but keep everything neat. I want to know with whom Alfred Dunleavy is communicating. Surely a fellow as disorganized as this must have left some sort of evidence behind.”
We began to search. While Barker went through the papers slowly, I opened drawers, peered under the bed, rifled luggage, and searched among his toiletries. I discovered several things about the colonel. He had a fondness for Cuban cigars, his boots were made in a place called Chattanooga, and he used Parker’s hair tonic. If any of these bits of information were helpful in answering some of Barker’s questions, our quest would be successful, but unfortunately, they were not.
Barker suddenly seized me by the collar and dragged me swiftly to the window. He pushed me behind one curtain, and took his place behind the other. We heard the door open and footsteps enter the room. Dunleavy had returned unexpectedly.
What would happen if the colonel caught sight of us? Were he armed, he’d have us at a disadvantage. Obviously, he’d know we were spies and would pass that information to the faction. On the other hand, he couldn’t exactly march us through the lobby at gunpoint.
I was very conscious of my breathing, feeling that it seemed extremely loud in the room. I looked over at my employer, but he was no more animate than a hat stand. Perhaps this sort of thing was a matter of course to him, but for me, it was a new experience. Any minute now, I expected Dunleavy to fling back the curtain, seize me by the lapel, and clap a pistol to my head. I knew how they treated traitors, and I had no hope that they would treat spies any better.
He didn’t see us, of course. He’d come back for something or other, and when he found it, after a few minutes’ search, he left the room again. Confound the fellow and his lack of order, I thought.