“Come sit close by the bed,” he said. “There are chairs here. Do not be alarmed at my appearance. The doctors assure me that I shall live, which is well for them. Come, look me over and get it done with. We have much to discuss. You will forgive the tank. It contains pure oxygen. I am reduced to sucking from a bottle like a helpless, mewling babe. I am alive, however, which is more than I can say for my comrades, or for Sebastian Nightwine when I get hold of him.”
“You know, then,” I murmured.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Llewelyn. It has been a while since I bought out his enterprises and he sailed off to points east. I knew he would eventually run out of cash. He always does. I give him credit for stealing into town unnoticed, without his usual fanfare.”
“I had hoped we had seen the last of him,” my employer said.
“Cyrus,” O’Muircheartaigh said from his pillow. “We’ve had our differences in the past, and I know how you feel about me personally, but I want you to consider taking me as a client.”
“Under no circumstances.”
“No, please! Hear me out!”
Barker had waved a dismissive hand in his direction.
“Hear me out,” he continued, weakly. “You must be short of funds with your accounts frozen. I’ve got all you could possibly require. I could fund an army if you need it to bring down Nightwine. I want you to set aside your high-minded principles for once and take me on.”
“Seamus,” Barker said gravely, “you know I’m going after Nightwine for my own reasons. I don’t want your money and I’d never take a client who would exact such revenge upon the people I bring in. They deserve punishment, but only after justice has been meted out.”
“Perhaps I was wrong about you, and it is better on my side of the fence, where an eye still requires an eye in return.”
“I’m going after your man, Seamus,” Barker said mildly, not the least put out by the Irishman’s rhetoric. “But I don’t want your money. You are coming out ahead. You have nothing to complain about.”
“You are as unbending as a bar of pig iron.”
“Thank you. But if you really want to help, there is one favor you can do for me, Seamus. Stay out of my way. Don’t attempt to go after Nightwine with men like Psmith. They’ll confuse the issue and hinder my enquiry. Lie back, for once, and let your money accrue.”
“And if I don’t?” O’Muircheartaigh asked, breathing heavily.
“Let us just say things would get lively for quite a while. And I do not believe either of us would be the last man standing.”
The Irishman took several breaths from his cylinder, and tried to compose himself. The room seemed monastically quiet all of a sudden.
“Very well,” he finally answered. “I’ll keep my money if it’s not good enough for you. Starve if you like. But I expect reports. I must know what’s going on.”
“When there is something to know, you will know it.”
My employer made no move to rise and neither did I.
“What is it?” his old enemy demanded. “You’re shaking your head.”
“I was just thinking what a tough old bird you are, Seamus. How did you survive when all of your younger colleagues did not?”
“We had opened the office at seven-thirty, as usual. I generally wait for the first post before walking to the Exchange Building to see how my stocks are trading. My secretary, Miss Jonah, entered with a package about two feet long. I opened it after noting there was no address of any kind. Inside was a leather case containing a short sword. I’m not a connoisseur of weapons, but I could tell it was expensive and probably old. I lifted it out of its case gingerly, because it seemed fragile rather than because I thought it might be dangerous. When I pulled the sword from the scabbard, Miss Jonah and my bodyguard, Mr. Bing, were standing on the other side of the desk. When I drew the sword in an outward gesture, they both suddenly clutched their throats and Bing began choking. In a few seconds, they both fell to the floor.
“Realizing it was an attempt on my life, I threw down the sword and backed into my office and opened a window, actually sitting on the ledge. I called for aid upstairs where some of my associates were sleeping late, having done some work for me the night before. Two of them used the back stair but one came down through the lobby, and passing through the contaminated room, brought the contagion with him into my office. By the time he reached my desk, he was gasping, his eyes starting from his head. Soon his companions joined him, fighting for breath. Then it felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room. I recall ripping open my collar and trying to get another window open for circulation, but my fingers were like sausages at the ends of my hands. I fell out of the window into the street. That’s the last I recall, until I awoke in St. Bart’s Hospital hours later, as you see me.”
“You had a very close call. Was it ricin, then?”
“Mixed with something else, I think. Some sort of vegetable alkaloid Nightwine picked up in the Orient, I shouldn’t wonder.”
I wondered how both of them would be familiar with substances such as ricinus and vegetable alkaloids and the like. The things one had to know to work in the Underworld.
“You have something to contribute, Mr. Llewelyn?” O’Muircheartaigh asked, studying me closely.
“Nothing, sir. It is a most remarkable story.”
“Yours are the last ears that shall ever hear that story from my lips,” he rasped. “Good day, gentlemen.”
Before we were even out of the room, the staff came in and crowded about him, to his irritation. On our way out the door, we encountered Psmith in the reception room, seated with the two guards. He said not a word, but aimed a finger at me and squeezed off a shot.
Not if I see you first, I thought.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
To be perfectly honest, I was getting tired. We had narrowly avoided being arrested in Westminster Abbey, broken into a Masonic temple in order to talk to Pollock Forbes, and had an interview with a very much alive Seamus O’Muircheartaigh. Perhaps it was the Irishman who exhausted me most. He had a way of draining the energy from a room, as if he fed upon it. Had going to see the Irishman been worth the danger? I couldn’t say.
It was my wish that we could go back to the barge, and quit risking capture for the rest of the day. I would put up with the tasteless tea and the repetitive menu. I would even make do without a book and go to bed early. Unfortunately, Cyrus Barker didn’t see things my way. Though the sun was obscured by clouds, it was still up in the sky somewhere and his pocket watch told him it was just three o’clock. There was plenty of daylight left.
“While we’re this close to the East End, I should like to see to the safety of Fu Ying,” my employer said, referring to the Chinese girl who was his ward. “Nightwine would never hesitate to use one’s relations against him.”
“But, sir,” I said. “Anyone who knows you well will be watching her rooms in Three Colt Lane, hoping you’ll appear. Inspector Abberline is sure to have plainclothesmen in the area waiting to arrest you. If you try to see her, you’ll be jugged like a hare.”
“Then we’ll bypass Limehouse and try Mile End Road. I want Andrew to keep an eye on her, even if it means bringing her to the mission. I trust his abilities over anyone’s in London.”
“Do you really think no one’s considered Handy Andy, sir?” I argued. “I mean, everyone knows you have been supporting his ministry for years, not to mention the fact that he is your sparring partner.”
“Aye, but his mission is a warren and I know all the exits. Also, McClain’s followers may help divert any pursuers.”