'Ah, there you are,' Ikey exclaimed. 'It might be most profitable for you to step into your own little parlour, if you please, Mister Brodie.'
'What? Right now? This very moment?' Brodie answered, without looking up. 'Can't now! This soup what is blessed with 'erbs and spices and all manner of tasty ingredients is about to come to the simmer. Then I must add a fine shank o' veal and extra onions and potatoes to gift 'er with a most delicate degustation.'
Ikey laughed. 'All you've ever added to your cabbage soup is the water what's in that kettle! Come quickly, Mr Brodie, or you may be poorer to the tune of five shillings!'
Brodie almost dropped the kettle in his haste to place it back on the hob and follow Ikey into the parlour.
'Master Brodie can you repeat: "Dick Whittington's 'ungry cat 'as come to fetch a juicy rat!"? Can you say that?'
'Dick Whittington's angry cat come to fetch a Jewish rat!' Brodie repeated, then looked bemused at Ikey. 'That's daft, that is! Rats is rats, ain't no Jewish rats, leastways not in Brum, that I can assure you! Rats 'ere is Christian or not at all!'
Ikey corrected Brodie and repeated the phrase, making the landlord say it over several times before asking him to go to the coach terminus the following morning at precisely ten o'clock, to spend the password he'd just rehearsed on Josh and to receive a note from the boy to be returned to him.
Brodie scratched his head, bemused. 'When I done this you'll give me five shillin's?' He was plainly waiting for some catch.
'If you takes a most round-about route 'ome and makes sure you ain't followed there'll be two shillin's additional comin' to you, Master Brodie!'
'You've found yer man, 'ave no fear o' that – I can disappear in a single blinkin' and you wouldn't even know I was gorn. Ain't no lad on Gawd's earth could 'ave the cunnin' to follow me,' Brodie bragged.
Ikey left soon afterwards to visit an eating establishment in an adjoining rookery only slightly less notorious than the one in which he was staying. Here Ikey had often done deals with thieves and villains and the landlord welcomed his custom and willingly allowed him credit, his bills to be paid at the end of each visit.
This time, though, as Ikey greeted him he seemed less sure, and asked if he might have some money on account as the debt for food supplied to Ikey's guest was mounting by the hour.
The small room to which the landlord escorted him was almost completely occupied by the corpulence of Marybelle Firkin who sat at a table strewn with bones and crusts and empty dishes, as well as the half-eaten carcass of a yellow-skinned goose. She welcomed Ikey with a chop rimmed with a layer of shining white fat held in one hand, and a roasted potato in the other. Ikey looked around anxiously and was most relieved to see the hamper occupying one corner of the room. Marybelle pointed the chop directly at Ikey and spoke with her mouth crammed, a half masticated potato dropping into her lap.
'It was marvellous, eh, Ikey? If I says so meself, that performance on the coach were fit to be seen by the bleedin' Prince o' bleedin' Wales!' She cackled loudly, more food tumbling from her mouth. 'Better than any I performed on the stage in me 'ole career. What say ya, lovey? Was it the best ya seen?'
Ikey smiled thinly, his hands expanded trying to match her enthusiasm. 'What can I say, Marybelle? You was magnificent, my dear, the performance of a lifetime by a thespian o' rare and astonishin' talent!'
Marybelle blushed at the compliment and swallowed, her mouth empty and her voice suddenly soft and low. 'Ah, that's nice, Ikey. 'Ere, 'ave a pork chop, do ya the world, skin 'n bone you is, there ain't nuffink to ya!'
Ikey winced and drew back. 'No thanks, it ain't kosher!'
'Suit yerself, lovey, there's a lot o' nourishment in a pork chop and very little in religion!' Then, pointing to the hamper, she declared, 'All be safe. Paper's come to no 'arm.'
Ikey nodded. 'Thank you, my dear, I am most obliged, most obligin'ly obliged.'
Ikey appeared to hesitate, then continued, 'Marybelle, I needs a favour done and in return I shall put you in the way o' a nice little earner.'
'That's nice, lovey. What is it ya want, then?' She pointed at his coat. 'Sew up the tear in yer coat? I ain't much of a dab 'and at sewin' I warns ya.'
Ikey grinned, though in a feeble way. 'A bigger favour, my dear.'
'Bringin' yer paper, that weren't favour enough?'
'Yes, my dear, and you shall be paid the fifty pounds I promised you.'
'And this favour, it's worth more'n fifty pounds?'
'Much more, if you plays your cards right!'
It is only necessary briefly to describe the scene which took place in the bank, and the look of consternation on the faces of Silas and Maggie the Colour when Marybelle Firkin arrived in Ikey's place. She carried a letter from Ikey stipulating that she should act as his negotiating agent for the business at hand and the letter further asked that the banker, Mr David Daintree, sign the letter and return it to Marybelle as proof that she had been present. The letter also required the signatures of Silas and Maggie Browne.
Indeed, Ikey was wise to seek proof that the meeting had taken place, for the husband and wife team had conspired to rob him. They had concluded that he had no ongoing supply of paper, but only what he would bring to the bank. If they could rob him of the letter of credit and the money on his way back to London, or even at his place of residence in Birmingham -after all, he was not the sort who could go to the police – then they would possess the plates and the paper without having paid for them.
Mr Daintree, impressed with the handling of so great a sum of money, conducted the proceedings with the utmost rectitude, carefully pointing to where Marybelle should sign her name. When Marybelle handed the hamper over to Silas and Maggie he retired, as had been arranged, to a small inner chamber, while the two of them closely examined the hamper's contents.
Maggie then took a sheet of paper from the banker's desk and using his quill filled nearly half a page in her neat handwriting. Then she dusted the paper and allowed it to dry, whereupon she handed it to Silas. He read it, smiled, nodded and returned it to her, whereupon she indicated that he call the bank officer to return. Neither Silas nor Maggie passed so much as a single word in Marybelle's direction. Marybelle sat patiently, thinking about Ikey's promise of a fortune and trying to imagine how much nourishment it might buy. How many roast beef sides, fat geese, plump partridges, chops and pies and every manner of sweet dish known to the human species.
With the return of Mr Daintree the couple allowed that the credit note be duly signed in her presence by the bank officer. But before handing it to Marybelle, Maggie placed the page of writing on the desk in front of her.
'This be the document we wish to 'ave Mrs Firkin sign before we 'ands over letter o' credit,' she said bluntly, her eyes challenging the banker.
The letter simply stated that as Ikey had not arrived at the bank himself to collect the letter of credit and as Silas and Maggie the Colour had no way of knowing whether Marybelle was not an impostor, the letter of credit could only be presented in London by Ikey himself. If the Courts amp; Company Bank in London did not inform Mr David Daintree of the Birmingham City and County Bank that Mr Ikey Solomon had himself presented the letter of credit within one week of the date which appeared on it, then the money should be returned to Silas and Maggie Browne and the goods returned. But Mr Ikey Solomon himself and no other.
'Is what they done against the laws of England?' Marybelle asked the bank officer.
Daintree frowned, pinching the brow of his nose. 'No, not strictly. A credit note issued in a contract involving two specific parties and identifying one specific party to another specific party and not redeemable by a third party is not uncommon,' he replied, though he was clearly bemused.