32

Thursday, June 17, cont.

Herman was awakened by a knock at the door. The sun was barely up, so it couldn’t be past six.

“Who’s there?” he asked, out of sorts by his abrupt return to the waking world.

“Parmeggiani,” whispered a voice. “Get up!”

Herman staggered to the door and let the small Italian in. He seemed more animated than usual, which took some doing. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“This is what’s wrong!” he said, thrusting a copy of The Star into Herman’s face. “You’re a wanted man, for attempted murder of a woman and a police inspector! You said your hands were clean.”

“My hands are clean. I missed. But hers aren’t!”

“I don’t care. Your likeness is all over the city. In the Times as well. You can’t come to the shop. You must go. Now!”

Herman rubbed his eyes, still unsure he was awake. “Go? Go where?”

“I don’t care, and I don’t want to know. If someone sees you at my shop and summons a constable, my entire operation would be placed in danger. Here.” He shoved fifty pounds into Herman’s hands. “For the lamps. If you left anything at the store, tell me and I will bring it to you, but you must be away from here as soon as you can.”

Herman took the money without reaction, trying to grasp his situation. “No.”

“No? What do you mean, no?”

“If I leave now, I wouldn’t remain at large for one day. I agree I can’t stay here for long, but give me until tonight. I have nothing in the store which concerns me. Bring me some food for the day, and when you return tomorrow, I’ll be gone.”

Luigi clasped his hands together. “Madonna!” he cried. “You’re killing me, but alright. Stay inside today, and I’ll bring you food. But you must be gone tomorrow.”

“Agreed. Now go while I prepare. I’ve been hunted before. I doubt the British can be any more capable than the Okhrana. At least the English don’t torture their prisoners anymore.”

He laid his hand on the Italian’s narrow shoulder. “Don’t worry, Signore. If I am caught, I will not turn you in. You were kind to me, in your fashion. Besides, turning you in would not help my situation. Now go!”

Luigi sighed and shook Herman’s hand. “Mille grazie, Signore. It is good when kindness is remembered. I regret my words just now. Fear is stronger than charity, at least in me. I make a good living but never forget I am always one step away from the dock and a magistrate peering down at me. Arrivederci!”

Herman went to the basin to wash his face. He stared at his exuberant handlebar mustache and sighed. No hot water. This would not be pleasant. He lathered up the soap in a cup and began laying it onto his mustache like a plasterer finishing a wall. He studied his face as he gave the soap a chance to soften the bristly hair. The hair on his head was thinning in front, a feature not shown in the sketch in the paper. He stroked his razor as he considered how much to take off the top. I’m no barber. Best take it all.

When Luigi returned with a couple of sausages, a bottle of wine, and a loaf of bread his knock brought only a curt, “Leave it outside and go. Best you not see me. Thank you, and good-bye.”

After the footsteps faded away, a clean shaven, bald gentleman snatched the food inside.

Senior Inspector Murdock was preparing to depart for the day when a junior clerk came into his office, a letter in his hand.

“What’s this, then?” Murdock asked, his hat already in his hand. “This letter arrived around noon today. It contains a threat against the queen, and we get so many letters like this without return addresses I was just going to toss it, but it has some specific information most threats don’t contain. It’s probably nothing, but I thought I’d leave that for you to decide.”

Murdock sighed. He’d better things to do then to read an anonymous letter from some crackpot, but he’d not be able to rest that night, knowing it was waiting on his desk.

“Very well,” he growled. “Your timing needs improvement. I’ll have a look before I go, now get out!”

The clerk made his escape, doubting his wisdom at bothering the man this late in the day, while Murdock put on his reading glasses and slumped back down into his chair. As he read the message, he began to sit straighter, and by the time he’d finished his back was ramrod.

To Special Branch, Scotland Yard From a concerned citizen

Sir,

I’m not the most patriotic Englishman in the empire, and I admit that I’ve fallen in with a bad lot and attended some socialist meetings, but there are some things I cannot abide. I feel it my duty to tell you that there is a German anarchist named Herman Ott who is here in London to kill Her Majesty during the Diamond Jubilee. He has a rifle and knows how to use it.

I beg you take this letter seriously. You can easily see if my words are true, for he is working for an antiquities dealer named Luigi Parmeggiani at the below address. If you perform a search of his lodgings you should find a high-powered air rifle in his possession.

I’ve done a lot in my life that I have reason to be ashamed

of. I hope somehow that this letter may put my misdeeds into balance.

God save the Queen!

An address followed near Charing Cross station. Murdock hadn’t been on the streets in over ten years. He unlocked a drawer in his desk and brought out his Webley and shoulder holster. Time to see if he was still a policeman.

Herman left the flat as the sun set. He had to steel himself to go out into a world where everyone was a potential risk. He was more alone than ever before. In Russia or Germany, he could at least hope for a sympathizer. Here, he was not a revolutionary—just a criminal. He must look as uninteresting as possible until his mission was done.

He stepped out into the darkness without hesitation. He knew any jerky motion would draw people’s attention. He needed to walk as though he owned the ground beneath his feet. He entered the Dog’s Head and found Keys in his usual corner, dispensing wisdom as he sipped an ale. Not wanting to draw attention from the three men sitting with him, Herman sat at the bar and told the barman to send a whiskey to Malone, figuring the others wouldn’t get a good look at him from across the smoke-filled room.

When the drink arrived and the barman nodded at its donor, Herman raised his glass in salute and turned his back. Now all he could do was wait. He had nearly finished his first ale of the evening when a hand came down soft on his shoulder. “Evening, boyo, and to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Herman turned and was relieved to see no flash of recognition in the Irishman’s eyes. “We’ve done business before. I need your services again.”

Keys started at the sound of Herman’s voice and studied his face.

Then he nodded. “Aye, we have. You’re a sight different, though handsome as ever. My office, alone?”

“Yes, to both. Do I need to buy your friends another round of ale?”

“Nay. Don’t want to spoil ’em, anyways. They’re used to being shooed off when I have business associates here.” They walked back to Keys’ corner table. “Bugger off now, lads. I need to seek me fortune.” The three hangers-on shrugged and took their custom to the bar without a backward glance.

“Your friends are agreeable,” Herman said.

“Long practice, nothing more. Any one of ’em would sell his mother for a drink. It’s a rare treat to do business with a gentleman what keeps his word. Now, what’s it this time, another lock to be greased?”

Herman leaned in to reduce the chance of being overheard. “Quite the opposite this time.”

“How’s that again? You want me to secure something?”

“Not something. Someone. Me. I assume you’ve read the papers?”

“Nay. There is naught in the papers of interest to me. Besides, I can’t read. What’s in the papers got you so worried?”

Herman considered how to answer. He knew the higher the risk, the higher the price, but best the man hear his reasons now, rather than go asking about them later. He sighed. “I took a shot at a police inspector. My picture’s in the paper, or my likeness before this . . .” Herman waved a hand over his face and bald head.

Keys laughed. “Is that all? So, you missed then? More’s the pity. Well, I can find you a bolt-hole well enough; it ain’t cheap nor fancy, but I reckon you’ve got no cause to be picky. How long you reckon you’ve got to hide?”

“Five days.”

“Ah, figure on slipping out during the big to-do for the queen? That’s clever.” Malone nodded, satisfied. “Five pounds a day for five days is twenty-five pounds.” He snorted. “Maybe I can’t read, but I can do me figures well enough.” Then he laid a finger aside of his nose. “We might be busy later on. Best pay me now. Do we have a deal?”

“Ten now. The rest when I see the place and am satisfied.”

“It’s not like I’ve a string of houses to choose from, but all right. I’ll take the ten now. I owe the barman near as much, and then I’ll conduct you to the royal suite.” Winking, he continued, “Sorry, lad, but you’ll have to carry your own bags.”

Soon Herman and the Irishman were walking through a dark courtyard in the East End, and Herman wished he had something besides a disassembled rifle to hand. Keys noticed Herman’s nervous glances as they passed alleyways. “Not to worry, lad. There’s honor among thieves here. ’Sides, I usually don’t have the scratch worth fighting over. Not far now.”

My safety depends upon the goodwill of criminals. Have I really fallen so far? Herman mused. But then, to their eyes, I am one of them. So yes, I suppose I have plummeted into the abyss.

They passed through a narrow entrance into another courtyard, this one larger, and Malone led Herman to a dim doorway on the far side. He pulled out a large key, and the well-oiled lock opened without a sound. The doorframe bordered a pitch-black rectangle, and Herman heard something scurry in the room. Rats. I’ll be lodging with rats.

Malone pulled a candle stub and matches out of a pocket, lit the candle, and handed it to Herman. “I trust you’ll find your lodgings to your taste, sir,” he said, bowing.

The room had one single bed with an iron frame, a washbasin, a table, one chair, and a bedpan. The entire room was hardly larger than a cell, but at least his only roommates would be rats. He saw a particularly large one sprint under the bed.

“It has rats,” Herman said. “Big ones.”

Malone shrugged, “‘Tis the East End, boyo. There’s more of them ’ere than people. Get used to it. Now, about those other fifteen pounds . . .”

Herman gritted his teeth. He could lodge at one of the better hotels in London for five pounds a night and he might get away with it. He might. Malone stood there waiting, his hand out. Herman paid, accepted the key, and made sure he could lock himself in.

The Irishman turned to leave, but before he could, Herman caught his arm and asked, “Now what?”

Malone smirked. “You leave by the twenty-third, lad. Keep quiet and no one here’ll bother you. Half the families here have someone on the lam. Now, unless there’s something else, I’ve a terrible thirst and the bar closes in an hour. Good night, and don’t mind your roommates. They won’t eat much!”

“Speaking of eating,” Herman said, “bring me some food every day, and I’ll pay another three pounds. Nothing fancy, but a day’s worth. Agreed?”

“Hope you’re not expecting steak and kidney pie, but if honest food’s good enough, then I’ll do it. That’ll be another five pounds now, Governor.” Keys smiled. “Just so we understand one another.”

Herman grumbled a bit, enough to keep the man from realizing he could charge twice as much, then he paid. “Once a day, in the morning by eight.”

“Right you are, then. Eight, sharpish.” Malone tipped his cap, then strode off into the darkness. Herman closed the door, locked it, and eyed the darkness beneath his bed, wondering how long the candle stub would last. He saw no others in the room. It’s going to be a long night. I should have asked for more candles.

Luigi was closing the shop for the day when a burly older gentleman accompanied by two police constables confronted him at the entrance. The badge the older man flashed in his eyes was impressive, but the large-caliber handgun he carried was even more so.