It was morning before I came to. The blow had pretty much knocked my brains for six. And so it was I awoke in a dock workers’ infirmary, a grubby little place full of stern nurses and disapproving doctors. A rather perplexed Archie Dearlove and a rather serious looking police constable were crouched over me.
“Morning Harker,” beamed Archie. “Have a drop of this, it’s medicinal,” he said, handing me a hip flask half-full of sugary rum. I took a long swig and spluttered as the fiery liquid filled my mouth. I was about to hand the flask back to Archie when the stern officer of the law snatched it from my grasp.
“That’s enough of that, lad, I’d rather you kept a clear head, so as you can answer some questions,” he said, in a not-at-all friendly way.
“Now steady on, old man,” said Archie, snatching the flask back and slipping it into his jacket pocket. “Chap’s been in a nasty jar, he’s had seven bells knocked out of him and the last thing he needs is a jawbation from you. He’s in no state to answer questions. As an officer of His Majesty’s Royal Navy I…”
“It’s quite alright constable,” I said, interrupting Archie, who was only trying to bargain his bashed-up comrade some peace, “fire away.”
The policeman, harrumphed, clearing his throat before licking the tip of his pencil and turning to a fresh page in his pocket notebook. He cast Archie a stern look as he did so, before giving me an obviously fake smile.
“Now then, Sir,” He began. “What’s all this carry-on about a foreign gent being murdered?”
I thought it best to keep my account of the night as brief as possible.
I told the officer I’d been having a quiet evening with an old friend when I saw a man collapse. Being an upstanding citizen I made it my business to investigate the possibility of an attacker. While doing so I must have slipped and knocked myself unconscious. No I did not see anyone suspicious, no I did not see any clues as to the dead man’s identity, and no I would rather not appear at any official inquest.
The officer eventually left, but only after a bit more hurrying from Archie. When I was sure he was gone I recounted the real version of events for my friend.
“Well, I say,” said Archie after a pause. “This is most irregular, you’ve certainly livened up my existence no end!”
“There was one more thing,” I said, motioning for him to pass my coat which had been draped by my bedside. I pulled out the small piece of paper I’d taken from the dead man’s hand. “I didn’t have a chance to look at this, but it could be useful.”
Before I unfolded the scrap of dirty white parchment I gave it a little sniff, to see if there was any residue smell. There was a hint of something, was it the sea? I gave it a closer look, but apart from some spots of general grime and muck there were no distinguishing fingerprints or signs. I unfolded it carefully, only to be left even more confused when I saw what was scrawled on the other side. It was a symbol, and one I had never seen before. To describe it simply: it was a triangle, with its point facing downwards, set inside a circle. The circle was then set inside a square. The symbol had been drawn roughly, in thick black ink.
“I say, do you think this could be the sign of some secret group?” Archie piped up. “Tell you what, leave it with me and I’ll have some of our back room chaps check it out. Now, I should imagine you’re rather keen to head back to your home, what?” he said, his eyebrows raised. “Your fingers will be itching to get to your typewriter no doubt. But I have to ask you as a friend not to send any copy to your editor just yet. A hint of this business in the press and these smugglers could go to ground and we’ll never catch them. I promise you can have your scoop as soon as we’re done, but best to hold off for now. I’ll make sure the local news chaps don‘t catch wind of this, and I’ll put the frighteners up those dock lads. No one will hear of this before you tell them, I promise.”
I grudgingly agreed. If it had been anyone else I would have said no straight away, but I knew I could trust Archie.
“Come on then,” he said. “I’ll help you make a break for it. You’ll be back home and scribbling before the police even realise you’re gone, and if they have any questions, they’ll have me to answer to.”
Within minutes I was up out of bed, dressed in nothing but pyjamas and my damson coloured frock coat, with Archie’s rather large sea boots on my feet. It’s fair to say I looked like a madman. He also slipped a fiver in my pocket to take care of any expenses, or to help sweet talk anyone who might wonder why a boy was wandering the streets in his undergarments. With that I was out of the infirmary window and shimmying down a drainpipe to freedom.