The Black Hand by Will Thomas Page B

make papers and such from time to time in and around my other duties.”
    “So, the papers he had in the Irish bombing case last year,” I began, “the ones that claimed we were a German bomber and his assistant—”
    “Oh, those were easy. It’s good to keep my hand in now and then.”
    “Barker seems to have a propensity for hiring felons,” I noted.
    Jenkins wagged a finger at me. “Now, now,” he said. “I wasn’t actually arrested, and as for Mr. Maccabee, he was held on suspicion. The only felon in the bunch is you.”
    I chuckled. I had to admit he had me there. “Knowing the government, I’m surprised they didn’t take both.”
    “Oh, I let them know I’d kick up a fuss. It is my father’s property, after all. The last thing they wanted was for it to be made public. This was the price of my silence.”
    “So you’re certain this is the copy you made.”
    “I certified it in writing. This was the one Father pointed out. However, I must admit he has always had a sardonic sense of humor. Some days, I wonder myself.”
    Jenkins led me out again and locked the door behind us.
    “I was planning to read Mr. Trollope to the old gentleman this evening,” he said as we returned to the dining room. “There never was a man as enjoyed Mr. Trollope so much as he. You are welcome to stay if you wish.”
    “I’d like to, but I should be getting back,” I pointed out.“I’m sure the Guv’s got a thousand things for me to do before tomorrow and there is still the journey back. Thank you for your hospitality and a very interesting tale, I must say. Are you certain you will be safe?”
    “We’ve taken on worse than these Sicilian blokes,” Jenkins said. “We’ll be safe enough. Mind you come out of this in one piece yourself.”
    “If I don’t, it won’t be for lack of trying. Thank you, Jeremy.” We shook hands. It occurred to me it was the first time we had ever done so.
    “See you back in Craig’s Court, sir, on more professional terms.”
    “I will, but I should like to come again some time and buy you both a meal to repay this one. Good evening, Mr. Jenkins. It was an honor meeting you. Thank you for having me in your home.”
    When I stepped outside, I heard the locks turning on the other side of the door. I had thought our clerk little more than an inebriate, and here he was with a corking story in his life. I sighed and began the long walk to Newington.
    Violence is a part of my occupation, whether I like it or not, but for every altercation there is another that fails to materialize. I have no complaint with that, you understand. I chose to walk because in a cab I wouldn’t know whether I was leading the Mafia to Barker’s door, so I went on foot, using all the skills Gallenga had taught me. I scrutinized every face, window, and vehicle around me. I backtracked and circled and looked behind me in shop windows. No Italian assassins fired upon me with their shotguns, no cloak-and-daggermen stabbed at me with their knives, and no mafiusu tried to kidnap me for ransom. As I reached the back gate of our house in the Elephant and Castle district, I reflected that all my efforts to avoid being attacked had been merely practice.
    When I stepped into the back passage there was already an assortment of suitcases by the front door.
    “Has the Guv said how long we will be out of town?” I asked Mac, who came down the stairs looking harried. For Mac, that meant one of his curls had fallen out from behind one ear; otherwise, he was immaculate and ready at any moment to pose for a statute of Apollo at the Royal Academy of Arts, provided he could be persuaded to remove his yarmulke.
    “He has not specified, but I believe it shall be less than a week.”
    “You’ve packed for a month. Do you know where we’re going?”
    “The Guv says south. You’re leaving first thing in the morning. That’s all you need to know.”
    I looked up the stairs, where I could hear Barker moving about.
    “So, what