subordinates into helping him. One only helped a superior in order to ride his coattails to a better position, and an inspector who disgraced himself was immediately attacked from all sides: from his superiors, anxious to distance themselves from any scandal, and from subordinates, eager for his position.
The Guv leaned back against the seat cushion, his one visible eye closed, considering the question. “I don’t know what will happen, but without a doubt, Terry is finding himself in a good bit of trouble on our account.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Eventually, our cab slowed in Glasshouse Street, but rolled by the entrance to the Café Royal, which I had assumed would be our destination. The café is the unofficial headquarters of Mr. Pollock Forbes, who is himself unofficial, being the head of a Masonic organization wielding great power within the government, and a history stretching back to the Crusades. Barker and I were coming to beg favors. Across the street in Shaftesbury Avenue, I could see the building where Cyrus Barker had recently leased a room to begin his Antagonistics classes again. He had been planning the defensive fighting classes for several weeks, yet another disruption in our lives. The cab came to a halt at the Guv’s command, in front of a white, nondescript door, and we alighted. Barker proceeded to pick the lock while I covered him and stared down anyone nearby who looked too inquisitive. For a secret society, the door opened too readily to his hand, I think. Barker tapped me on the shoulder and we slipped through.
Inside was a large, airy chamber of white marble, dominated by a staircase of the same material that appeared completely unsupported. There were no handrails and nothing underneath to support the structure visibly. I supposed it was some kind of engineering marvel. Overhead, the ceiling was carved in gilt arcane symbols, some recognizable to me, others not. With a start, I realized Barker had broken into the establishment’s Masonic temple. It ruffled my plain Methodist feathers just to be there.
“Find Pollock,” Barker ordered, and I pushed through the door into an outer hall which skirted the dining room, trying not to draw attention to myself from the waiters bustling by in their long aprons. Entering the room, I passed among the elegant diners enjoying one of the most popular restaurants in London, until I finally spotted Forbes at a table near the front entrance, sipping a cup of mocha while scrutinizing the move of his opponent at dominoes. The young Scotsman had no official office anywhere, but conducted important matters over this frivolous game in plain sight of everyone. He caught my eye and waved, and I nodded in the direction of the temple before making my way through the tables again. Reluctantly, I stepped back into the cool marble chamber which, for all its elegance and symbolism, resembled the interior of a mausoleum. For a moment, I fancied what it would be like to be interred inside.
“He’s coming,” I told my employer. “He’s finishing a game. It shouldn’t take long.”
“I don’t have time for games,” Barker grumbled.
“I could go back, knock over the table, and drag him in here, if you prefer,” I replied.
“That won’t be necessary. Forgive my ill humor. I’ve got a lot on my mind at the moment.”
There was a squeak of the outer door and a feel of pressure changing in the hermetically sealed room as Pollock Forbes entered. He has a reputation as a genial young man, but for once, he showed his edge.
“Cyrus, this is most irregular,” he complained. “You know Mr. Llewelyn is not a member. You’re breaking protocol.”
“I’m sorry, Pollock, special circumstances warrant. I didn’t want the lad in the street revealing my presence to all and sundry.”
“That’s quite a costume you’re wearing today. I suppose I should be glad you didn’t come through the dining room. I hear you’re in a spot of trouble.”
“I am,” Barker
The Guv leaned back against the seat cushion, his one visible eye closed, considering the question. “I don’t know what will happen, but without a doubt, Terry is finding himself in a good bit of trouble on our account.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Eventually, our cab slowed in Glasshouse Street, but rolled by the entrance to the Café Royal, which I had assumed would be our destination. The café is the unofficial headquarters of Mr. Pollock Forbes, who is himself unofficial, being the head of a Masonic organization wielding great power within the government, and a history stretching back to the Crusades. Barker and I were coming to beg favors. Across the street in Shaftesbury Avenue, I could see the building where Cyrus Barker had recently leased a room to begin his Antagonistics classes again. He had been planning the defensive fighting classes for several weeks, yet another disruption in our lives. The cab came to a halt at the Guv’s command, in front of a white, nondescript door, and we alighted. Barker proceeded to pick the lock while I covered him and stared down anyone nearby who looked too inquisitive. For a secret society, the door opened too readily to his hand, I think. Barker tapped me on the shoulder and we slipped through.
Inside was a large, airy chamber of white marble, dominated by a staircase of the same material that appeared completely unsupported. There were no handrails and nothing underneath to support the structure visibly. I supposed it was some kind of engineering marvel. Overhead, the ceiling was carved in gilt arcane symbols, some recognizable to me, others not. With a start, I realized Barker had broken into the establishment’s Masonic temple. It ruffled my plain Methodist feathers just to be there.
“Find Pollock,” Barker ordered, and I pushed through the door into an outer hall which skirted the dining room, trying not to draw attention to myself from the waiters bustling by in their long aprons. Entering the room, I passed among the elegant diners enjoying one of the most popular restaurants in London, until I finally spotted Forbes at a table near the front entrance, sipping a cup of mocha while scrutinizing the move of his opponent at dominoes. The young Scotsman had no official office anywhere, but conducted important matters over this frivolous game in plain sight of everyone. He caught my eye and waved, and I nodded in the direction of the temple before making my way through the tables again. Reluctantly, I stepped back into the cool marble chamber which, for all its elegance and symbolism, resembled the interior of a mausoleum. For a moment, I fancied what it would be like to be interred inside.
“He’s coming,” I told my employer. “He’s finishing a game. It shouldn’t take long.”
“I don’t have time for games,” Barker grumbled.
“I could go back, knock over the table, and drag him in here, if you prefer,” I replied.
“That won’t be necessary. Forgive my ill humor. I’ve got a lot on my mind at the moment.”
There was a squeak of the outer door and a feel of pressure changing in the hermetically sealed room as Pollock Forbes entered. He has a reputation as a genial young man, but for once, he showed his edge.
“Cyrus, this is most irregular,” he complained. “You know Mr. Llewelyn is not a member. You’re breaking protocol.”
“I’m sorry, Pollock, special circumstances warrant. I didn’t want the lad in the street revealing my presence to all and sundry.”
“That’s quite a costume you’re wearing today. I suppose I should be glad you didn’t come through the dining room. I hear you’re in a spot of trouble.”
“I am,” Barker
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