The Thieves' Labyrinth (Albert Newsome 3) (21 page)

Perhaps another man, knowing what Noah Dyson knew, would have been apprehensive at venturing out onto the streets that day. Rather, it filled him with an almost childlike enthusiasm. Here, in
the Italian, was a worthy adversary. Here was an opportunity to play out on the streets a more serious (and possibly more deadly) version of those innocent games he had once engaged in with his
fellows when they had raced in rags about the legs of horses, not caring about the next meal until hunger told them to steal it. Here, in short, was a genuine challenge: a trial of wit, nerve and
skill.

Accordingly, when he left his house by the river early that morning, it was in full preparation. The man exiting the door that day was recognizably Noah Dyson. Anyone observing the address would
expect no less. In fact, the only notable difference was the black walking cane he carried on this occasion, it being his habit never to carry one.

If he took Earl-street and then Water-lane northwards rather than the more direct Bridge-street, it was no doubt to avoid the crowds (and the opportunity for an observer to hide in them). He
certainly evinced no awareness that he suspected such an observer as he strolled towards Ludgatecircus, the iron ferrule of his cane tapping at the road almost as if to direct the attention of
anyone watching. But then a curious thing occurred as he stepped into the bustle of that larger thoroughfare.

In a flash, he retracted the cane by means of an ingenious system of articulated hinge points, folding it into a foot length. Almost simultaneously, he shrugged off his black overcoat and
rapidly turned it inside out, putting it back on as a bottle-green one. Anyone emerging into the busy street along the same route Noah had taken would have looked in vain for the fellow they had
been tracking. The metronomic black cane was quite vanished and there were too many black coats to count.

As for the gentleman in the green coat and a folded cane up his sleeve, he was already aboard an omnibus heading east. Or rather, he was inside the ’bus among a half-dozen other
passengers, of whom only the merest shape could be seen from outside (owing to the windows being misted by their collective breath). Though undoubtedly slower than walking among those central
streets, it was nevertheless a fine conveyance for the man who would not be observed too carefully.

It was also, reflected Noah, a suitable place to gather one’s thoughts, for despite the constant jerking stops and starts and the cries of the liveried ‘cad’ to prospective
passengers, conversation is rare upon the plush cushions within. No matter that ten or twelve people sit there – each is as wilfully oblivious to his neighbour as if he were quite alone,
staring fixedly at his shoes, his newspaper or the blurry outline of the buildings through misty glass. On the omnibus, only the French and the Americans speak (the former, volubly, to each other,
and the latter, at volume, to everyone else).

On any other day, Noah would have engaged in his habitual pleasure of surreptitiously observing the other passengers to discern their stories, for, in their yearning anonymity, they invariably
revealed more about themselves than they realized. The fellow with the canvas bag sitting opposite, for example: see how he nervously holds the bag close to his thigh as if its contents are of
great value . . . or something to elicit great guilt and horror. Or the young lady who, on boarding, casts an apprehensive glance at the other passengers before sitting in straight-backed, staring
discomfort until her stop. No doubt she is going to an appointment that no one should know about. But no – today, such people barely intruded on Noah’s thoughts.

Foremost upon his mind was his opium store at Lime-house. The accusatory tone of the article in
the London Monitor
would certainly be enough to cause problems for him if officers of the
Custom House read the piece and decided to cross-reference their records with any stock found there. And it need hardly be said that Noah had not been as assiduous as he might concerning the
payment of duties on his raw opium. He had already lost a house to the machinations of a criminal; it would be too much to sacrifice his business to another.

Thus, as the passengers boarded and alighted, and the lofty buildings of the centre gave way to the warehouses and trade traffic of more riverine
locales
, Noah became more apprehensive at
what he might find at his destination. An opium refinery is not especially hard to find if one knows the smell of its steaming chimneys and expects to see a preponderance of Oriental faces about
the area. Nor, as the ’bus rattled on, was he ignorant of the possibility that the whole thing was an elaborate trap – that the Custom House men would be lying in wait for their
merchant to arrive.

In the event, the worst of his fears was confirmed. Having approached on foot for the last half mile, cutting through muddy alleys and loitering in doorways to confound any persistent pursuer,
he emerged at a street corner facing the warehouse to witness another desecration of his privacy.

The massed Chinese workforce was standing moodily outside in their white ‘pyjamas’ and the large wooden loading doors had been thrown open to the street. Customs men (denoted by
their brass arm badges) seemed to swarm about the place, directing the burly lumpers in their employ to confiscate all that could not be accounted for – which was everything. The chimneys
gave forth but the merest vapour, having evidently been smothered by the torrent of authority.

Noah’s fists clenched in white-knuckled fury. The game had just changed irrevocably. What had seemed a test of investigative wit was now a matter of cold retribution. Eldritch Batchem
would pay for this – not only by losing the challenge, but also by losing everything else he had to lose. Those were the rules he had established when he had the article inserted into the
pages of
the London Monitor
.

Still lurking on the corner there, Noah became aware that his foreman, Hong Li, had seen him. The aged Chinaman, who rarely communicated anything as revelatory as a facial expression, remained
as teak-faced as usual and made no sign he had seen Noah. Rather, he made the most subtle shake of the head and his eyes sought out his employer with a clear enough message: go now . . . flee while
you can and we will meet again in this or another life.

Noah nodded and withdrew. He had urgent work to do.

As Noah had demonstrated those few days previously with his pursuit of the missing swan brooch, the city’s receivers of stolen goods are clear enough in their
categorization. The riverside ruffian – who most likely also runs a shop, a crimp-house or some other maritime business – will take whatever flotsam and pocket-smuggled contraband that
dockworkers bring him, but can sell it to a greater practitioner of the trade only if he saves up his finer specimens and sells them on
en masse
.

These more professional receivers, in turn, will specialize in their trade, be it jewellery, spirits, fabrics or tobacco. They may even maintain a small storehouse or floating repository of
goods that buyers can visit as they do a shop, for let us not imagine that smuggled goods are in any way rare. It is said that those materials attracting the greatest duties (silk, essences, furs
and the like) account for as much as forty per cent of the goods sold
legitimately
in our respectable gas-lit emporia.

As is ever the case, though, the grandest criminals are the ones who operate in plain view and maintain all the hallmarks of esteemed respectability. While Customs investigators chase after the
minor operator in a muddy alley somewhere off the Ratcliff-highway, the glittering store on Oxford-street or Regent-street sells vast quantities of goods that have come into the city without the
sacrificial blessing of a duty warrant.

It was with this knowledge that Noah re-entered the city centre – still taking the greatest care to check his wake for anyone of an Italianate cast – and made his way to that grand
shop on Ludgate-hill, which is known to all ladies of the metropolis as quite the premier vendor of silks, muslin and linen in all of London.

He was not at all surprised to find the place a-bustle with females of the finer sort gleefully cooing over the cool touch of the latest import from Paris or Brussels. Nor was the proprietress
surprised or disappointed to see a man waiting patiently at the counter. He was, if she were fortunate, one of those who maintain a mistress and who will do whatever necessary to fulfil
her
pleasure that he might continue to enjoy his own. Her professional smile flashed accordingly into life.

‘Good day to you, sir. I perceive that you are seeking the finest cloths for a special lady . . .’

‘I am indeed inclined to buy some silk products,’ said Noah, adopting a loftily pompous tone. ‘Gloves and shawls.’

‘Very good, sir. I have a wonderful selection for you to choose from . . .’

‘I should say that I am minded to buy rather a large quantity.’ Noah took a piece of paper from his pocket and pretended to read from it: ‘Forty-three pairs of long
ivory-coloured gloves, an equal number of short silk gloves in black, and one hundred silk scarves in at least three colours. I have sizes for the gloves. All must be of the very finest quality,
which I have been assured you can supply.’

‘Why . . . that is rather a large order. I am not sure . . .’

‘I represent the Swiss National Opera, ma’am, and I am charged with procuring costumes for the entire cast of a production that will entertain the crowned heads of a number of
nations. If you cannot supply me with what I need, I must go elsewhere – Paris directly if need be, though I admit I am somewhat pressed for time . . .’

‘I . . . did not say we could not manage an order of such a size, sir. It is just that—’

‘And I should add that I expect to receive a substantial discount for buying such quantities.’

The proprietress maintained her smile only with the greatest commercial rigour. Her eyes showed that calculations of an entirely different sort were taking place in her brain. This customer
seemed genuine enough; his story had a certain air of plausibility; his clothing appeared well made; his arrogance was of the sort to be expected from one with power and money. Her decision was
made. She beckoned Noah towards a door behind the counter.

‘Let us adjourn to the back room, sir, where I think we can come to an agreement that will satisfy all parties.’

Noah stepped past the counter and through a door into a large storeroom in which the bulk of the shop’s stock was arrayed on serried shelves lining every wall. Shipping crates marked in
French (and further appended with sizes in chalk) were stacked in the centre of the space, with aisles between them so that the assistants might have quick access lest a customer suffer the
indignity of delay.

‘Well, it seems you have plenty of stock here,’ said Noah. ‘I will take this.’

‘Sir – if you wish to benefit from a . . . a more competitive price, I would ask you to wait a day or so. We are expecting shortly to take an order for a very large quantity of silk
items and I will make certain your needs are met.’

‘But I can see many gloves here! Did I not express myself clearly upon the urgency of my need?’

‘Yes, indeed, sir. But as I say, the goods we are expecting are of the very finest quality and . . . they come to us by way of . . . from a more beneficial source regarding cost . . .
which naturally we pass on to our most special customers . . . men such as yourself, sir, who will not be satisfied by anything other than the very, very best French silk newly imported into the
city.’

‘The best, you say?’

‘O yes, sir! Nothing like it! France must weep to lose such finery from its shores.’

‘I see. Well, that is the quality I am seeking. When can I have it?’

‘A man will come here in a day or so – it is always around this time of the month – and he will take our order. The merchandise is then delivered the very next day.’

‘A man? What man? I hope there is nothing underhand here . . .’

‘Certainly not, sir! He is . . . he is,’ she wrinkled her nose as if in distaste, ‘he is the agent of our supplier. I cannot be more specific about his arrival as he is
somewhat . . . eccentric. But if you return here on Saturday I am sure we will have your order packed and ready to take away. If you are able to pay us a percentage of the price as a deposit . .
.’

‘Yes, yes . . . I suppose that will be all right. Saturday, you say? Well, that is rather late, but if the price compensates me for the wait . . .’

‘O it will, sir. You will not find a better price in London.’

‘Good, good. Then I thank you for your service.’

And so Noah was obliged to pay rather more than he would have wished by way of a deposit for goods he would never see, let alone buy. He had, however, got the information he needed and could now
act upon it.

Doffing his hat to the ladies at the counter, he turned to exit the shop . . . and walked directly into a man entering at some velocity. Their eyes met. They knew each other.

‘
You!
’ said Inspector Newsome.

‘Inspector Newsome – that is a particularly fine uniform you are wearing.’

‘I should . . . I should . . . What are you doing here?’

‘A little shopping. I needed some new gloves.’

‘It is pure coincidence, I assume, that the missing brig
Aurora
was loaded with silk of the exact variety sold by this shop?’

‘Precisely that: a coincidence. I was indeed at Eldritch Batchem’s performance – as you know – but why would I be interested in locating that vessel? I have no need of
the money—’

‘That may change. Have you been to Limehouse recently?’

‘Ah, you are referring to the article in
the Monitor
. I was most amused to read about
your
recent experience at the Continental Club, though I admit I already knew of it.
Your visits to “houses of ill repute” were perhaps more of a revelation . . .’

‘The author of that libel will pay, you can be certain. Are you working with George Williamson?’