The Londum Omnibus Volume Two

Snake Eyes

Book Six of The Londum Series

Copyright © Antony Rattigan 2011

All rights reserved.

In between rescuing a young girl from child slavery and saving a street full of tenants from an unscrupulous landlord, Jim Darby is planning one of the biggest heists of his career, when an old flame re-enters his life.

Racine Deveaux seeks Jim’s help to bring down her travelling companion, Vincent Lassiter. Reluctant at first to help, Jim is finally persuaded to involve Lassiter in a scam to force him into a position where Racine can be revenged upon him. Seems simple, doesn’t it?

However, Jim has to contend with Lassiter’s man, Bolan, an ex-street fighter, who may be more than a match for Jim. Also there’s a new addition to Jim’s list of annoyances, Inspector Herbert Corner of Caledonia Yard, who seems intent on finding out Jim’s secrets.

Oh well, it’s just another day at the office for Jim.

‘If you love someone, set them free.

If they don’t come back … then hunt them down and kill them!’

Anon

‘Hell hath no fury like a woman … well, like a woman actually.

Tony Rattigan

Prologue

There are some … well let’s call them ‘Scientists’ for want of a better word, who believe that for every possible action, there is a split and a new Universe is created which goes off in a different direction. So that every time someone makes a decision, another Universe comes into being. In the old Universe some people go left, in the new one, some go right. It’s like you had a bag of marbles and you dropped them on the floor and they go in all different directions. And the number of Universes increases every time you drop the marbles. (This is known as the Marble Theory. Well, if you can have String Theory why not Marble Theory? Okay, suit yourself.)

But that’s not actually the way that it really is. What it is actually like, is that way back when, just after the Big Bang, there was a split in the order of the newly created Universe. It was caused by a man like you or me - no not you, you’re a woman, move aside please Madam – yes, like you sir. It was a man called Rufus Cobb and you can read all about it in Split Infinity.

So we ended up with all these parallel streams running alongside each other, like lanes on a motorway. These streams were created back at the beginning and they flow forward into the future like a giant, multi-laned motorway. There is a finite number, the number that was created at the beginning of the Universe. It’s not infinite but it is a bloody big number!

What that gives us is multiple Universes, a Multiverse where everything is nearly the same as here, or the farther you move away from the centre, the differences become greater. It all depends on how far you have travelled from your starting point.

There can be strange, exotic worlds where weird things happen like, eating chips or chocolate makes you fat, or drinking too much alcohol gives you a bad head next morning. You may laugh and say, ‘But this cannot be so, you jest surely?’ but my children, these strange places do exist. But fear not, they don’t affect our world where everything is natural and you can eat and drink as much as you want with no consequences.

And in one of those Universes, there is a world called Earth. On this planet is a group of islands known collectively as Grand Briton. These Islands are split into the four countries of Caledonia, Eire, Cymru and the largest and most important, Albion. Our story starts in the capital city of Albion … Londum.

Something Old

Most people saw the Victorian era as a time of enlightenment. Increases in Albion’s power around the world due to technical innovation brought staggering wealth and prosperity to the country. But this wealth was centred mainly on only certain layers of society. The world of high teas, cucumber sandwiches and banquets was restricted to a very narrow strata of the population. The average Albion lived a life of hard work with little chance of ever making it into the big time, financially.

And then beneath them, there was the rock bottom of the social scale. The dregs of society, to whom life was just one long, unending struggle to survive. This was a world where anything went, people would do anything, lie, cheat and steal from anybody, to get by. And then there were those who attempted to do more than survive, those that attempted to profit from other’s misery.

Ah, the East End of Londum in the ‘Good Old Days’, where you could have a night on the town, buy yourself a woman, eat a fish supper, have somebody murdered … and still have change from a tenner.

The East End of Londum was a place where anything could be got for a price. Every conceivable vice was catered for as long as you could meet the asking price. Drugs, prostitutes of any age or sex or colour (smoking indoors) mud-wrestling, full-fat cream cakes, you name it, whatever your particular interest there was someone who could supply it if the price was right.

These low-lifes populated the East End like a shoal of fish feeding off plankton, which were the ordinary people of the area.

And amongst them swam … the sharks!

Jim Darby’s cab pulled to a halt outside a rundown tenement near Whitechapel, in that same East End. Jim opened the door and climbed down onto the pavement.

‘Wait here Bob, I won’t be long,’ he instructed the coach driver.

‘Righto Mr. Darby,’ he replied, touching his cap.

Jim entered the building, carefully stepping over the piles of garbage and avoiding putting his expensive shoes on the more dubious looking dark patches on the floor, and went up the rickety stairs until he reached the third floor. He walked along the landing until he found number 9. He rapped on the door with his cane and shortly the door was opened by a haggard, old woman. He flashed a bank note at her and she opened the door wide and beckoned him in.

‘I understand you have a young girl for sale,’ he asked her.

‘Yes, if you have the money. Come this way.’ She led the way into the parlour. It was filthy so when she offered him a seat, he declined.

He wasn’t there to mess about so he went straight to the point, ‘The girl,’ he asked, ‘how old is she?’

‘She was nine last birthday, Your Honour.’

‘Whose child is she? Won’t she be missed?’

‘She’s my daughter’s. Foolish girl went and died in the last Cholera outbreak. Left me with the child to look after. Me! At my age!’

‘So, she’s your Grand-daughter.’ It wasn’t a question.

She never saw him move. Once second he was just standing there relaxed, in the middle of the room, the next he had her flat against the wall with a knife across her throat.

‘And she’s not been touched? Your life on it?’

‘I swear, Your Honour! She’s as virgin as the day she was born. I knew I could get a better price if she was fresh.’ She smiled ingratiatingly.

Jim stepped back from her and suddenly he was no longer holding the knife. She hadn’t seen him put it away but it was no longer in his hand.

‘Fetch the girl,’ he commanded.

The old woman rushed to comply. She had seen his eyes up close when he had held her against the wall and she didn’t want to make him angry. Curiously, up close you could see little specks of silver colouring in those eyes.

She came back shortly with a young, blonde child in tow. The little girl had obviously just been woken up and stood there rubbing her eyes with both hands. She was wearing a dress so she obviously slept in her clothes. Very few people in this neighbourhood could afford the luxury of night clothes.

‘Her name is Sarah Bowen,’ said the old woman, ‘she’s a good, obedient girl. Pretty girl, too. She’ll please Your Honour, I’ll be bound.’

‘Fetch me a blanket,’ Jim told the old woman. While she was out the room he looked at the girl, who stared at up at him unafraid, with big, soulful, blue eyes and he felt something in his chest twist.

The old hag brought back a blanket. It was threadbare and dirty but it would have to do for now.

He looked at the child’s bare feet. ‘Does she have any shoes?’

‘Waste money on shoes when I could buy gin with it? Not likely.’ To the girl she said, ‘You’re to go with this nice man, Sarah. He will be taking care of you from now on.’

He gave the old woman ten pounds. She’d wanted fifteen but she saw his eyes as he handed her the notes, so she didn’t dare argue with him.

Jim bent down, wrapped the blanket around the girl then picked her up and took her out of the apartment. He went quickly down the stairs to his coach. As he opened the door of the coach, Sarah asked him, ‘Are you taking me away from Grannie forever?’

‘Yes I am,’ he replied.

‘So she won’t be able to hit me anymore?’

‘That’s right Sarah, no one will ever hit you again.’

The girl just smiled at him. He put her inside the cab.

‘Okay Bob, you know where to go,’ he shouted up to the cabbie.

‘Righto, Mr. Darby.’

Jim climbed into the coach and settled the girl on the seat. He gave her a bag of sweets and a teddy bear that were sitting on the seat. Her jaw dropped at the sight of the toy bear and she pulled it to her and held it tight as if it was in danger of escaping.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Where are we going?’

‘I’m taking you to a nice place where you will be well taken care of by nice people. There will be other children to play with too.’

Her eyes opened wide as he told her what she could expect where they were going. Clean sheets! Clean clothes! Food!

It was early evening and they drove for some time, through the foggy streets of Londum. The child sat there happily eating sweets and playing with her new teddy. Eventually the carriage pulled to a halt and the coachman called to him, ‘We’re here, Mr. Darby.’

Jim got out of the coach and helped the girl down. He turned around and stared up the steps to the sign above the front door.

Doctor Barnato’s Home for Orphaned Children

He led the girl up the stairs. At the top he turned to her and said, ‘Now remember what I told you in the coach, if you tell them about Grannie, they’ll send you back to her. Tell them you have no family, they died in the last cholera outbreak, okay?’

‘Okay,’ she replied.

Jim rang the bell. After a while the door was opened by a young, attractive nurse.

‘Good evening, I’ve brought a girl to be looked after,’ he told her. ‘She doesn’t have any family and she has nowhere to go.’

The nurse looked a bit nonplussed at that but opened the door and ushered them inside, anyway.

‘Well I’m sorry but we can’t just take a girl on the doorstep like this. It’s most irregular,’ the nurse protested.

Jim smiled. It was one of his most charming smiles, designed to weaken the fairer sex. ‘Excuse me, Nurse …?’

‘Phipps, Angela Phipps.’

‘Would a hundred pound donation to your funds be enough to make it … a little less irregular, Nurse Phipps?’ he proffered the bank notes in an envelope.

‘Well, no doubt Doctor Barnato will find that more than acceptable. I’m sure he would like to thank you personally.’

‘Oh, that won’t be necessary. Just promise me that you will take care of this little Angel for me, her name is Sarah Bowen.’

‘But of course, we can always fit another poor child in,’ the nurse replied.

He passed her the envelope containing the money and then he slipped another bank note into her uniform pocket. ‘Is there any chance of getting her some food and a bath before you put her to bed?’

‘Oh I’m sure we could manage that,’ the nurse replied.

Jim knelt down so he was level with the girl’s eyes. ‘I have to be going now Sarah. Nurse Phipps will take care of you.’

‘Will I see you again?’ Sarah asked. Nurse Phipps was wondering the same thing as well.

‘I’ll drop by occasionally to see how you are doing. Look after Teddy and be a good girl for me.’ He kissed her on the forehead and stood up.

‘Excuse me sir, what’s your name?’ asked the nurse.

Jim had been planning on leaving without telling anyone his name but the nurse had a nice smile and he looked down and saw Sarah looking up at him curiously with those big eyes. She clearly wanted to know too, so he weakened. ‘It’s Jim, Jim Darby.’

‘Well I’m sure that Dr. Barnato will be grateful Mr. Darby and … don’t worry, we’ll take care of Sarah.’

He nodded to the nurse and let himself out.

As he climbed into the cab he told the cabbie to take him to Annie’s place. As they rode through the murky streets Jim reflected on what a lucky escape Sarah Bowen had, had. Luckily Annie, a Madam of his acquaintance, had heard about the young girl being offered for sale and had tipped him off. It frightened him to think what might have happened to her if he hadn’t got there first, there were some sickoes out there.

Ah well, at least this time he was able to save someone.

As the cab rattled over the cobble-stoned streets of Londum, Jim thought to himself how much he loved this town and its people, in particular the East Enders. It was a fact known only to a few people that despite his expensive clothes and fine manners, he had actually been born in the East End, he was one of them. And when necessary, like tonight, he did whatever he could to protect them.

It was certainly a great time to be living in Londum, the capital city of Albion, the centre of a vast Empire that spanned a quarter of the globe, ruled by its much-loved Emperor and King of Albion, Victor. Albion’s influence had spread throughout the world by either trade or war, backed up by the incredible technological advances such as the steam engine, the telegraph and last but not least, the Maxim machine gun.

To be part of the Empire in this modern, Victorian era was the chance for any man, whether from a rich or a poor background, that had guts and ambition, to make a fortune for himself. Gentleman Jim Darby had both, in spades. Now in his mid thirties, he had amassed a modest fortune in the gold and diamond mines of the Dark Continent of Afreeka. But he never forgot his humble beginnings.

Jim spent a lot of his time in the East End and was well known to all the locals, on both sides of the law. He knew the thieves; the pickpockets, the Bangtails and other Unfortunates as the ladies of the night were known. They knew him by the name of Gentleman Jim due to the way he dressed and spoke like a toff and yet unknown to them, he was from the same streets as they were.

Jim was lost in his remembrances as the cab pulled to a halt outside Annie Parker’s establishment. He looked at the discreet, front door of an unassuming, ordinary looking house, amused by what lay behind that door.

It was set in a quiet little mews at the edge of the East End, where the neighbourhood was beginning to border on respectable. He climbed out of the coach and threw a few gold coins up to the driver. ‘Thanks for your help tonight Bob, see you around. Take care.’

Bob Carpenter tipped his hat and replied, ‘Anytime Mr. Darby.’ He urged the horses ahead and they trotted off down the road.

Jim watched him go. Good man that, he thought to himself. He always called on Bob when he needed reliable, discreet, transport anywhere.

He walked up the stairs and knocked on the front door of Annie’s. A man in a butler’s outfit opened the door and ushered him in. Despite what he was wearing there was no mistaking the build and attitude of the door security man. Jim nodded to him and the man took Jim’s hat, coat and cane.

It always amused Jim that the house looked so boring and middle-class respectable on the outside, but was plush and decadently furnished on the inside. Expensive furniture, flock wallpaper, luxurious carpets and glass chandeliers.

Jim looked around the foyer, casual velvet-lined sofas around the edge with a fountain in the centre of the room. The sofas were taken up by lovely young women chatting to predominantly middle-aged men. A staircase led off to the left and on the right was a double doorway that led through to the bar and dining area. Annie was standing in the entrance to the bar, smiling at him.

He went across to her and she kissed him on the cheek and slipping her arm through his, led him into the bar. ‘Ow’d it go then?’ she asked.

‘Mission accomplished. Thanks for the tip; I got there in time it seems. Took the young lassie to Doctor Barnato’s, as you suggested. I think she’ll be fine. She was glad to get away from her awful Grannie and she’s smart enough not to say anything that might lead them to return her to there.’

‘Two whiskies please, Sam,’ Annie said to the barman as they leaned on the bar. Jim took out his cigarette case and offered one to Annie, then lit both of their cigarettes. As the drinks arrived she held hers up before him, ‘A toast ... to all the young ladies that Mr. Darby saves from the streets.’

Jim smiled, held his glass up and took a swig. ‘Now careful Annie, stop trying to make me out to be some sort of a saint.’

‘Ain’t you a saint?’

‘You know perfectly well that I’m more of a sinner, actually. And I only save ladies like you from the streets, so I can have them for myself.’

‘Anytime, Mr. Darby.’

‘Jim. I keep telling you, it’s Jim.’

Annie grabbed the whisky bottle and took it to a table, Jim joined her.

‘As long as you’re the major shareholder in this establishment, then it’s Mr. Darby. Maybe once I’ve paid you off, then I’ll call you Jim.’

‘Very well but be careful who you tell that I put up the money for this place. I don’t want to be known for running a brothel. As far as I’m concerned it was a straight business loan to you personally, what you’ve done with it is your business.’

(One day Annie Parker, after one of their ‘encounters’, when they were lying there smoking, had told Jim how tired she was of seeing girls on the street, risking death at the hands of total strangers and how nice it would be to open a place where they could be well looked after and protected, and customers could be vetted.

So, Jim had offered her a simple business proposition, he would lend her the money so she could open up such an establishment. The deeds to the building would be in her name, as he had no desire to become a brothel owner, and she would pay him back as and when she could. Annie had accepted his offer eagerly and the deal was struck.)

‘Now don’t you worry ducks, your secret is safe with me. Now then, what are your plans for tonight?’ she asked hopefully.

‘Well, I’ve got a busy day tomorrow, got to get up early so I thought I’d just-’ He was interrupted by the noise of a disturbance next door, in the foyer. He stood up and went to see what the shouting was all about.

When he entered the foyer he saw the doorman pinned up against the wall by two louts, who looked familiar to Jim. Oh yes, they hung around with-

‘Well, if it ain’t Mr. Darby.’ came an obnoxious voice from Jim’s left.

‘Ah, Big Mick McGarry. I thought I recognise your sidekicks,’ he replied. ‘Are you causing trouble?’

Big Mick had hold of one of the girls by the arm. ‘I just wanted to go upstairs with this young lady but she thinks my money ain’t good enough.’

‘You’re drunk,’ said the girl, ‘that’s why I won’t go with you.’

‘You’re a whore,’ replied Big Mick. ‘When did you get the right to pick and choose who you go with?’

‘When she came to work here,’ said Jim.

‘Is that so?’

‘Yes it is.’

‘Sez who?’

‘Sez me! Now let go of the girl or I’ll come over there and make you reconsider some of your life choices.’

‘You’ll do what?’ said Big Mick, baffled by Jim’s statement.

‘Eloquence … it’s wasted on you peasants, isn’t it. Okay I’ll keep it simple. Put her down or I’ll put you down.’

‘I’d like to see you tr- Aaaagh!’

While Big Mick was talking, Jim had taken a couple of steps towards him, grabbed his arm with one hand and bent back the fingers of Big Mick’s hand that was holding the girl, so he had to release her.

Jim gave the girl a gentle push to get her out of the way and then turned his attention back to Big Mick. He didn’t hit him too hard as he wanted him still able to walk out the place. Jim didn’t want the trouble of having to drag an unconscious man out of there.

First he hit him on the bicep to deaden his arm and then he punched him twice in the stomach. As he bent over Jim grabbed his other arm, twisted it up behind his back and marched him towards the door. As he reached the bouncer being held by Big Mick’s mates, Jim twisted Big Mick’s arm so he squealed until they let the bouncer go. The bouncer opened the door and between the two of them they threw Big Mick and his cronies out the door and into the street.

‘I’ll let you use The Golden Gryphon as that’s your local but I never want to see you in here again,’ said Jim. ‘Got that?’

Big Mick’s eyes blazed with fury but he knew when he was beaten so he nodded. As Jim stepped back inside and closed the door, Big Mick continued to stare at the closed door. ‘One day, Darby … you just wait, one day,’ he muttered under his breath.

Back inside, the doorman said, ‘Thanks for your help, Mr. Darby. The two of them alone I could have handled but with Big Mick too, well ...’

‘No problem, glad to help,’ replied Jim.

Annie was waiting for him at the bar with a glass of whisky. ‘Ail the conquerin’ ‘ero. An’ what would you like for a reward?’

Jim slugged back the whisky in one go. ‘That kind of ruined my appetite, I think I’ll just hit the sack, got a busy day tomorrow. Do you have a spare room?’

‘Sure,’ she replied, ‘number twelve should be free, I’ll get you the key.’ She returned a moment later and passed him the key.

‘Night Annie,’ he kissed her on the cheek. ‘Night Sam.’

The barman waved amiably and looked at Annie who was watching Jim cross the foyer and go up the stairs.

‘Why don’t you tell him how you feel?’ asked Sam.

‘What would be the point, Sam? ‘Is sort don’t take up with street girls like me, they might ‘ave some fun with us but that’s all. Besides, if I told ‘im it might scare ‘im off and I’d never see ‘im again. At least at the moment I get to ‘ave ‘im every once in a while, for a short time. It’s better than nothin’.

‘Anyway, I think that for a relationship, ‘is type would want somethin’ better, somethin’ more of a challenge, I guess.’

Sam just shrugged and went back to cleaning the glasses.

***

And now, if this was a film or on TV, the picture would begin to waver and the light would get dimmer … it’s all right, you’re not having a stroke …

IT’S A FLASHBACK!!

We go back in time to many years earlier in Jim’s life. You can tell he is much younger as his hair is longer and he wears it in a ponytail. So he is obviously younger, as men over thirty should really, … no, I mean REALLY, should never wear ponytails. Unless of course, you’re the lead singer in a Rock band, that’s the ONLY time when it’s permissible.

(And if you disagree with that statement ask yourself this, what do real ponytails grow out of? So unless you want your head to look like a horse’s arse, think carefully my friend.)

Jim Darby straightened up and rubbed his aching back. He stood there, knee-deep in the rice field as the rain lashed down on him.

What am I doing here? he asked himself for the hundredth time as he watched the wizened old man sitting cross-legged in the doorway of his hut, silently watching Jim and those working alongside him.

All around Jim were young Cantonese men all bent double, as they marched slowly backwards in line, sticking rice plants into the submerged mud in which they stood.

Why am I doing this, I’m not a rice farmer? he asked himself again. He threw down his handful of rice plants and squelched his way to the raised ground at the edge of the field. He stood there, letting the rain wash the mud off him as he looked around at his fellow workers. Like him they were not rice farmers, they too had come to study the ancient Cantonese Martial Art of Gung-Ho, a lethal form of unarmed combat. And that is why they were here in this remote village in Canton, because this was where the school of Canton’s greatest Gung-Ho Master was situated.

And that Master, Canton’s greatest exponent of Gung-Ho, Tie-Pin, was the wizened old man who sat, unmoving, watching them labour in the rain.

(There was another world famous Martial Art from Nippon which was based on the idea of using vegetables as weapons. It was called … Carroty.)

Jim was still a young man and the wanderlust was in his veins, so he was roaming the world, trying to find his place in it. While crossing Canton, he had learnt of Tie-Pin and the method of self-defence that he was teaching and so he had made his way to this village and enrolled as a student of the Master of Gung-Ho.

But since he’d been here, all that Tie-Pin had done was to exercise them all day, every day with stretching and running and endurance exercises, in between which he made them help out the villagers, tending the rice crop.

I’ve had enough of this, thought Jim and made his way up the muddy, sloping road that led from the paddy fields to the village.

Tie-Pin watched Jim impassively as he squelched his way up the slope and stopped in front of Tie-Pin’s hut, standing defiantly with his feet apart, hands on his hips. ‘I’ve been here a month now and all you’ve had us do is run around or plant rice. When are you going to teach us something useful?’ he demanded.

‘Running around increases your endurance, bending to plant and pick rice increases your flexibility; carrying bags of rice around increases your strength,’ answered the old man dryly.

‘Is that it?’

‘For now.’

‘But I came here to learn things … aren’t you going to make me paint your fence or wax your rickshaw or something?’

The old man slowly raised himself to a standing position then quicker than the eye could follow, shot out his foot and kicked Jim in the centre of his chest. The blow lifted Jim off his feet and deposited him in a large puddle, several feet away.

Tie-Pin stood on his porch, careful not to get wet and told him, ‘That is your first lesson; when somebody tries to kick you ... move!

‘Listen Gwailoh (Foreign Devil) … The Master is not ready to teach until the pupil is ready to learn. Now go! Plant rice!’ He went into the hut and closed the door behind him.

Jim sat in the puddle, cradling his chest as the rain came down.

***

Jim did indeed have a busy day ahead of him. He arrived at the British Museum next day, bright and early, with his camera and tripod under his arm. His press credentials testified that he was Reginald Smallpiece of The Illustrated Science Weekly. No one who knew him would have recognised him either, as his handsome, clean-shaven features were hidden behind a false moustache and side-whiskers. He was also wearing tinted glasses to cover up the silver flecks in his eyes. Too much of a giveaway if someone was asked to describe him.

He was posing as a journalist to give him access to the British Museum’s Press day for the upcoming exhibition of the Treasures of the Boy Faraoh … Tuten Kha-Hawn.

Albion archaeologists had discovered the buried Pyramide of the Boy Faraoh that had been lost in the sands of Eejipt. These Pyramides of Eejipt had been studied for years by the archaeologists and there was much argument about their true purpose. Besides being used to hold the mummified remains and treasures of the Ancient Faraohs, did they hold the untold secrets to the mysteries of the Universe as some believed, or were they simply Ancient Eejiptian dry ski-slopes?

Nobody knew for certain.

(The believers in the mystical powers of the Pyramides will tell you all sorts of fantastic tales about them. Like the proportions of X times Y times Z are exactly, almost, the distance to our nearest star … if you subtract two.

They claim that the basic Pyramide shape has amazing properties, like placing fruit in it will keep it fresh indefinitely and if you put a blunt razor blade inside, it will somehow, Magickally become sharp overnight.

It doesn’t work. I know … I’ve tried. All that happened was my banana became sharp and the razor blade was preserved forever. ((Well, it hasn’t gone rusty yet.))

You see, the big mistake that the Pyramide designers made in attempting to build the most magnificent, magickal, physical, elemental, structures the world has ever seen, was to build them with four sides. Ha! Idiots.

Sure, they built triangles with three sides … but they built too many.

While the Universe is built on balance, opposing forces, Yin and Yang etc., from a mathematical and a scientific point of view, the physical Universe is based on the power of three. ((Don’t talk to me about binary.))

Everything comes in threes. Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Yesterday, today and tomorrow. Tom, Dick and Harry. Winking, Blinking and Nod. It’s all about three.

The Pyramide builders should have built triangular Pyramides … with three sides! That would have given them the source of incredible power that they were seeking.

We could have had interstellar travel, free power for all without nukes or global warming ((as well as an everlasting supply of fresh fruit and sharp razor blades.))

They so nearly got it right and all. Ah well, that’s life.)

Anyway, Tuten Kha-Hawn’s treasures from his hidden Pyramide had been found and were going to go on display in the British Museum. The museum had allowed all the papers and journals to come in before the Exhibition opened and freely photograph all the exhibits.

The photographers were able to wander around the Great Hall in perfect freedom (closely watched by security guards) and to photograph anything that took their fancy. Jim busied himself apparently taking long shots of the gallery they were in, but he was actually taking pictures of the layout of the room, where the exhibits were, how far it was to the staircases that adorned each side of the room, how many windows there were etc.

He worked on this for some time, taking pictures of the mummy, the gold headpiece, the jewelled necklaces and all the rest of Tuten Kha-Hawn’s finery until he’d finally worked his way to the spot where he actually wanted to be.

He casually stood his camera on its tripod in front of the display case and stood for a moment, drinking in the sight. It was a magnificent statue of a cobra’s head, standing about a foot tall, made of solid gold with large rubies for its eyes. The Snake-head was reared up with its hood flared out like it was going to attack. Jim had seen photos of it when it was first taken out of the tomb, and he thought it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen and he wanted it for himself.

But first, he had to find out as much about it as he could. He got a tape measure and measured the distance between his camera and the display case. Then he adjusted the lens until it was properly focussed and after loading his flash unit with powder, he took his first photo. Then he proceeded to take one from every angle, carefully measuring the distance after he had moved the camera. After each photograph he noted down in his reporter’s notebook the number of the shot, the distance from the subject, the precise angle the shot was taken from based on the clock system. Every useful piece of information that could be recorded was meticulously jotted down in the notebook.

Every one watching thought him over cautious and being too exacting and it raised a few smiles amongst the experienced journos, but what none of them knew, was that the lens of the camera had a grid pattern etched onto it. So anyone looking at the photos later, knowing the scale of the grid and the exact distance that it was taken from, could work out exactly the dimensions of the cobra head. The height, the width and the exact distances between its major features such as its eyes and its nose and so on.

When he was satisfied that he had as much information as he could gather, he packed his kit away and, tipping his hat to the security guard, left the museum.

***

Jim spent the rest of the day developing the photographic plates and producing photographs from them. Then he left them hanging to dry overnight in his bathroom.

Next day he gathered all the photos together with his notepad and put them into a leather bag. Putting on his coat and hat he picked up the bag and his cane and left the house in search of a cab.

Sometime later, the cab deposited him in the area of Londum known as ‘Goldsmith Alley’. Most of the artificers, the craftsmen who worked in precious metals had their workshops here. He made his way to the office of one Yakob Stein. He rang the doorbell and shortly a spy hole was drawn back and he was studied carefully for many seconds. Finally it slid shut and there was a sound of bolts being withdrawn from inside.

The door creaked open slowly and he made his way from the bright light of the street into the gloom inside. There was a young male acting as bodyguard and doorman, who closed and bolted the door again after Jim had entered the hallway.

‘Good morning, Mr. Darby, may I take your things?’

‘Morning Ari,’ replied Jim. He put down his bag and took his hat and coat off and handed them over to the young man, along with his cane. The bag he kept with him.

‘My father will be pleased to see you. If you’d just like to follow me,’ said the young man and led the way up the corridor to a back room.

My father, thought Jim. Blood is the best security isn’t it?

After knocking on the door, the guard opened it and ushered Jim into the room then closed the door behind him, from the outside.

‘Mr. Darby, so good to see you again, please take a seat,’ said the old man behind the desk. His white beard and his big glasses made him look like some benevolent old grandfather, which he probably was, but Jim knew he was also the finest goldsmith he had ever come across.

‘Morning Yakob, how are you?’

‘A little back pain, the damp weather makes my knees ache but you shouldn’t complain, should you?’

That doesn’t stop you though, does it? thought Jim. But aloud he said, ‘Well, it’s better than the alternative isn’t it?’

‘Indeed, indeed. Now how may I be of assistance to you, Mr. Darby?’

‘Do you remember that little project we spoke of?’

‘Yes I do, rather fanciful I thought to be honest but what is life if a man’s reach doesn’t exceed his grasp? It would certainly be a challenge, one of my biggest. But you would need incredibly detailed information to accomplish such a thing.’

Jim opened his bag and took out the photos and the notebook. ‘It’s all explained in there how the grid is scaled and all the angles and distances from where the photos were taken.’

‘It would take a large amount of cash also.’

Jim reached into the bag again and took out a very thick wad of bank notes. He placed it on top of the pictures, ‘That should cover most of it; let me know when you need more.’

The old artificer adjusted his glasses and looked through the photographs, ruffled the wad of money and glanced through the notebook. ‘Very well, if it were anyone else I would say no but for you I shall do it. It will be my finest work, the highlight of my career. A pity that no one will ever know about it.’

‘Oh, they’ll find out one day I imagine, when they come to move it.’

‘But no one will ever know it was me … never appreciate my artwork.’

‘You’re wrong Yakob, I will know.’

‘Then that will have to be enough,’ replied Yakob, with a smile.

***

Jim walked into The Golden Gryphon, an East End pub. The barman saw him and nodded recognition, Jim was a regular at The Golden Gryphon, the truth was he secretly owned it, but only the man whose name was above the door as the licensee, Leonard J. Poole, knew that.

Despite Jim’s wealth and his acceptance in the highest echelons of society, he’d actually been born and brought up in these mean streets of the East End. He still liked coming back to visit his roots and he actually enjoyed it here in the lower strata of society, where he was often referred to as Gentleman Jim. He loved these people and the Gods help anyone who tried to hurt them.

Actually it wasn’t that unusual to see the toffs down here in the East End (where the drink was cheap and so were the women) for a night of carousing after they’d been to the theatre or the music hall, so Jim didn’t stand out that much, after all.

He’d decided that if he was going to come down to the East End of Londum regularly, he needed a base of operations where he could relax when he was there, the drink wasn’t watered down, the food was clean and safe to eat, and he knew the staff would watch his back. So he’d scouted round the pubs, decided on The Golden Gryphon and made a deal with the owner. For a large amount of money and a free makeover for the pub, the owner had agreed for Jim to become the new owner but his name would remain on the license and they would split the profits equally.

The barman had obviously called through to the back and Lenny Poole came over to his table carrying a couple of drinks.

‘Hi Lenny,’ said Jim. ‘I see you’ve brought two drinks, have a seat.’

Lenny sat down and slid one of the drinks over to Jim. ‘Nice to see you Mr. Darby. You ain’t been in for a while. Been busy?’

‘Oh you know, keeping myself occupied. How’s business?’

‘Been quite good lately, your fifty percent will be in the bank as usual.’

‘Oh I know that, you wouldn’t be running this place if I didn’t trust you,’ Jim assured him.

Lenny smiled and raised his glass in a toast as acknowledgment of the compliment.

‘So what’s going on around here, anything interesting?’ asked Jim.

Lenny looked thoughtful and took a sip of his drink. ‘You sometimes get interested in charitable things don’t you, Mr. Darby?’

‘Depends what you mean by charitable things.’

‘Helping people out, that sort of thing.’

‘I have been known to, why’d you ask?’

‘Well, there’s this road not far from here called Suffolk Street. One landlord owns the whole street, nasty skinflint he is. Anyway, he’s going to sell the whole street, so all the houses can be knocked down and a factory built instead. All the families will be made homeless. There’ll be something like twenty families all thrown out onto the street. Terry the barman, his sister lives there, that’s how I got to hear about this. I was wondering if you could think of a way to help them out.’

‘I don’t know. I’m not really a property dealer, you know,’ said Jim.

‘No, but you’ve been around a bit, you bought this place and you rent your place up West, so you know your way round a legal document. I thought that perhaps you might come up with a way of helping them. I was wondering if you’d speak to the Tenants Association and see if you could come up with something.’

‘Well, if you can get this, what did you call it? Tenants Association to come here, I’ll have a word with them. I don’t promise anything though.’

‘I’m sure I can get them here tomorrow, they’re desperate for help. That be all right with you? Say twelve o’clockish?’

‘Sure, that’ll be fine. Right, now, what’s on the menu for lunch?’

***

Next day Jim was sitting at his usual table at The Golden Gryphon, reading the paper and sipping a cup of coffee when Lenny politely knocked on the table to get his attention.

Jim looked up and Lenny said, ‘I’ve brought some of the Suffolk Street Tenant’s Association to see you.’

Jim folded his paper up and stood up. There were two people besides Lenny and Terry the barman, a man who was introduced as Ted Grove and a young female who was Terry’s sister, Julie. Jim bade them both to sit down while Terry brought them all drinks.

‘Now then, Lenny tells me you are having some problems with your Landlord. Perhaps you’d care to elaborate?’ said Jim.

Ted and Julie looked at each other and Julie urged Ted to go first. ‘Well Mr. Darby, all of Suffolk Street is owned by one man, a Mr. Bachman. He doesn’t do much in the way of upkeep for the houses in the street, just the bare minimum to stay legal I suppose and he charges as much as he can get away with. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago he comes to us all and says that he has had a good offer to buy the whole street, lock stock and barrel and unless we can outbid them, he’s going to sell to them.’

‘Who are them?’ asked Jim.

‘Some firm that manufactures ball bearings, apparently, from up north I guess. They’re looking for a site near to the docks where their raw materials come in. They don’t want to have to transport it too far, so if they had a factory close to the docks they could save a bit of money, I suppose.

‘Well, all the householders got together and decided we could do more acting as one body than all trying to sort out our own arrangements. The Tenants Association we called ourselves. They elected me as the spokesman, so I went to see Bachman.’

‘I bet that went well,’ said Jim, drily.

‘No, not at all,’ said Ted. ‘He told me that if we could raise a thousand pounds, he would sell us the street. As if we could raise that sort of money. So, I suppose that’s it for us. We were just getting ready to pack up and move out when Terry came to us and said you’d be willing to talk to us. I don’t quite see what you can actually do for us, short of coughing up a thousand pounds, but if there’s any chance of saving our homes then we’ll talk to anybody. Anyway, we appreciate you taking the time to listen to us.’

‘It’s no problem, I assure you,’ replied Jim. ‘I’ve got to be honest though, on the face of it I can’t see any way of sorting out your problem but I’ll tell you what, give me Bachman’s address and a list of who lives in which house and I’ll see what I can do. I make no promises but you never know, I may be able to persuade Mr. Bachman to change his mind.’

‘It’s very kind of you take the trouble Mr. Darby,’ Julie chipped in. ‘Our Terry said you were a good bloke. We’d appreciate anything you can do to help.’

‘Well, it’s nice of Terry to say that, so, I’ll do my best not to let you both down. Give me the information I asked for then go home and wait until you hear from me or Terry. Okay?’

Ted handed over all the information that Jim had asked for. As head of The Tenants Association he already had all the members names and addresses then he wrote Bachman’s office address on a piece of paper and slid it across to Jim.

‘Right then,’ said Ted. ‘If that will be all, I’ve got to get home and get ready for my shift tonight, I’m a watchman down at the docks. Nice to meet you Mr. Darby,’ he shook Jim’s hand, ‘I’ll look forward to hearing from you.’

‘Bye Ted, Julie. Don’t be too downhearted, I’m sure something can be arranged,’ Jim reassured them.

***

Jim walked into Bachman’s office. Well, his outer office to be precise, there was one clerk sitting behind a desk, scribbling in a ledger. Beyond him there were two doors to inner offices, one marked ‘Mr. Bachman’ and the other blank.

The clerk didn’t see Jim until he reached over and tapped on the desk with his cane. The clerk shot upright, startled.

‘I’ve come to see Mr. Bachman,’ Jim informed him.

‘You got an appointment, sir? Mr. Bachman don’t see no one without an appointment.’

‘Oh he’ll see me, I’m sure,’ Jim replied. He leaned over and put his business card and a piece of paper on the desk in front of the clerk.

‘What’s this?’ asked the clerk, holding up the paper.

‘It’s an unsigned cheque with Mr. Bachman’s name on it, for a thousand pounds.’

‘And what am I meant to do with it?’ asked the clerk, mystified.

Oh dear, thought Jim, you just can’t get the staff these days. ‘Give it to Mr. Bachman with my business card, I guarantee he’ll see me then.’

‘Er yeah, sure. Wait here a minute,’ said the clerk. He got up and went to the door marked ‘Mr. Bachman’ and knocked nervously. There was a muffled shout that presumably meant ‘Come In’ as that’s what the clerk did. He closed the door behind him and there was more muffled shouting, Jim suspected of the kind, ‘I said no visitors,’ which abruptly stopped, Jim assumed, when the cheque was produced.

A moment later the door opened and a small man came through, smiling and rubbing his hands. Jim didn’t take to him as he had oily, unwashed hair, dirty fingernails and shifty eyes.

‘Mr. … er …’ he checked the business card, ‘… Darby. Do come in, come in.’ He ushered Jim into his office settled him into a chair and shooed the clerk out of the room. Seating himself behind the desk he asked Jim, ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ he asked holding up the cheque.

‘I’ve come to talk to you about Suffolk St. I understand that it’s up for sale.’

‘Possibly, possibly and what if it is? Of what interest would that be to you?’

‘Well, I was just wondering what would happen to all the families in those houses?’

‘They would have to find somewhere else to live but that is not my concern, I’m afraid in today’s modern world it’s every man for himself. After all, business is business.’

Fine, thought Jim, I gave you the chance to reconsider and you didn’t take it, so business it is then. ‘Well, I understand that you may be selling it to a certain ball bearing manufacturer,’ he said.

‘And if that were true? I ask again, what concern is it of yours?’ replied Bachman.

‘Well, suppose I were a rival ball bearing manufacturer,’ replied Jim. ‘It might be to my advantage to not let him set up a new factory and thereby stop him from increasing his output.’

‘Ah I see, so it would be in your interest to outbid them for Suffolk St. then?’

‘Yes indeed, it would be a worthy investment. So, what do you say to that thousand pounds that you are holding? Would that be a fair price?’

‘Well, it would be a fair price if you were the only person asking but as you noted, there are already interested parties who have pledged that price, why even the residents of the street themselves have as good as promised as much.’ Jim knew that was a lie. ‘However, in this case if you want to attract my attention you are going to have to sweeten the pot even more. Shall we say, fifteen hundred pounds?’

‘Or we could say eleven hundred,’ replied Jim.

They haggled back and forth for a few moments until they agreed on twelve hundred and fifty pounds. It made no difference to Jim, he would have agreed to any amount. He just intended to steal it back anyway. As they were talking Jim was also studying the room, he couldn’t spot anywhere that might hold a safe.

‘So, will you take another cheque?’ Jim asked him.

‘Oh, I think I would need some more guarantee than a cheque which could so easily be stopped. We’ll have to come to some more concrete arrangement.’

‘Very well,’ said Jim. ‘Meet me at this bank tomorrow at eleven o’clock,’ he wrote the name and address on a piece of paper and gave it to Bachman. ‘Bring the deeds of all the houses on the street and you’ll get your money in cash. That way there’s no chance of me cheating you. Is that acceptable?’

‘That sounds reasonable,’ agreed Bachman.

‘Fine,’ said Jim standing up, ‘Eleven o’clock it is.’

He let Bachman show him out into the main office where he stopped and spoke to him again. ‘It’s a pleasure to do business with you Mr. Bachman,’ he made a point of shaking Bachman’s hand, ‘and a fine young clerk you have too,’ and then shook the clerk’s hand, then Bachman’s again and then he dropped his hat. In doing so he got himself turned around several times so that when he did what he did next, it seemed merely a mistake.

He said goodbye and then made straight for the door to the other inner office, instead of the one leading out onto the landing. Opening the door to the office, he stepped through. He had a quick look around the room; it seemed a perfectly ordinary stock room with a skylight, casting bright sunlight onto a Sanders and Forbes Mark IV safe. That was what he wanted to know!

Jim backed out of the room acting all confused. ‘I’m so sorry, I must have got all turned around, lost my bearings, you know. I got the doors mixed up. So sorry.’

‘No matter, no matter,’ Bachman reassured him. ‘No harm done.’

‘Well thank you. I shall see you tomorrow at eleven then, good day.’ And with that, Jim let himself out the correct door this time and went off down the corridor, whistling.

***

It was eleven o’clock and Jim, Bachman, the bank manager and Jim’s lawyer, Mr. Roper, were sitting in the manager’s office at Jim’s bank.

‘Now then,’ said Mr. Roper, ‘Once Mr. Bachman and Mr. Darby have signed these deeds that Mr. Bachman has provided, the manager will give Mr. Bachman an envelope containing twelve hundred and fifty pounds. At that point Mr. Darby will be the legal owner of all the properties on Suffolk St. with all rights and responsibilities of the owner and Mr. Bachman will have no further claim on them. Is everyone in accord with this?’

Jim and Bachman nodded agreement.

‘Very well then,’ said the lawyer. ‘Mr. Bachman, please sign here on each document and then if Mr. Darby could sign here,’ he passed the documents from Bachman to Jim to countersign until they were all stacked up in front of him, at which point he picked them up and shuffled them into his briefcase.

The bank manager slid the envelope across to Bachman who checked it closely and then pocketed it.

‘Well,’ said the lawyer, ‘If everyone is happy then we can conclude our business.’ They all stood up and shook hands. Bachman left first. Jim and the lawyer thanked the bank manager and left together. Outside, Bob Carpenter was waiting in his cab. Jim nodded to him and said, ‘Golden Gryphon please, Bob.’

‘Righto, Mr. Darby.’

Jim and Mr. Roper climbed in and Bob set off.

***

Jim got out of the cab and helped the lawyer carry another case that Bob had been looking after in the cab, into The Golden Gryphon. Lenny Poole met them and took them upstairs to one of the function rooms. There was a table set up in the middle of the room