“Five barkers?” Chokee Bill’s eyes widened in astonishment.
Now that his secret was out, Pierce became very nervous. “That’s right,” he said, glancing this way and that, “five is what I need.”
“Five’s a goodly number,” Bill said, frowning.
Pierce immediately edged toward the door. “Well, if you can’t snaffle them—”
“Wait, now,” Bill said, “I’m not saying can’t. You never heard me say can’t. All’s I said is five is a goodly number, which it is, right enough.”
“I was told you had them at hand,” Pierce said, still nervous.
“I may.”
“Well, then, I should like to purchase them at once.”
Chokee Bill sighed. “They’re not here, sir— you can count on that— a man doesn’t keep barkers about in an uncle shop, no, sir.”
“How quickly can you get them?”
As Pierce became more agitated, Chokee Bill became more calm, more appraising. Pierce could almost see his mind working, thinking over the meaning of a request for five pistols. It implied a major crime, and no mistake. As a blower, he might make a penny or two if he knew the details.
“It would be some days, sir, and that’s the truth,” Bill said.
“I cannot have them now?”
“No, sir, you’d have to give me a space of time, and then I’ll have them for you, right enough.”
“How much time?”
There followed a long silence. Bill went so far as to mumble to himself, and tick off the days on his fingers. “A fortnight would be safe.”
“A fortnight!”
“Eight days, then.”
“Impossible,” Pierce said, talking aloud to himself. “In eight days, I must be in Greenw—” He broke off. “No,” he said. “Eight days is too long.”
“Seven?” Bill asked.
“Seven,” Pierce said, staring at the ceiling. “Seven, seven… seven days… Seven days is Thursday next?”
“Aye, Sir”
At what hour on Thursday next?”
“A question of timing, is it?” Bill asked, with a casualness that was wholly unconvincing.
Pierce just stared at him.
“I don’t mean to pry, sir,” Bill said quickly.
“Then see you do not. What hour on Thursday?”
“Noon.”
Pierce shook his head. “We will never come to terms. It is impossible and I—”
“Here, now— here, now. What hour Thursday must it be?”
“No later than ten o’clock in the morning.”
Chokee Bill reflected. “Ten o’clock here?”
“Yes.”
“And no later?”
“Not a minute later.”
“Will you be coming yourself, then, to collect them?”
Once again, Pierce gave him a stern look. “That hardly need concern you. Can you supply the pieces or not?”
“I can,” Bill said. “But there’s an added expense for the quick service.”
“That will not matter,” Pierce said, and gave him ten gold guineas. “You may have this on account”
Chokee Bill looked at the coins, turned them over in his palm. “I reckon this is the half of it.”
“So be it.”
“And the rest will be paid in kind?”
“In gold, yes.”
Bill nodded. “Will you be needing shot as well?”
“What pieces are they?”
“Webley 48-bore, rim-fire, holster models, if my guess is right.”
“Then I will need shot.”
“Another three guineas for shot,” Chokee Bill said blandly.
“Done,” Pierce said. He went to the door, and paused. “A final consideration,” he said. “If, when I arrive Thursday next, the pieces are not waiting, it shall go hard with you.”
“I’m reliable, sir.”
“It will go very hard,” Pierce said again, “if you are not. Think on it” And he left.
__________
It was not quite dark; the street was dimly lit by gas lamps. He did not see the lurking crusher but knew he was there somewhere. He took a cab and drove to Leicester Square, where the crowds were gathering for the evening’s theatrical productions. He entered one throng, bought a ticket for a showing of She Stoops to Conquer, and then lost himself in the lobby. He was home an hour later, after three cab changes and four duckings in and out of pubs. He was quite certain he had not been followed.
Chapter 36
Scotland Yard Deduces
The morning of May 18th was uncommonly warn and sunny, but Mr. Harranby took no pleasure in the weather. Things were going very badly, and he had treated his assistant, Mr. Sharp, with notable ill temper when he was informed of the death of the snakesman Clean Willy in a nethersken in Seven Dials. When he was later informed that his tails had lost the gentleman in the theatre crowd— a man they knew only as Mr. Simms, with a house in Mayfair— Mr. Harranby had flown into a rage, and complained vigorously about the ineptitude of his subordinates, including Mr. Sharp.