detective, you see, was really a very wealthy man. His worth is said to be immeasurable, and his own line nearer to that of royalty than you or I know. Whatever his reasons for lending a hand now we can only be certain that when the man called Rivers was seen leaving his alehouse a little while later, he did so with a decided spring in his step and on Bailey’s arm. Together they turned around the nearest corner, passing briefly beneath the swinging iron sign of the establishment—the Fun Friar’s, it was called, denoted by the sight of four jolly fat men in frocks raising tankards carved into the thick wooden plaque tucked inside the iron framework—and entered a side alley with the landlord leading, pointing out the general direction of his cellar entrance.
“Oh you cannot believe how grateful I am for your help, my lord! Finally, I can shake off these nightmarish last weeks, months!”
As they walked arm-in-arm Bailey rubbed at his prominent chin. “When should we expect to meet with these fellows?”
“It is, as it has been for months now, the same time set,” he was told by Mr. Rivers. “They come by at midnight, and I am to meet them behind my business at the cellar doors.” Then, hesitantly, as if he were somewhat afraid his unanticipated good fortune might just as quickly desert him now: “I hope, my lord, I am not taking you away from some pressing matter. But I trust I will have your help tonight.”
“No, I am wholly yours,” said Bailey. “I had remembered just now of a previous engagement set for that same time, but happily I am no longer obliged to attend, so there is no conflict.”
On both sides the tall walls of the adjacent buildings stretched into the sky with their worn, drab faces here and there marred by disrepair. Every window above them was darkened. Reaching the end of the alley they took another turn, and soon the passage widened until at last arriving before an opening into a broad lane, a thoroughfare of commerce and one of the primary arteries of the city by which traffic, during the day, would be seen going in either direction by the hundreds towards a great bridge spanning the breadth of the street at one end, and at the other, the deep wharfs with the tall masts of ships raised into the sky like thickets of trees in a grove.
“How many of these roughs may we expect to meet with tonight?” Bailey asked.
“Three, my lord,” the innkeeper replied. “Sometimes there are only two, but usually one more than that is the norm.”
“And I take it that you will point out the leader to me so that I might address my concerns directly to him?”
“Of course, sir. I do not know his name, but there is one man in particular who never fails to appear, and always in some capacity as a manager of things. You won’t fail to recognize him by his distinctive orange colored whiskers. Ah but they are a screwy bunch, with claws that dig deep, though before you they will be nothing more than children in dire need of proper discipline. Here we are, sir. Here we are.”
As they neared the opening into the street there appeared then a little flight of stairs cut into the mortar of the building, leading downwards towards a set of thick, sturdy doors fastened by lock and bolt. Three men, it could be plainly seen, were already halfway down, loitering about with their elbows resting on the steps. At the sight of the innkeeper one gave a short whistle and all three arose at once, though their faces soon twisted over with surprise and not a little suspicion alighting upon his tall companion.
“Hullo!” cried Bailey’s host by ways of greeting as they drew up to the staircase.
“Hullo,” replied one of the men, raising his hand to his cap. One could not fail to remark the fellow’s prominent whiskers bristling from around his ears like the mane of a lion, nor their curious hue—orange, as advertised. “What’s this then? You’ve brought someone?”
“Ah!” replied Mr. Rivers with some triumph in his voice. “This is only an associate of mine, a close friend on a visit to whom I have appealed to with my own problems for years! He has kindly made time for me now to come down out of curiosity for the work done here.”
The man’s eyes narrowed with disapproval, and his lips took on the first signs of a coming snarl. He ascended to the top of the stone staircase with his comrades, and standing together shoulder to shoulder barred the opening of the alley from view. Truly they were a formidable looking gang of grooms, all plain patchwork jackets and tall worn boots, with wide brimmed caps throwing black shadows over their eyes. At the sight of the three, poised to advance, Bailey’s host gave a short gasp of fright and retreated behind his protector, so that for a moment the detective was caught between his obligations to his host and his tormentors whom he was to be responsible for chasing away.
When the first blow of the evening fell it should then come as no utter surprise to anyone but Bailey himself, for it had been aimed behind his back and delivered just as he extended a hand towards the orange-haired man striding forward to meet with him. It fell with the force of a stroke of lightning from the heavens and in an instant of brought low the worthy man, who dropped then to his knees.
The practice of knocking a man senseless while preserving his life has never been a task which was made as easy as it was to describe as it was to accomplish, for the heads of men are sturdier than often they were given credit. A case could perhaps be made that it was far simpler to crack open a man’s skull and ooze the life out of him than it was to club him into total insensitivity. Thus it remains to be stated that when Bailey fell, he did so with full awareness and every-knowledge that he had been betrayed.
Still, I think he could have made some trouble for his assailants if he wanted, for his was the constitution of an adventurer in the prime of his life. Swordsman; marksman; pugilist under the rules of many nations, he should have been a formidable champion by any stretch of the imagination. But alas the trap, as it were, was expertly sprung, and the surprise too great to overcome. Down he went, and with thorough efficiency he was covered and kept pressed to the ground by the three men, even as his host readied another blow to cave in his head. Never was there a more profound change in the countenance of a man from one instant to another. Gone was the frightened, meek demeanor of a humble innkeeper, to be replaced by the glittering ferocious gaze and hardened features of a career criminal with a cool and steady hand. The weapon held aloft at the end of one upraised arm was a menacing blackjack with a wicked looking head, with which he surely would have stove in Bailey’s face had not the sudden faint, muted hum of a motor going far overhead stayed the devil’s hand.
They all of them looked frantically towards the opening of the alley just in time to see a pillar of light from the sky sweeping slowly over the wide lane.
“Scowls, man!” cried the orange haired man in alarm.
“Don’t panic, Archie,” scolded the innkeeper, biting out each word between his teeth. “It is still a way off.” Frantically he searched his surroundings, his gaze coming at last to rest on the stone staircase and the cellar doors at the bottom. “In there, lads! Hurry!”
The grooms had by then piled over Bailey, each man fastening securely onto a limb like dogs bringing down a hart on a hunt. Together they dragged him down the staircase, his one free heel clattering against each step along the way. They were being led by Mr. Rivers who went ahead of all with his keys, swiftly undoing the bolts and throwing wide the heavy doors.
In they all of them went together, a bundle of bodies and limbs jostling for speed and space, swallowed whole by that black yawning abyss which lies like a mouth opening upwards from the deepest recesses of the earth. Once they were safely tucked away inside the innkeeper was quick to close the doors again, shutting out the alley and what little light there could be gleamed at this deep hour. Then together they sat in silence with only each other’s breathing, here deep and there shallow, differentiated from person to person by age and physical character, for company, until at last the moment of crisis seemed to have passed them by.
Now begs the question of what should be done with Bailey. And you would not be wrong to
assume the gang, having eluded the danger of capture, presented still a very real threat on his life. Knocking him down outside they probably had every intention of making an end of him then and there. But hidden away inside the cellar clearly they could not decide what to do with him in the little time they had, especially with the sweeping light of the airship still nearby. As he remained conscious throughout this terrifying ordeal, his lingering moments in captivity was now taken up by the arguing of his kidnappers around the ringing in his ears as they tried to come to a decision on his fate.
“Why did you bring him here?” he heard from the man called Archie, directing his question on Bailey’s host. “We should have gotten rid of him outside.”
“There was nothing we can do in the street then,” Mr. Rivers returned roughly. “Not a thing but for bringing him in.”
“Well we’ll be found out for sure unless something is done.”
“Not to worry, Archie. He won’t stay long.”
The air in the cellar was damp and dank, smelling faintly of wine and cheese aging in the darkness. The innkeeper, as Bailey found, had grossly exaggerated his own assets, for he felt then that the five of them were being made to accommodate a far