“I can find it well enough by the description from the man I spoke with. It’s across from a leather shop. I came back for this.”
He opened the drawer of the desk and retrieved a revolver, very much the same as Brodie carried.
“I’m going with you,” I announced. “I can be ready immediately.”
“No.”
I had heard that before, and suspected that it was something most particular to Scots, a simple word that was more like a command.
“Brodie would not approve.”
“I most certainly will go with you or on my own, if need be. I’m certain that I can find the tenement you described. Or someone on the street who can assist.”
How difficult could it possibly be? A tenement across from a leather shop in Aldgate.
Munro swore under his breath, quite colorfully actually. But then I had heard that before as well.
And where the devilwasBrodie?
Brodie met with Herr Schmidt at the German Gymnasium.
They knew one another from a previous inquiry case, introduced by Mikaela Forsythe.
It was a surprise in the least to discover that the woman who was a client at the time had some expertise in certain sporting disciplines as it was called. More particularly in the use of a sword— a rapier she had called it— and had then proceeded to provide a demonstration.
He needed the man’s assistance in the matter of rumors that the anarchist, Soropkin, might be in the country or more precisely in London, according to different reports Alex Sinclair had deciphered.
Schmidt was German and the men and women who frequented the gymnasium encountered those from different immigrant communities about the East End.
It was like a pot where every sort was thrown together no matter how much they attempted to keep to themselves— aname overheard; a rumor passed along at the open stalls on the street. A man like Soropkin wouldn’t go unnoticed no matter how much he kept to the shadows.
It was possible that someone knew something, and that it would eventually find its way to Herr Schmidt.
Brodie had dressed in rough cambric trousers, a turtleneck sweater, and long wool coat of the sort the seamen wore, all in black, along with a worn black cap that he wore when he wanted to move about unseen or at least where no one would give him a second glance.
“Don’t use my name,” Schmidt had told him. “It would be bad for business for others to know that I was helping one of the Met.”
He had reminded Schmidt that he was no longer with the Metropolitan Police, but in private inquiries now.
“And Fraulein Forsythe?” Schmidt had inquired. “She is well?”
Brodie assured him that she was. He had been in contact with Munro. He knew that she had been making inquiries on behalf of the case she had been working on. That should keep her occupied until he could obtain enough information to hand this particular matter over to Sir Avery.
“She is well,” he assured Schmidt. “Currently on other business.”
He didn’t explain further. There was no purpose in it, so long as the man would assist in the matter.
Schmidt had nodded. “If I was not already married to my Anna,” he had looked across his desk, his meaning unmistakable.
“Then again, with Miss Forsythe’s skills, and her spirit…” He shook his head. “I think it would not be wise. But it would be most exciting. No?” he asked with a hearty laugh in that way of men.
Most definitely, Brodie thought at the time. He knew that well enough.
Schmidt had given him a name— Heilman, another German, who worked at the Thames Ironworks and Shipbuilders at the Victoria Docks. He was a sort of self-appointed mayor over the German community. People heard things and passed them along to him in a place where their safety might be in keeping watch over others.
“Tell him I sent ya and that it’s in the matter of Soropkin. He’ll help ya if he knows anything. The anarchist is a bad sort. There’s many of us who have had experience with the man or know those who have and would as soon be rid of him.”
Along with the information he had from Alex regarding the man, the sooner he was able to determine what Soropkin was doing in London, the better.
