He was aware, too, when another man took the first one’s place and then followed as he continued across two streets, turned down an alley, then approached the building from the alleyway at the back.
It was well-guarded, two more men positioned one at either side of the smaller door beside the rolling doors at the dock where he’d had cases of Old Lodge whisky delivered in the past on behalf of her ladyship.
The tip of a cigarette glowed brighter, and he drew the knife he always carried as one of the men stepped out of the darkness to greet him. Mostly likely with a club or possibly a knife as well.
“I’m here to see Campbell,” he called out. “Munro is the name.”
He knew well enough that giving his name could go either way. A man like Campbell had to be careful. There was no guarantee that he would provide the information he wanted, and might choose instead to gut him like a fish. He was not of a mind to let that happen.
“You were here before.”
The man’s tone told him two things: that he was known and that the man considered himself to be in charge.
“If ye will be so kind to let him know that I need to speak with him about a business matter,” he replied in a steady tone, even as his fingers flexed, then tightened around the handle of the knife.
There was a shout to his companion, then the man came at him.
He’d learned to survive on some of those very same streets, with some of the same people, and moved instinctively as the guard closed in.
He threw a blow that caught the man in that soft place just below his chest. Then, as he doubled over in pain, Munro grabbed him by the neck of the jacket the man wore. He brought the knife up against his throat and pulled him around so that his companion could see him in the pale light from an electric lamp that glowed over the door.
“If ye would be so kind as to tell Mr. Campbell that I want to meet with him, face-to-face.” He pressed the blade into the throat of the man he now held prisoner.
His companion disappeared inside the warehouse. It was the man himself who appeared.
“Let him go. Then explain to me the reason ye come here and attack me men. Ye live dangerously, Munro.”
“Not as dangerously as these two,” he replied, as he shoved his prisoners away from him.
Campbell indicated for the two men to go inside. Both hesitated, looking at one another, then back at him.
“Get inside and send Sean and Mick to take yer place, since it seems that ye canna hold off one man between ye.”
When they had gone inside, Campbell indicated for him to follow.
“Ye go first,” Munro told him. Campbell laughed, then entered the building ahead of him.
“To wot do I owe the pleasure of a visit from ye, twice in less than a week?” Campbell offered whisky. Munro shook his head.
“Wot have ye been able to learn of the man I spoke of?”
Campell downed the whisky he had poured for himself, then shook his head.
“Not a word,” he replied with a shrug. “If the man is out there, he’s careful. Perhaps he’s gone after wot ye explained about the encounter. Or, it might never have happened.”
It had happened. Lily Montgomery was intelligent, calm afterward, and had no reason to lie.
Campell was the one who was lying. He saw it in the way that gaze edged away from his own, in the drumming of his fingers on the scarred desktop.
What was he hiding? Was it possible the man Lily had encountered was an associate? Or was it something else?
A man like Campbell was driven by greed. Even well paid, as he was, with the agreement they made. Perhaps too well paid, Munro thought. Or perhaps by another client.
“I will continue to try to find information about the man, and my men will as well,” he was saying now. “And our agreement still stands,” he reminded him.
“Of course,” Munro replied.
“I’ll be certain to send round word when I learn something about the man. Our bargain still stands?” he repeated.
