Anatomy of Evil Read Online Free

where you go and don’t be afraid to use your Webley if you need to, though only as a last resort.”
    I had not mentioned the pistol, so either he inferred that I would bring it or he noticed that I carried it under my coat. To ask him which would only give him satisfaction.
    “You really think the killer would dare attack us in the street? We are full-grown men, not soiled doves,” Israel said. It would have sounded better if his voice hadn’t cracked.
    “No, Mr. Zangwill, I am referring to the street gang members and disgruntled workers who have lost their situations recently to Jewish immigrants. I understand there is a so-called vigilance committee afoot in the area. My associate is as Welsh as Tintagel Castle, but he could be mistaken for a Jew while in your company.”
    “You don’t think I can handle myself?” I asked.
    “I do, but it would be folly to attempt to find out either way without a better reason than an assigned article in the Chronicle . No insult to your esteemed journal intended.”
    “But we Jews have nothing to do with these murders,” Israel continued.
    “Perhaps, but one cannot rely on vigilantes to use logic or accept your assurances at face value. Would they sympathize with your people’s history of ill-treatment?”
    Barker was referring, of course, to the pogroms which had occurred in Russia, Poland, and Germany, which had sent tens of thousands of Jews fleeing to England and the United States.
    “How would I know?” Zangwill asked. “You create a straw man and warn us against it. Have you witnessed this committee you speak of? Do you know what kind of men it comprises, or how many? For all I know, it may be a figment of your imagination.”
    My employer stared at him blankly. That is, I could not read his expression behind the thick mustache and black spectacles he wore at all hours of the day or night, even in darkest Whitechapel. He might be ready to throttle Israel again for having the gall to question his veracity. Barker seemed to grow taller then, and more menacing, like some sort of ogre or troll from a Norwegian storybook. Just as quickly, he receded back to his normal size, which is formidable enough at any time.
    “You did not tell me,” the Guv said to me, “that your friend is educated in the debating arts, but then I would suspect such nimbleness of mind from a socialist. ‘Straw man,’ indeed. Very well, Mr. Zangwill, I admit the existence of such a committee is only hearsay, and I have not spoken to any of its members. Well argued, sir.”
    My jaw must have dropped. Israel arguing with Barker and besting him? Barker humbly accepting that he had been beaten? We had fallen down the rabbit hole.
    “Were it not past midnight I would treat you both to a pint of stout,” the Guv said.
    Israel arched his brows in my direction. “I have a better suggestion, if Thomas will approve.”
    I understood what he meant. He was speaking of the Barbados Coffeehouse, where the two of us met frequently. I was not certain how I felt about having my public and private worlds collide, as it were. Offhand, however, I could think of no reason why we should not invite him.
    “There is a coffeehouse in Cornhill Street, sir, called the Barbados. Have you heard of it?”
    “Is that in St. Michael’s Alley?” he asked. “I believe I’ve seen it, but I’ve never been inside. Is it fine?”
    “You may see for yourself, sir. They stay open late on nights when the Yiddish Theater is performing, if you are interested. We could just as easily try another time.”
    “None like the present,” Barker said. “Lead the way, gentlemen.”
    It was a walk of close to a good mile, through many streets and neighborhoods, from where we stood to the relative harbor of the City and Cornhill Street, but I felt safer with my employer, and he set a brisk pace. There is nothing he enjoys so much as a good walk, which he calls “the most social of exercises.” No one ever got to know a street from