The Limehouse Text Read Online Free Page B

the Irish Republican Brotherhood had put an end to them.
    “Where is he?” Poole asked in a monotone. Whether he meant Barker or Bainbridge, I did not ask, merely pointing to the door at the end of the alleyway. If I was in any doubt as to the inspector’s mind, he made it perfectly clear a moment later. Coming upon a small piece of crumbled brick on the ground, he gave it such a savage kick it spun across the alleyway and shattered when it hit the wall. Though he had never been to Ho’s before, he pulled open the door and headed down the unlit steps like a regular.
    For a moment the passage was filled with the sounds of our ten shoes. Finally reaching the lamps around the inspector’s body, he ignored Barker and Ho, who were now both sitting on the bottom step, and went down on one knee, examining the face of his late colleague.
    “Ah, Nevil,” he said, as if the man were still alive. “Who’s done this to you, old fellow, and however shall I tell the missus?”
    Barker stood and came over to us, but all he got for his efforts was a glare from Poole, as if this were all our fault.
    “How did he get in this godforsaken tunnel?” the inspector asked.
    “We were coming out of Ho’s when he was shot from the other end.”
    “Is it always this dark?”
    “Sometimes it is darker. The regulars often come through here in pitch darkness.”
    Poole gave him a look, as if he had come upon a club of eccentrics. “Who was here when the shots were fired?”
    “Llewelyn, Bainbridge, and me, and the killer, of course.”
    “Did you see anything?”
    “No,” Barker stated. “The only light was from a single lamp in Thomas’s hand, which was shot out by a second bullet from over there.”
    “So, he was on the stair behind me as you all walked toward him, about twenty-five yards with wavering light. Not a bad shot.”
    “Very professional,” my employer agreed.
    Poole looked about at the small, overlapping circles of light created by the lamps. “This glass is crushed. It looks like a herd of elephants has been through here.”
    “Yes, well, I’m afraid the restaurant was full, and the only way of egress is this tunnel. Ho thought it best to run them through quickly.”
    “This is a murder site!” Poole barked. It was obvious he was looking for someone to blame. “I do not care how long they had to wait, I do not care if they had to sit up there all day, you shouldn’t have let them walk across evidence!”
    “These were not the sort of individuals—”
    “I don’t bloody care!”
    There was an awkward silence for a moment. I thought Poole was being unfair. Actually, it was Ho who had sent the patrons off, and the circumstances were perfectly understandable. Also, as Barker tried to say, the clientele was not the easiest to marshal or contain. Some were criminals, some political revolutionaries, and others lived in the shadowy world of exiles, spies, and secret societies. It was amazing that Ho had gotten them all to obey him.
    “I take it this is the owner,” Poole finally said, jerking a thumb in Ho’s direction. “Does he speak English?”
    “When it suits him.”
    “Here, you!” Poole called, which was not a safe way to address the Chinaman. Ho had upper arms the size of a good roast joint and I’d seen him throw a meat cleaver with some accuracy. “Did anyone come in after Inspector Bainbridge and these two entered the tunnel? I was wondering if he might have secreted himself among the crowd and left with them.”
    “No one came in,” Ho stated. Seated on the bottom step, his arms folded across his thick stomach, he looked like a dyspeptic Buddha.
    “Blast. Why was Nevil here?” he asked, addressing us. “Were you helping him with a case?”
    “He was getting back to me with the results of an investigation regarding my late assistant’s death last year.”
    Poole looked at him shrewdly. “Ah, yes, that’s right. Your man was shot between the eyes like Nevil, wasn’t he? You think