by Sam Gafford
I gave Arthur the address of the room where Cohen had knocked me unconscious and left me to the Gaffer’s less then tender mercies.
“I know the area. There’s a temple not too far from there. Cohen may have been a member of the congregation. If not, then it’s still likely that the rabbi knew of him. We shall check there. First, however, we will go to the most obvious place Cohen may have stashed something.”
“Not the Bank of England, surely?”
Arthur laughed. “No, Albert, but somewhere nearly as impenetrable.”
*
After he finished his lunch, we donned our hats and coats and flew out the pub door. After eating so much, I had a hard time keeping up with Arthur, as his pace was even faster than normal. He led me on a merry chase down Commercial Street, over to Dorset, and down side streets I had never seen. Finally, with my chest heaving, we drew up in front of a small store. The sign above read simply “BAYLESS,” and there were many unusual objects in the window display. By unusual, I do not mean that the objects themselves were unusual—just that I would not have expected to see them combined in the same place. There was a man’s shaving kit, open to show the brushes and razors; an instrument that looked like a guitar but was several sizes too small and seemed to have too few strings (I would later learn that this was, in fact, a mandolin); a hand mirror that could have come from any young woman’s bureau; several timepieces (none of which seemed to work because the good product was never put in the window where any ‘snatch and grab’ artist could have pilfered it); a variety of pens and other items that I would have said were once valued by someone. “Arthur, is this—?”
“A pawn shop, yes. The most ‘bent’ shop in all London. The proprietor, Kilgore Bayless, regularly deals in stolen goods and is known for not asking any questions. Perhaps we can persuade him to answer some.”
We walked into the shop, and a small bell over the door rang. The inside was dark and dingy. I could see many strange and curious things hanging from the wall, and there were display cases that were full to the brim with items. There was a banker’s wall in the back of the shop, and I guessed that it was behind that where Bayliss conducted most of his business. There was no one in the shop, but I could hear some rustling coming from a room in back, and a figure eventually came through the curtains. At first, his back was to us and he spoke as he turned. “Yes,” he said, “how may I help— Oh, it’s you, Machen. What do you want?” he said with a sneer.
In later life, I would consider the appearance of this man to be a stereotype, but at that time he was very much the exception that proved the rule. He was a mole of a man—short, with stubby hair that looked as if it had never been washed, fat fingers like sausages, and glasses that looked as thick as the bottom of milk glasses. They gave his eyes an enlarged quality that made him look, for the life of me, like a poisonous toad. He wore a green eyeshade on his head which merely served to complete his amphibian disguise.
I was beginning to think that Arthur knew everyone in London and that a lot of people didn’t care for him very much.
“My dear Bayless, such dire tones. Especially when I have come to do you a favour!”
“You? Doubtful.”
“And yet it is true. I presume you have heard of the unfortunate passing of my dear, dear friend, Jacob Cohen?”
Smelling a con, Bayless cocked his head to one side.
“Cohen? Aye, I think I heard something about that. What’s that got to do with you?”
“Oh, merely that I’m sure he must have left an item or two with you for safekeeping.”
“He was here about four days ago, yeah, and he did try and sell me some stuff.”
“Such as?”
“That’s not how it works, Machen, and you know it. You got the ticket, you get the stuff—and something tells me you ain’t got no ticket!”
Machen walked up to the banker’s cage and leaned on the shelf.
“I think I have the ticket all right.” He took his hand out of his coat pocket and laid a coin on the counter. With a shock, I realised it was a gold sovereign.
Even Bayless was impressed.
“That looks right,” he said and reached for the coin, but Arthur kept his hand on it.
“I don’t think so, Bayless. Bring out the goods first.”
The man scoffed but went into the back. I took the opportunity to look at some of the items hanging on the wall behind the cage. I saw something that I decided I could use and was about to ask Arthur about it when Bayless came back with a small box.
“This is what Cohen brought in. If he stole it, then he was targeting a worse class of people lately.”
He put the box on the counter and Arthur looked inside. His face showed his disappointment. He moved the box over to me, and I saw that there was very little inside: a pocket watch that had seen better days, a silver money clip, a couple of stick pins, some tarnished rings. Basically nothing of any great value.
“This is everything?”
“All I bought. He was more desperate than usual. It looked like he just wanted to get as much money as he could as quickly as he could.”
My ears perked up. “What did he have with him that you didn’t buy?” I said.
“He speaks! Mope had a book with him he wanted to sell me like I’m some kinda rare book guy. It wasn’t even a real book, just some kinda diary or something.”
“You read the book?” I asked.
“Well, no, but I could tell by the cover and binding that it wasn’t no real book.”
“What did he do with it?”
“Sold it to the czar for all I know. He left with it and not much else.”
Arthur moved close to the cage, but Bayless didn’t back down. “Is that everything, Bayless?”
“Of course it is! That’s what I said and that’s what it is.”
“Because I could make things very nasty for you if I find out you’re lying to me.”
“I doubt that, Machen. You can’t do nothing to me. I’ve got friends in many places.”
“That may be, but I personally recognise no less than a dozen items in your display case that belong to close acquaintances of mine—items that, I am sure, they would be very surprised to find here. It would just take a few words in the ear of my good friend, Inspector Abberline, to get you shut down for good.”
Bayless glowered at Machen, and I am sure that Bayless would have rained a few blows on Arthur’s head if he had dared.
“I’ve shown you what you wanted. Hand over that coin and beat your feet. I don’t have time for you.”
Machen slipped the coin over and turned to me to leave. I shocked him by pointing to an item on the wall and asking, “How much for that revolver?”
Bayless smiled. “The Colt? You’ve got a good eye, guv, it’s in nice shape.”
The frog went over and took the gun down from the hanger.
Arthur came closer to me. “Albert, what are you doing?”
“Protecting myself.”
I took the gun from Bayless and examined it. The revolver was indeed in good shape but in dire need of a cleaning. “How much?”
“Five quid,” Bayless answered. “And you’re getting a bargain at that price.”
“I don’t think so,” I replied. “Three.”
“Three? Your brain soft or something? That’s quality workmanship there.”
“That may be, but it needs to be cleaned and it looks as if someone rammed something down the barrel at one time. It may not fire at all.” I had made the last part up, but it sounded good.
“Well, I never! Ain’t you got the bloody cheek! A’ight, three then. But”—he held his finger up—“it’s mainly because I got sympathy for anyone that’s got to put up with the likes of him!”
I paid Bayless the three pounds and we left the store. I hadn’t realised that Arthur had taken the box of detritus with him. “You continue to amaze me, Albert,” Arthur said. “I never imagined you’d be buying a gun today.”
“Well
, Arthur, in the last few days I’ve been beaten several times as well as nearly cut in half by a knife-wielding maniac. It occurred to me that I might need some protection. I don’t intend on taking any more knocks to the head.”
“Can you handle a gun?”
“I’m from Cornwall, remember? Land of pirates and smugglers. My parents put a gun in my cradle.”
Arthur laughed. “Do you think he was telling the truth? About Cohen, I mean.”
“I think so. Bayless doesn’t have the imagination to lie very well. I think that Cohen probably came here right after his little altercation with you because he wanted to get out of the city. The question is, where did he go after that? We knew that he still had the book with him and a little bit of money, but not enough to really do him any good. Where do you think he would go?”
“In a time of great fear and stress? I imagine he would go either to his family or to his priest.”
“Exactly—and as we don’t know where his family is, we need to find his rabbi.”
As we walked, it occurred to me that I knew next to nothing of Jewish people and their culture. I had nothing against them; I had just never come into contact with any long enough to learn very much.
“Will that be a difficult thing to do? I mean, there can’t be that many Jews in London, can there?”
Arthur stopped in his tracks and looked at me strangely. “Are you serious?” he said. “London has one of the largest communities of Jewish immigrants in Europe. They’ve emigrated here in huge numbers to escape pogroms in Germany and Poland among others. That’s not to mention the other Jews from Spain and Portugal.”
We started moving again, and I once again had no idea where we were going. I was growing used to this feeling of just letting go and allowing someone else to control the direction of my life.
“Um, what’s a ‘pogrom’?”
“Oh, Albert, you’re disappointing me. Were you under a rock back in Cornwall?”
“I’m sorry, Arthur. There weren’t a lot of Jewish people back in my village. Everyone there were staunch Anglicans, including me.”
“Hmm, sorry to hear that. It is indeed fortunate that you came to London, Albert. I shudder to think what would have happened if you stayed a fisherman.
“Anyway, a ‘pogrom’ is a legally sanctioned program from a government that basically decides to run the Jews out of their country or worse. It can be used as an excuse for the vilest of acts. To escape these legal prejudices, many Jews have come here to England. More specifically, they have come to the East End.”
“The tone in your voice tells me that this is not a happy ending to their story.”
“Hardly. The Jews are a hard-working, industrious race. They have a singular focus of mind that benefits them in their trades. All they want is to work and live according to their religion.”
“That doesn’t seem like very much to ask. Haven’t all the immigrants to our country wanted the same thing?”
“Yes, and each one has had to fight to get it. From the Italians to the Irish to the Spanish to the Greeks to what have you. Each race has had to face widespread prejudice and hatred from others who feel that the new people are stealing their jobs, their women, and their very way of life. And God help the Chinese! They’ll probably never be allowed to have any type of equality in England.”
“Has it been worse for the Jews?”
I was noticing that the neighbourhood we were passing through was changing. It was losing its roughness and becoming more ‘civilised.’ The people were changing also. I saw less and less of the downtrodden whom I had come to equate with Whitechapel. Instead, the people walked with more of an assurance and pride than I had seen in some time. Their attire changed as well. Instead of the dirty, unkempt day labourer with his stained and neglected clothes there were men in clean, dark suits that were neatly buttoned over white shirts. Their beards were nicely trimmed, and I noticed that many had long hair hanging down over their ears. I must have seen such men on the streets of London before, but I had never really noticed them.
“Much worse. There is, of course, the traditional hatred of the Jews, stemming from biblical times. There are many who blame them for the death of Jesus and consider that justification enough to commit the worst types of crimes against them.
“Then there is also the hatred of the Jews because of the perception of them as scheming Shylocks intent upon getting their ‘pound of flesh’ from unfortunates. As with any emigrating race, they often are willing to take the worst type of jobs, which leads the indolent to accuse them of taking jobs away from ‘good, honest Englishmen.’ If there is one thing that can unite an Englishman, an Irishman, and an Italian, it is hatred for the Jew.”
“Surely they aren’t stealing jobs or women. Aren’t there enough around for everyone?”
Arthur chuckled. “Women, maybe; jobs, not so much. But Jews will often take those jobs that many ‘good, honest Englishmen’ would turn their nose up at. As for the women, most Jewish men have little to no interest in women outside their culture; and considering all their religious restrictions, few non-Jewish women have much interest in them!”
“Then I don’t see what the problem is. Why should anyone take offence at a culture that prefers to keep to its own?”
“Well, there is the issue of ‘cultural absorption.’ There are many ignorant people who dislike the Jews simply because they keep their loyalty to their own culture instead of embracing that of their new country. In short, the Jew can do nothing right and is doomed to failure. What worries me is the overwhelming tension between the Jews and everyone else in the East End right now. My fear is that the prejudice that is brewing will only require a spark to burst into an all-consuming flame. I know that there are factions within Whitechapel that would like nothing better than for England to embrace a pogrom of their own.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“I am, Albert, deadly serious. Trust me, the combination of indolent men, racist speechmakers, poverty, and alcohol is a dangerous one. It could even threaten the monarchy itself.”
“What? How could that happen?”
“It’s happened before: remember France? The royals live in constant fear that their subjects will rise against them. If someone were to rally the anger and hate that is part and parcel of life in the East End and direct it toward Buckingham Palace, the England we know and love would come to a quick and bloody end.”
“I can’t believe that such a thing could happen. Not here, in the London of 1888! Surely we have evolved beyond all that?”
Arthur laughed again. “Do not underestimate the human being’s capacity for chaos. We are not that far from the savages who live in huts in the African jungles or the Australian outback. Believe it, Albert, there are forces in the East End, at this very moment, that are plotting the end of the monarchy and the English government itself. The worry is so great that there is a special department within Scotland Yard that does nothing but investigate threats against the government. Their power is absolute and God help the man who is caught in their clutches unfairly, for they have no mercy in the pursuit of those they perceive as guilty.”
We came to a stop in front of a rather ordinary-looking building with a small sign over the door. “East London Synagogue,” it said in plain block lettering. It looked like any other building on the street. A smaller sign was on the front next to the door and gave the times of worship.
“This is their church?” I asked.
“Temple, Arthur. Jewish people honour their lord through their lives and study, not through ostentatious buildings.”
We walked inside, and I could see that the room before us was large, much larger than I would have expected from outside, with simple benches placed in front of a small podium. In back of that and to the left, there was a curtain covering something.
“What is that in the back?”
“That’s the Ark, the symbol of the biblical Ark of the Covenant. Above that are stone tablets that have the firs
t two words of each of the Ten Commandments carved on them.”
There were a few men sitting on the benches, reading from books and rocking back and forth. They were quietly mouthing something, and I assumed that they were engaged in praying. I noticed that there was another section of benches separated and off to the right. Arthur saw my glance and quickly explained. “That would be where the women sit during the service. Men and women are not allowed to be together, and the men get the ‘prime seats.’”
A young man near the back of the room was sweeping the floor with a broom when he saw us. I guess we looked horribly out of place, because he quickly put his broom aside and walked down the aisle to us. He was a good-looking fellow, probably in his early twenties, and wore the same dark suit as everyone else in the building. My first impression was that he was very studious and serious.
“Shalom, gentlemen, how may I help you?”
“I was wondering if we might speak with the rabbi?” Arthur said.
“Do you have an appointment? He is very busy.”
“I’m afraid we do not, but a friend of ours passed yesterday and we thought he might be of this congregation.”
“Oh, my, I wasn’t aware of any deaths. Please wait here and I will inform the rabbi.”
He walked back and went through a small door. While we waited, I looked around and noticed that the inside of the temple was just as plain as the outside. I was used to the religious displays in the Anglican church as well as the few Catholic churches I had seen. In a strange way, this simple room felt holier to me than any church I had ever been in.
A short time later, the young man opened the door for another man, obviously the rabbi of this temple. He was older, probably near fifty or so, and looked as if he enjoyed his food and drink. His hair and beard were salt-and-pepper grey and his clothes, although well fitting, looked worn.
“Shalom,” Arthur said as the rabbi approached.
“Shalom, sir, I am Rabbi Rabinowitz, and my aide says that you believe that someone in my congregation has died? I must admit that this is news to me. Can you tell me more?”
“Yes, our friend passed last night and we thought that, given his name and location, he might have been a member of this temple. His name was Jacob Cohen. Did you know him?”