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is CID through and through. He was walking a beat when you were in short pants.”
    “Then why did he warn us, if he bleeds Metropolitan blue?”
    “Because we are friends. He felt it his duty to warn me, but he would not go so far as to obstruct an investigation.”
    “Then where can we go?” I asked. “We certainly can’t check into a respectable hotel anymore, dressed like this.”
    “I know a place, but it will mean several miles’ walk. Be glad that it isn’t pouring rain.”
    “Not yet, anyway,” I remarked.
    “There’s that Welsh pessimism.”
    “I don’t believe you know anything at all about Wales, actually.”
    We put our heads down and walked. When we finally reached the bridge, there were half a dozen policemen there, attempting to set up a cordon to capture a certain pair of desperate enquiry agents, but it was proving a challenge due to the high volume of traffic that fills the bridge at all hours. Barker strode ahead and engaged a perfect stranger in conversation, a slatternly looking man who already appeared drunk before noon. I fell back, searching the crowd for a traveling companion of my own, but found none. Instead, I followed along closely behind a family, trying to look like a wayward brother, until we had crossed the bridge. It worked well enough. I was scrutinized, but passed over unmolested.
    In Southwark Street, the Guv parted from his companion and made his way to an ironmonger’s shop. I stepped back from the group and followed him in.
    “Hunting that Barker fellow?” the proprietor asked Barker immediately. “You’ll need a good lantern.”
    “What Barker fellow?” the Guv asked.
    “There’s this bloke named Barker who killed a lord. He sapped three peelers and is at large in the City. Someone’s put up a reward for whoever brings him in. Two hundred and fifty quid. I’ve sold six lamps so far. Only got two left.”
    “Two hundred fifty quid is a lot of money,” Barker said. “A fellow could retire on that.”
    “You’ll ’ave to catch him first. He’s a slippery one from what I hear. Some kind of detective. And you’ll ’ave to fight off a few hundred other people out looking for him, too.”
    “What’s he look like?”
    “Big fella. Dresses like a toff. Mustache and dark-lensed spectacles.”
    “That don’t sound too hard to find. Where was he last seen?”
    “Right here in Lambeth, headed north by cab. It’s been a boon to business, I don’t mind saying, though I wisht I was out looking myself. I could find something to do with that reward money.”
    “Why don’t we make that two lanterns, then?” Barker asked. “Who’s giving this money away? Scotland Yard?”
    “Not bloody likely they’ll want our help, is it? No, it’s private, like.”
    “Could it just be a rumor, then?” I asked. “Is it in the newspapers?”
    “Not yet,” the man admitted. “But it’s all over London. Common knowledge by now.”
    “Is he traveling alone?” I asked.
    “Far as I know. Reward’s only for Push hisself.”
    “Push?” Barker asked.
    “It’s ’is moniker. Rhyming slang. Push-Comes-to-Shove. Guv.”
    “So you know him, then.”
    “Oh, everyone knows Barker. Don’t expect ’im to just walk up and let you clap irons on him, though. He’s stubborn as two mules and kicks harder.”
    “Ta for the warning.”
    A few minutes later we were walking down Southwark, swinging our unlit lanterns.
    “First the police are after us and now there is a reward,” I said, shaking my head. “Your bank accounts are frozen and half of London is out hunting for us. Nightwine’s behind this, too.”
    “Aye. It’s no coincidence that the Irishman and I have both been brought low on the same morning.”
    “Why don’t we catch up with Vic and find out what he’s heard?”
    Barker has watchers all over London who provide him with goods and information, most of whom answer to the phrase “Barker sent me.” My least favorite among them was a street Arab and