The Veiled Detective by David Stuart Davies Read Free Book Online

the narrow lanes of the gangways. It was like being caught up with a fierce river current and being swept away against one’s will. Reed and I were carried along,tossed and buffeted like driftwood.
    “I rate myself a lover of my fellow man,” whispered my companion in my ear as we were jostled nearer the gangway, “but I ain’t so sure I like them this close.”
    Within five minutes, somewhat breathless and dishevelled, we found ourselves standing on the dockside.
    “Well, here we are, Walker. The old country. Breathe in that damp, tainted air. Grand, eh?”
    I smiled. Reed seemed to find amusement and enjoyment in most things. Nothing seemed to ruffle his even temperament or throw a cloud across his sanguine outlook on life. I found myself liking and admiring my new acquaintance more and more. I did take in a lungful of air. Tainted as it was with myriad vapours and smells, so different from the dry, dusty air of Afghanistan, it tasted good to me.
    We stood for some time on the dockside as passengers scurried past us and porters conveyed large trunks to waiting conveyances. It was dark now, and the area was illuminated by a series of gas lamps that bathed us in a soft yellow glow. Neither of us felt the need to talk: we were just taking time to acknowledge our new reality. After weeks bobbing on the waters in an artificial, enclosed environment, we were now back in England, our home. Back where we belonged. And I felt in my heart that, whatever unknown problems I now had to face, I would much prefer to face them here than anywhere else.
    As the crowd dissipated, a tall, imposing figure emerged from the gloom and stood for a moment under one of the gas lamps, watching us. He was well over six feet in height, a height that was exaggerated by the top hat he was wearing. Reed observed him and raised his hand in greeting. This prompted the stranger to approach us. He moved like a cat, with soft sinewy movements, his feet making no sound on the damp paving stones. As he drew closer, I saw that he was a black man, with aremarkably handsome face. He stopped some little distance from where we were standing and touched the brim of his hat with his silver-topped cane, acknowledging Reed’s greeting.
    Reed beamed. “Scoular, my old friend, how good to see you.” He stepped forward, grabbed the man’s hand and gave it a vigourous shake. There was no obvious response: no reciprocal smile or warm words. The fellow’s expression hardly altered. He looked beyond Reed at me, his eyes registering some interest at my presence. Reed noticed this, and his whole body stiffened awkwardly. He threw a nervous smile in my direction.
    “Excuse me, Walker, for a moment, while I have some private words with my old chum.”
    I nodded, feeling rather like a child left outside the headmaster’s study while one of the masters and the head decide on what punishment to administer.
    The two men moved some distance away, whereupon Reed spoke rapidly in an animated fashion. I could not hear what he was saying, but it was clear that he was telling the impassive stranger all about me. From time to time, both men glanced in my direction as though I were some item at an auction which was under discussion by two potential bidders. Obviously Reed had overestimated the welcome and help I would receive from his friends, and he was having to persuade the icy Scoular of my worth. I felt very uncomfortable and was tempted to leave, to walk away. What stopped me was the knowledge that I had nowhere to walk away to. In essence, I was trapped.
    When Reed had finished his recital, he waited nervously for Scoular to respond. The gentleman stood impassively for some time, and then he asked a few questions. In the growing quiet, I heard the dark, silky tone of his voice on the night air.
    And then suddenly, Scoular moved with the speed of a leopard and before I knew it, he was by my side, his gloved hand extended and abroad grin on that dark, handsome face of his.