by Alan Cook
Chapter 24
Sussex Gardens has a line of small and narrow
hotels on either side of the street, crowded
together like vertical dominoes. These are not
the London hotels where the rich and famous
stay, but they were very suitable for our purpose,
interviewing Seamus Zeebarth, because we had
agreed to meet him in nearby Hyde Park.
I had called him from the Glasgow Airport the day
before while Arrow and I waited for our plane to
London, half-expecting him not to be home because
it was Monday. However, he answered the phone
after two rings and when I briefly introduced myself,
said he would be happy to talk to us.
We flew into Heathrow and were whisked via the
Heathrow Express train to Paddington Station in only
fifteen minutes, which was amazing considering the
length of time this trip took by bus or the
Underground. From there it was a short walk to
our hotel, pulling our wheeled suitcases behind us.
We had Tuesday morning free because Mr.
Zeebarth worked evenings and slept late. Arrow
wanted to see everything at once. We settled
on a tour of the Tower of London, led by a
Beefeater in his fancy costume, topped by a
beaver hat.
We saw prison cells with graffiti from hundreds of
years of prisoners, the crown jewels and the
place where Anne Boleyn lost her head. I
remembered a song I learned in college with lyrics
that went, "With her head tucked underneath her
arm, she walks the bloody tower..."
By 1:45 we had eaten lunch and were at the
entrance to the park. Our meeting with Mr.
Zeebarth was scheduled for two.
"Let's walk around for a while," Arrow said. "It's such
a pretty day and pretty place."
Indeed, we were blessed with nice weather. We
strolled along one of the walkways. Arrow and I
were being cordial to each other. We hadn't
spoken about what if anything had happened
between her and Larry. I didn't want to know.
Larry was already eating breakfast the next
morning when we went down. He and Arrow spoke
casually to each other, but there were certain
inflections in their voices. Or was it my imagination?
Young women, perhaps the famous British nannies,
pushed babies in prams; older children gamboled
on the grass; young adults did things on the grass
that Americans generally reserve for a more private
place; pensioners walked slowly or sat on the
benches. Ducks paddled on the snake-like pond,
called the Serpentine.
"If I'm interpreting his directions correctly, we're
supposed to meet Mr. Zeebarth over there," I
said, pointing to some benches. "He'll be
wearing a tam and carrying a walking stick."
"There's a gentleman there already who meets
that description," Arrow said.
I saw him too, sitting on a bench, and wondered if
our man had arrived early. We were still some
distance from him. As we watched, another man
sat down beside him, a younger man, dressed
much more casually, with his hair shaved off.
The two started talking.
"That must not be him," Arrow said. "Those two
seem to know each other."
It looked that way. The conversation grew more
heated as we approached and suddenly the
younger man shoved the older man, almost
knocking him off the bench. Arrow did a sharp
intake of breath. I looked around quickly but
nobody else seemed to notice.
I ran toward them and called, "Mr. Zeebarth." The
older man, who was trying to recover his balance,
looked at me. I said, "May I help?"
"Who the bloody hell are you?" asked the younger
man, although his "who" sounded more like "ooh."
"I'm a friend of Mr. Zeebarth," I said, coming up
to them.
The younger man stood up. He was shorter than
I was, but his body was thicker and more muscular.
He stepped toward me until we were nose to nose
and said, "This is none of your bloody business."
I stood my ground, despite a strong compulsion to
step back. I said, "We've come to talk to Mr.
Zeebarth."
"Mr. Zeebarth can't see you today," he said. "Get
along now."
I was partially prepared when he shoved me, but
it happened so fast that I staggered backward.
Then he charged me, driving his head into my
chest. I fell over onto my back, with him on top.
He knelt over me and pummeled me with his fists.
I tried to ward off his blows with my arms,
mostly unsuccessfully.
Before I had a chance to try anything else, Arrow
jumped on his back. They struggled briefly and
then he suddenly screeched so loudly that my ears
rang. His head jerked sharply to one side. He shook
off Arrow, stumbled to his feet and ran away
through the park, not looking back.
Arrow watched him for a few seconds and then bent
over me and said, "I don't think he's coming back.
Are you all right?"
"I don't know," I said. I took inventory. "The back
of my head hurts and my cheek hurts."
"You've got a bruise on your cheek," Arrow said,
inspecting it. "And your head hit the ground."
"At least the ground is soft," I said, and since it had,
apparently rained during the night this was true. I sat
up and Arrow brushed some dirt off my back.
"Tell me," I said, "what did you do to our friend to
make him scream like that?"
Arrow grinned. "I took a course in self defense. The
instructor told us about vulnerable parts of the
human body; one of them is the ear. First I pulled
his ear, but that didn't faze him so then I really
yanked it; I think I almost tore it off."
"Thanks. That makes us even," I said, taking her
offered hand to help me up.
"That was an amazing exhibition," Mr. Zeebarth said.
That brought me back to the reality of the moment.
Not only he but also others must have witnessed
the altercation. I looked around; we were getting
some curious glances, but since one of the
combatants had exited the scene, apparently they
thought everything was all right now. At least no
Bobbies were approaching.
Mr. Zeebarth had stood up. Arrow said, "I'm Arrow
and this is Karl."
"Seamus Zeebarth." He formally shook both our
hands. Under his tam his hair was all white and
his face was rugged and ruddy. His neat attire
included a pressed pair of pants and an ironed
shirt.
"Your chin is bleeding," he said to Arrow.
"He butted me with his head when he tried to get
away," Arrow said, feeling her chin. When she
pulled her fingers away they had blood on them.
She opened and closed her mouth a few times to
see if her jaws worked.
"His head should be registered as a lethal
weapon," I said, ruefully. "My ribs hurt." I hadn't
noticed them before.
Mr. Zeebarth took a clean white handkerchief out
of his pocket.
"I'll get it all bloody," Arrow said, seeing that he
meant to use it on her chin.
"It's the least I can do. Hold still." He pressed it to
the cut and said, "Hold it there until the bleeding
stops."
Arrow obediently placed one hand on the handkerchief
and held it in place.
"I'm sorry about what happened," Mr. Zeebarth said,
"but I must confess that I never saw that man
before in my life. He came up to me and told me
he knew I was meeting some people. He said
they--you--were dangerous and not to talk to you.
Since he was not exactly what I would call a savory
character I was skeptical and I started asking him
questions. He became belligerent and shoved me.
That's when you came up." He indicated me. "I
thank you for that but I'm sorry you had to suffer
for it. And you," he said, turning to Arrow, "are about
the bravest lass I've ever seen."
Arrow acknowledged the compliment with a smile
and a curtsy.
"We may be able to shed some light on what
happened," I said. "Do you want to talk here or
should we go somewhere else?"
"As much as I like the park, I would be just as
happy to leave it for the moment. I know a nice
pub not far from here where we can drink a pint
to calm our nerves."
# # # #
"We don't get into fights on a daily basis," Arrow said,
holding the handle of a beer mug. Her chin had
clotted, leaving a black scab.
The pub we were in was almost deserted, except
for a few darts players. Nobody was close enough
to hear us talk. Mr. Zeebarth had just expressed
admiration for our fighting ability--or at least
Arrow's fighting ability.
"Lately, I'm afraid we've had more than our share
of fights," I said. And then to change the subject,
"We were just in northern Scotland." Mr. Zeebarth's
eyes showed interest. "Do you remember a Michael
McTavish from your youth?"
"Aye that I do. He was one of me mates, but I
didn't like him much. Sneaky bloke."
"He knew we were coming here to see you. It's a
complicated story, but I think he may have been
involved in recruiting the hooligan who attacked us."
In fact, I was sure of it. I had called McTavish from
Glasgow after I had talked to Zeebarth--at McTavish's
request. His pretence was that he was trying to locate
another of Buchanan's mates for us to talk to. When I
told him on the phone that I had reached Zeebarth, he
wormed the information as to the time and place of our
meeting out of me.
"It would not surprise me. We never did see eye
to eye."
"We'll tell you as much as we know." He had an
honest face and I was inclined to tell him
everything. "But first, how did somebody from
Scotland get a name like Zeebarth."
His laugh was engaging. "My ancestry is all mixed
up, but at least there is enough Scottish in it for
me to get along there."
"I know how you feel," Arrow said. "I have a
mixed-up ancestry too."
"But in your case you got the best of all the pieces.
I have never seen a more becoming lass. I always
thought red hair and freckles were over-rated."
Arrow basked in Mr. Zeebarth's words. I told him
the major points, including what Michael had
said about Ned and Dickie and the cliff. He
listened, intently, without interrupting.
When I finished he said, "Michael has it all wrong.
That must be why he didn't want me to speak
to you. James always kept him in his hip pocket.
It sounds as if he is still there.
"I remember that particular incident very well
because it led to Dickie's death. Dickie was not
a great scholar; in fact, he was failing some of
his courses at school. His da beat him when he
received a bad report. Dickie came to James for
help because James had the brains in our group.
He received top grades without much effort.
"The arrangement was that James would write
some papers for Dickie and otherwise help him
with his studies. Of course, Dickie had to play
The Game first. He lost, but it was James who
insisted he go through with his penalty on a
stormy day, not Ned. In defense of James, he
always kept his promises and he expected others
to do the same."
Mr. Zeebarth paused, took a long drink of beer
and said, almost as an afterthought, "It amused
James to play games with other peoples' lives."
We chatted some more about James and Ned and
the others, but Mr. Zeebarth didn't say anything
else that was earthshaking.
When I suggested another round of drinks, he looked
at his watch and said, "Not for me. I have to be at
work in something over an hour, in a reasonably
sober state since I work in a hospital. But we have
time for a game of darts."
"I've never played darts," Arrow said.
"It should be an easy game for a lass as
coordinated as you," Mr. Zeebarth said. "I'll
show you."
I had never played darts, either, but it was
obvious I wasn't going to receive individual
instruction like Arrow. Mr. Zeebarth very carefully
helped position her body and then showed her
how to hold the dart lightly between thumb and
forefinger and guide it with her third finger. He
pulled her arm back to her ear, and told her how
to aim and release the dart in an economical
overhand throw for maximum accuracy.
He was so solicitous of her that it made me want
to barf. And she soaked it up. Everybody was
getting along better with Arrow than I was.
Naturally, she beat me.
While we played, the talk turned to the Internet.
Mr. Zeebarth said that the owner of the pub had
Internet access. Half-jokingly, I wondered aloud
whether he would let me check my email. Mr.
Zeebarth asked him and next thing I knew I was
sitting in his office in front of a monitor.
I read several routine messages. Then came the
shocker: a message from eBay to the effect that
I was the winner of the T-206 Wagner baseball
card, with a bid of just over $380,000. I hadn't
thought about that card since leaving the US.
Now what should I do?
I read the next message. It was from the seller of
the card, congratulating me, telling me the amount
of the postage and where to send a check. I had
to stall him. I quickly typed a response to the
effect that I was out of the country and would mail
him a check in a few days.
If I reneged, that information would be all over the
Internet and my baseball card business would go
down the tubes. Nobody would deal with me again.
My face gave me away when I returned to the darts
game. Arrow asked me if I had a problem. "Not if you
happen to have several hundred thousand dollars you
can lend me," I said.
Aces and Knaves copyright ©2002 Alan L. Cook
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