Aces and Knaves

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. I was going to have to learn to be more discreet.
    "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.