I don't like dishonest folk and I pride myself in that I can spot them a mile away. Leonard is such a creature, a man with a sly face and shifty manners. Meyers the book seller has contracted this man's services as of a week ago. The old man has it in his head to be his own book publisher now. Perhaps his obsession for books is not fulfilled unless he himself produces books and manuscripts. It must be said that he went about it in a rather intelligent manner. Several months ago he bought himself a small printing press and started making pamphlets and flyers. Just small stuff to learn the trade. Hubbard, with his connections in the police organization of our great city, helped him get some valuable contacts. Wanted posters started streaming out of the book store within weeks and very slowly he has started to add the production of opera programs, again with Hubbard's assistance. "It's all about books though", he told me one day as I was having lunch. "Books is where it is, they are our purest form of experience, not to mention the ultimate storage of knowledge and wisdom", he added.

 

"I need an assistant", Meyers said. "Hubbard had the right idea when he took you in. It should be someone preferably with an artistic background for the decorations and the initial caps. Any idea where I could find such a person Jeremy?" There were a great many professions I could think of that were easy to find for a former street urchin, but an artist turned printer was not one of them. "Perhaps you could print one of your wanted flyers and advertise?" I said jokingly. "That is a very good idea, and cheap as well because I have all of the layouts already", Meyers said. "I wasn't serious Mr. Meyers, who knows who will respond to those", I hastily said. "No no, I would not put them up just anywhere. They will be posted mostly in libraries, newspaper buildings, you know, those places where you would find printers and artists and book people." It was clear that Meyers did not think of the entire range of possible consequences of putting up flyers in those places he listed. Putting up a wanted poster for a printer in the building that is occupied by the staff of a newspaper might not go over well. As it turned out the good old man changed his mind and only placed his pamphlets in a small set of outlets, including some police stations as it turned out. There weren't many applicants, or should I say: there were not many applications with the high level of skill Meyers deemed acceptable. Until Leonard walked in. I can't imagine anyone seeing past the man's criminal demeanor. A narrow face, with high bony cheekbones, a pointed nose and long thin hair that fell carelessly about his otherwise bald head. A man should not be judged by his appearance, but the snake like way by which Leonard moved about could only be described as criminal. With all this against him he managed to make a very good impression on Meyers and was immediately hired.

 

It was not long after that the man decided to make introductions, and did so by walking into the store under the guise of business. "A good day to you master Jeremy", the rodent said and how did he know my name already? "You are Hubbard's apprentice I believe, the assistant to the master watchmaker", he continued. It was not even a question but rather a statement made mostly to himself. "Indeed I am, Meyers must have told you about the residents of our community here", I said sternly. "No no, your master's reputation and with it your name has traveled beyond the borders of Fleet Street. I am acquainted with many of the instrument makers in London and your name comes up in connection with shall we say a jemmy?" Perhaps he was guessing. I had not used my lock picking skills in a long time, well other than the business with Meyers, but that had never been witnessed by anyone and I'm certain the book seller would want to keep that quiet. "Not to worry, not to worry, this is not public knowledge", Leonard said. "I have no idea what you are talking about. I am a watchmaker's apprentice", I said. "Of course you are. I must have been mistaken with another person", the man said. "Forgive me, I completely forgot to introduce myself", he continued, "my name is Leonard, Leonard Meddows to be exact." Since he knew my name already it seemed superfluous to do any introductions on my part. "Perhaps it is good fortune that I meet you here, I'm sure you are capable mending metal tools?" Was this another hint at my past? "Perhaps I should explain. One uses fine tools to create the drawings and cuts found in most popular forms of print. Those tools are similar to the ones you and your mentor use and I'm assuming you know how to repair those?" The man was insufferable. I had only met him moments ago and was already asking for favors. "I have a few cutting tools that need sharpening and mending. I would pay the regular fee of course. No favors there", Leonard said.

 

Perhaps I was curious. Perhaps I did not want to let down Meyers. Not long after, I found myself in Hubbard's workshop showing the watch maker the set of tools that Leonard had given me. "Basic stuff", Hubbard said. "Start by sharpening those", he pointed at what seemed to be cheese cutters on sticks, "then replace the handles on these two and we will ask him what else he needs." It seemed as though Hubbard was not interested in examining the instruments of a criminal. This man, this manipulator of humanity got away with just about anything. I did as I was told. It took about half an hour to sharpen the cutters and another hour to replace the handles. As I was repairing the top part of one of the instruments I noticed that the larger ones had "S.N.M.C." engraved in a small metal plate. Whatever these meant, they were not the initials of a Leonard Meddows. Most likely stolen from someone, someone who was indeed a printer. He probably did not even know anything about printing himself. It was not smart to tell either my mentor or Meyers of my suspicions. Those two rational men would need to see hard proof. Hard proof it was then. From then on I would keep a close eye on Leonard, as close as I could possibly get. This meant that personal feelings would have to be pushed aside and whatever stank came from the man, it would have no effect on me. It is not easy to catch a person who hides his true identity and has done so for many years. With this individual, this impostor there was clearly reason to believe that concealment ran in his blood. I therefore took it upon myself to put his doing under closer inspection.

 

It takes a crook to catch a crook, and this is exactly what I had planned. Yet again I would avail myself of my skills as a lock picker to gain entry into Mr. Meyer's bookstore. Hopefully with better results than last time. I was convinced that Leonard was completely at ease with the gullible bookstore owner and most likely had his implements of crime laying all about the workplace. Luckily Hubbard fell asleep yesterday night in his chair in the library. Helen was over at Mrs. Vandermeer to see if she needed any help now that she was well into her pregnancy. Perhaps there was also some feminine interest there. Helen could be seen gazing at the extended form or Mrs. Vandermeer, with a kind of melancholy in her eyes. Quite curious if you consider that Helen herself is not much older than me. Surely women will always remain a mystery to me. But I digress. It does strike me as peculiar that I have no problem with lock picking on occasion. Truth be known I would never do anything larger than this and only because I know Mr. Meyer do I even feel remotely comfortable gaining entrance. If he were to find out I would simply explain the cause of my behavior and with whatever evidence there was he would see the sense of my actions. 

 

And so it happened that yesterday evening or should I say early morning today, I made my way out of our green house and into the winding alley way that snakes behind the houses of our half moon shaped community. The most difficult part was to be sure I was not observed by our neighbours the Chanderloin family, the next door butcher. It was Mrs. Chanderloin who had a sixth sense for anything with potential value of gossip. Their lights were out but I knew that this did not mean the house was quiet, far from it. The two dwellers were always concerned that their little abode was violated. No sensible mind would dare to enter their premises of course, not with a large selection of knives they have,  which are immediately available in their shop and scattered all throughout the lower part of the building. As I exited our back yard, or what little was left of it, I first stopped at the corner before crossing the open area where the entrance to our neighbour's garden starts. Something flew, crawled or fell against the glass wall of our vivarium and made a thudded sound. At first I stiffened up, being almost certain that the noise would alert Mrs. Vandermeer. Then I realized that this confirmed that on this evening the couple were not paying attention at all, because no sound or response came from within the butcher's. Not even after having waited for a few minutes. Even with some sense of safety now I did not casually walk towards Meyer's backyard. If either Mr. or Mrs. Chanderloin would have observed me crawl past their little gated entrance they would most likely have laughed than call the police.

 

When I had made it past my first obstacle I was now faced with the high stone fence around Meyers' back yard. Menacing as it may seem, the lock on the gate is a simple one and soon I had my driver and tools working on it. When you hear that click, this simple sound, you have won a battle over a cunning device and brought it to it's knees. It is the metal surrendering, the mechanics giving up. I could go into detail how I made my way into Meyers' shop but diligent readers know this is not a novel experience. Needless to say I found myself yet again in the workshop portion of the book store. All of the houses in our shop corner are built more or less the same. The front part with its double height is reserved for the actual store part, whereas the lower back is used for storage or work space. It occurred to me that Leonard would most likely be working in the area I was now in. Who would notice one or more etching plate, wood cut or metal instrument amongst the wide variety paper and metal wares present here. Hubbard and Meyers both shared a love for the mystery of complicated contrivances. They were most happy when they could accomplish a simple task in the most outrageous manner. It would be useless to search the books, there were thousands in this house. In the workshop alone there must have been hundreds. Some of who's the spines were being repaired. Some, who's pages were loose and were being re-bound. In one corner however, close to where the printing press stood, there was a small desk. One of the few desks of which the surface could be seen. On it I found two copper plates, both containing partial imprints of what appeared to be the half finished etchings of currency. On one plate was engraved the back, the other the front of part of a hundred Pound note. Only the outlines were visible, as if Leonard had just started creating the initial images that would make artificial money when used in the printing press.

 

What to do now? It did not seem wise to take the plates. Besides, if they were left out in the open like this, then it was safe to assume that they would be when I returned with the police. If I could only find some bit of evidence that I could take with me. Leonard had been quite busy and had made some test prints of the plates. You could see the progression of work from one sample sheet of paper to the next. There was not that much difference between some of the sheets and one such sample would make excellent evidence. I carefully folded one of the prints and stuck it in my coat and arranged the rest as if none had been taken. Before I left I looked around to see if there was anything else of importance. All of the other materials suggested that Meyers was starting to print larger and more complex ephemera. In one corner I even found a half a page of a newspaper. With my task completed I crept back out of the store, all the while carefully closing doors, locks behind me. Most difficult was the back yard, normally filled with objects, it was now completely empty. Even the scattered boxes and crates were cleaned out. My only way of navigating this void was to stick to one of the stone walls and follow it down to the gate. Luckily there was no moon out and I must have been virtually invisible. The last lock to be reset was the one on the gate, the biggest one and the one making the most noise when I put it back together again.

 

"Well well, you're not as innocent as you wanted me to believe", came a voice behind me. Could have stopped my hart it could have. I spun around and found myself staring at the grinning face of Harold Crowley, reporter for the Pall Mall Gazette. "What exactly were you doing there? Trying to break into a neighbour's house is quite the offence you know", he said, pleased with himself. What does one say in such a situation? "Mr. Meyers asked me to check up on him, he hasn't been feeling well lately", I said. "Then why not use the front door instead, nothing to hide right?" Crowley persisted. "That would be too much noise, the front door sets off a bunch of bells so that normally Meyers knows there are customers", I replied, quite pleased with myself for having come up with this excuse. "Really? How clever of you. Shall we go ask Mr. Meyers if what you said is true?" Crowley continued in that same drilling voice. "Why not let him sleep, he needs his rest being as weak as he is", I tried. "Just excuses young lad. You were up to no good and you know it. But perhaps if you supply me with some information I will forget all about this incident?" Crowley said with a smirk. "So that is what this is all about, you want to know about Hubbard's street clock?", I asked, finally beginning to catch up with events. "The clock does not interest me much, but who granted permission for the construction does interest me" Perhaps he had found out about the man who had helped Hubbard, but he was not going to hear it from me. I have never been a brave person and my solution is to deflect than to confront. There was not much time to think and I could think of only one thing to do. "I see, well better to tell you all. Now that I'm out in the open I might as well stay in the open. Would you mind if we walk while I explain?" I said, hoping that my casual way would convince him I had given up. "You're a negotiator. I like that", Crowley said, "sure, let's walk and talk."

 

No longer crouched, but standing up straight I walked with Crowley around the back yards of our neighbours. "Hubbard told me to go to a specific magistrate at city hall", I began. "The name of the man I could not tell you but he is easy to find, he insists on wearing an Old Bailey judge's wig. Claims that comes with his station. Nutcase if you ask me, but he seems to have more power than people assume", I tried. "But you don't know the man's name?" Crowley asked. "I'm afraid not. But really it wasn't necessary, I found him right away. When called into his office I gave him an envelope from my mentor and from what I was told he would take care of things. That's all really." We passed Fineley the baker at this point and we almost made it into Fleet Street when Crowley halted. "You're pulling my leg lad. No magistrate can give permission to build something in a public space, not as big as this anyway", he said. "I know", I replied, "he was just the man in the middle." I started moving again and luckily Crowley started to follow. As we entered Fleet Street, there was one person I was hoping to find: constable Johnson. He normally makes his rounds like clockwork and should be somewhere around our area. In the distance I thought I could see the faint outline of a man with baton and helmet. "I think you're lying, you know who the magistrate spoke with. You know more than you're telling me." Without taking another chance I started shouting in the direction of Johnson. Crowley was caught completely by surprise and for a second did not know what to make of the situation. When he gathered himself he said: "What are you trying to do here?" "I'm having you arrested for breaking into Meyers' bookstore of course", I replied, not sure where the courage came from. Behind me I heard constable Johnson running towards me all the while blowing his police whistle. Crowley didn't wait but bolted in the opposite direction. "What's all that racked about. Oh it's you Jeremy. Were you the one shouting just now?" Johnson asked completely out of breath. "I'm afraid so constable Johnson", I said. With a police officer standing next to me and with evidence of a crime in my pocket, I decided to get the whole forgery business over with. After listening to my story, Johnson looked at me and said: "Right, why don't we see what this Mister Leonard has to say about these prints." "Right now you mean?" I asked. "Of course right now.   Criminals are best caught when close to the scene of the crime and in this case they could not be closer. I'm sure Meyers' won't mind if we wake him up to rid him of a dangerous threat to his store." "Dear boy, if you found these plates and prints in his workshop then he is guilty as well", Johnson said. This took me by surprise. I had hoped we could solve this by politely going into the bookstore with the constable the next morning to inform Meyers of what I knew about Leonard's practices.

 

Johnson put his hand on my shoulder when he nudged me towards the book store. In the mean time two other officers had joined us who had heard the police whistle. After exchanging a few words of explanation and after showing the pieces of paper we walked up to Meyers' front store and rang the door bell. As expected it took a while before we heard and saw movement within. After a full three minutes Meyers appeared in his night robe on the front step, looking utterly confused. Leonard stood right behind him, obviously even more confused or he would have made for the back door seeing three officers. "Officers, Jeremy, what I can do for you? Is everything all right?" "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you sir. It concerns your assistant", I started. "Leonard? You mean Leonard?" Meyers asked, getting even more befuddled. "Yes sir", I added and wanted to explain all that had led up to this moment, but Johnson stepped in. "Mr. Meyers, I will have to arrest you and your assistant on charges of counterfeiting", he said as he pulled out the pieces of paper I had found with the partial imprints on it. "Where did you get that?" Leonard asked, eyes bulging. Nobody had to tell Meyers, he immediately looked in my direction and said: "I see our last encounter has not deterred you from using your tools again and like last time you have it all wrong." "Then I would like to understand how you can explain these prints", said Johnson. "Of course I can", replied Meyers, "but come on in, it is cold outside and I do not enjoy having the police accusing me of a crime in such plain view.

 

Behind us Leonard was already turning on lamps, whilst Mr. Meyers shuffled towards the back to get some breakfast going. "Would you like some tea?" he said. "No thank you", said Johnson. "Leonard, can you bring the plates please?" shouted the bookseller. "Certainly sir, all of them?" Leonard replied. "You mean there's more?" I asked. "Yes, you go through a fair amount of trials before you get it right. I do hope this set comes out well, or I will have to start all over again", he said jovially. Meyers returned with a tray of tea cups and a teapot. "Now, let me explain what is going on", he said. "I hired Leonard here straight out of school, engraving school that is. It's a new one, just down the street. In fact he has not finished his final year yet, but his skills applied so well to my needs that I convinced the principal that he could finish whilst working in the store. With the understanding of course, that he was allowed to finish his master's project. It is this project that you are looking at right now. I will be honest with you, Leonard was once caught for forging money, but he did it so well that they made him an offer. He was to obtain legal employment in exchange for his dedicated skills and under constant supervision. The plates that you found contain a number of new security devices, invented by Leonard, which will make it very difficult for someone to reproduce bank notes", concluded Meyers. "It's true", Leonard said, "I did forge at one point but doing the same thing on the other side of the law is much more rewarding. I'm in it for the challenge, not for the financial gains." "I see", said constable Johnson, "of course we will have to verify this with your school." "So that's what the initials were from on your tools, it was the school you went to that gave them to you?" I asked. "Yes, although they did not give them to me, I had to work hard to get them."

 

Johnson put down his teacup and turned to me: "I think we are done here Jeremy. Just to be sure I will check out the story with the school but it sounds plausible to me. Criminals usually try to get away the moment they are caught, they don't invite you in for tea." "I guess that's reasonable", I said. "Very good constable, I'm sure you will find that everything is fine. Jeremy come see me later today, I need to talk to you", Meyers said and with that abruptly left the room to find his bedroom again. Leonard showed us out and apologized for the confusion. "I guess I still act the crook", he said. Johnson and the other two constables did not really notice anymore, they were off to do their rounds. I said a few words of goodbye to Leonard, still with suspicion and walked over to Hubbard's shop. As I opened the door I could see Leonard who had not moved. He gave me another sly look and went inside. He may be cleared of a crime today but I'm sure there is more to it than this little affair.