"I'm prepared to pay cash."
"When was you thinking of coming?"
"This morning, if that would be convenient."
"We can put you up," the woman said. "What did you say your name was?"
"Henry E. Richards," Marion said.
"We'll be expecting you, Brother Richard. Praise Jesus!"
"That's 'Richards,'" Marion said. "With an 'S.' Praise the Lord."
At half past eight, Captain Michael Sabara picked up the private line in his office in the Schoolhouse.
"Captain Sabara."
"Peter Wohl, Mike."
"Good morning, sir."
"Something's come up, Mike. When I get off, call Swede Olsen in Internal Affairs. I just got off from talking to him. He'll bring you up-to-date on what's going on. I don't think anything's going to happen this morning, but if it does, just use your own good judgment."
"Yes, sir. I guess you're not coming in?"
"No."
"Is there anyplace I can reach you?"
Wohl hesitated.
"For your ears only, Mike," he said, finally. "I'm in the Roundhouse. I made inspector. My dad and my mother are here. We're waiting for the mayor."
"Jesus, Peter, that's good news. Congratulations!"
"Thank you, Mike. I'll call in when I'm through. But if anyone asks, I'm at the dentist's."
"Yes, sir, Inspector!"
"Thanks," Wohl said, and hung up.
At five minutes to nine, Special Agent Glynes placed a collect call, he would speak with anyone, to the Atlantic City office of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms from a pay telephone in a Shell gasoline station in Hammonton, N.J.
"Odd that you should call, Glynes," Special Agent Tommy Thomas, an old pal, said, "Mr. Samm has been wondering where you are. He at first presumed that you had fallen ill, and had simply forgotten to telephone, but whenhe telephoned your residence, there was no answer, so he knew that couldn't be it."
"Is he there, Tommy?"
"Yes, indeed."
"Put him on."
Special Agent Thomas turned his back to Special Agent in Charge Samm and whispered into the phone: "Careful, Chuck. He's got a hair up his ass."
Then he spun his chair around again to face Special Agent in Charge Samm, who was standing by the coffee machine across the room, and raised his voice.
"It's Glynes, sir."
"Good," Mr. Samm said, coming quickly across the room and snatching the telephone from Thomas. "Glynes?"
"Yes, sir."
"How is it that you were neither at the eight-thirty meeting or called in?"
"Sir, I was in the Pine Barrens. There was no phone."
"What are you doing in the Pine Barrens?"
"I've got something out here I think is very interesting."
"And what is that?"
"I've got six, maybe more, pay lockers, you know, the kind they have in airports and railroad stations, that, in what I would say the last week, maybe the last couple of days, have been blown up with high explosives."
There was a very long pause, so long that Glynes suspected the line had gone out.
"Sir?" he asked.
"Chuck, I have been trying to phrase this adequately," Mr. Samm said. "I confess that I have suspected you never even read the teletype. And that teletype isn't even twenty-four hours old, and you' re onto something."
What the hell, Special Agent C. V. Glynes wondered, is that little asshole talking about?
"You're confident, Chuck, that it is high explosives?"
"Yes, sir. Nothing but high-intensity explosives could do this kind of damage."
"Good man, Chuck," Mr. Samm said. "Thomas, pick up on 303. Get this all down accurately."
Tommy Thomas's voice came on the line. "Ready, sir."
"Thomas," Mr. Samm said, "with reference to that Request for All Information teletype of yesterday, Glynes has come up with something."
"Yes, sir," Thomas said, his tone of voice suggesting to Glynes that Thomas hadn't read the teletype either.
"Okay, Chuck," Mr. Samm went on. "Give Thomas your location. I'm going to get on another phone and get in touch with the Secret Service and the FBI."
"Yes, sir."
"And, Glynes, make sure you keep the scene clean. Keep the locals out."
"Yes, sir."
"I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Yes, sir."
"Good work, Glynes. Good work."
At two minutes past nine o'clock, Marion Claude Wheatley telephoned Mr. D. Logan Hammersmith, Jr., vice president and senior trust officer of the First Pennsylvania Bank amp; Trust Company and told him he had come down with some sort of virus and would not be able to come into work today, and probably not for the next few days.
Mr. Hammersmith expressed concern, told Marion he should err on the side of caution and see his physician, viruses were tricky, and that if there was anything at all that he could do, he should not hesitate to give him a call.
'Thank you," Marion said. "I'm sure I'll be all right in a day or two."
"No sense taking a chance, Marion. Go see your doctor," Mr. Hammersmith said, added "Good-bye," and hung up.
Marion called for a taxi, and while he was waiting for it to come, he took all his luggage from where he had stacked it by the front door and carried it out of the house and down the stairs and stacked it on the second step up from the sidewalk.
When the taxi came, he helped the driver load everything into the trunk and, when it would hold no more, into the back seat. Finally, he returned to the steps and picked up the two attache cases, one of which held the detonators and the other the shortwave transmitter (batteries disconnected, of course, there was no such thing as being too careful around detonators) and took them with him into the rear seat.
"The airport," he ordered. "Eastern Airlines. No hurry. I have plenty of time."
At the airport, he secured the services of a skycap, and told him he needed to put his luggage in a locker. The skycap rolled his cart to a row of lockers. Marion needed two to store what he was going to temporarily leave at the airport. He kept out the attache case with the detonators, and two suitcases, one of which held what he thought would be enough clothing for a week, and the other half of the devices.
He paid off the skycap, tipping him two dollars, and then carried the two suitcases and the attache case to a coffee shop where he had a cup of black coffee and two jelly-filled doughnuts. While he ate, he flipped through a copy of theWashington Post that a previous customer had left on the banquette cushion.
He then got up and carried his luggage down to the taxi station, waited in line for a cab, and when it was finally his turn, he told the driver to take him to the Divine Lorraine Hotel.
The driver turned and looked at him in disbelief.
"The Divine Lorraine Hotel?"
Marion smiled.
"I'm going to North Broad and Ridge," he explained. "Some drivers don't know where that is.Everybody knows where the Divine Lorraine Hotel is."
"You had me going there for a minute," the driver said. "You didn' t look like one of Father Divine's people."
I'll have to remember that, Marion thought. Someone such as myself, who does not fit in with the Divine Lorraine Hotel, would naturally attract curiosity and attention by taking a taxi there.
But no harm done, and a lesson learned.
When they reached Ridge Avenue, Marion told the driver to turn right. A block down Ridge, he told the driver to let him out at the corner.
He walked down Ridge Avenue until the taxi was out of sight, then crossed the street and walked back to North Broad Street and into the Divine Lorraine Hotel.
There was a colored lady wearing sort of a robe and a white cloth, or whatever, behind the desk.
"My name is Richards, Henry E. Richards," Marion said. "I have a reservation."