“Adjoining?” asked Bell, who always booked two staterooms when he traveled with Marion.
“But it’s not what you think. You get an eye for this on the 20th Century, Mr. Bell. They’re not that sort of couple.”
Bell resolved to check on that. Research had made no mention of a ward.
“What is her name?”
“I only know her as Miss Riker. Maybe he adopted her.”
The train was flying at a clip of sixty miles to the hour, and mile-posts were flashing by the windows. But just as he and the conductor were finishing up the passenger list, forty minutes out of New York, Bell felt the engine ease off.
“Harmon,” the conductor explained, checking the time on his Waltham watch. “We’ll exchange the electric for a steamer and then we’ll fly, better than four miles in three minutes.”
“I’ll have a word with my old nitro acquaintance. Find out what he’s got planned for your express car.”
While they changed engines, Bell telegraphed Van Dorn, inquiring about the German, the Australian, the Chinese traveling with Arnold Bennett, and Herr Riker’s ward. He also sent a wire to Captain Falconer:
INFORM GUNNER’S DAUGHTER MURDERER DEAD.
A single glimmer of justice in a joyless day. The death of Yamamoto might comfort Dorothy Langner, but it was hardly a victory. The case, already thrown into turmoil by Scully’s murder, was completely unhinged by the death of the Japanese spy who had come so close to handing Bell his true quarry.
He climbed back aboard the 20th Century.
The high-wheeled Atlantic 4-4-2 steam locomotive swiftly gathered speed and raced northward along the banks of the Hudson River. Bell walked to the head of the train. The club car was fitted with comfortable lounge chairs. Men were smoking, drinking cocktails, and waiting for their turn with the barber and manicurist.
“Larry Rosania! Fancy meeting you here.”
The jewel thief looked up from a newspaper blazing headlines about the Great White Fleet approaching San Francisco. He peered over the tops of his gold wire-rimmed reading glasses and pretended not to recognize the tall, golden-haired detective in the white suit. His manner was polished, his voice patrician. “Have we been introduced, sir?”
Bell sat down uninvited. “Last I heard, my old pals Wally Kisley and Mack Fulton leased long-term lodgings for you at Sing Sing.”
At the mention of Bell’s friends, Rosania dropped the façade. “I was saddened to hear about their demise, Isaac. They were interesting characters and honest detectives in a world short of both.”
“Appreciate the thought. How’d you get out? Blow a hole in the prison wall?”
“Haven’t you heard? I got a pardon from the governor. Would you like to see it?”
“Very much so,” said Isaac Bell.
The suave safecracker pulled from his coat a finely tooled wallet. From it he drew an envelope embossed with gold leaf and from the envelope unfolded a sheet of vellum with the seal of the governor of New York State on top and Rosania’s name illuminated as if drawn by monks.
“Assuming for the moment that this is not a forgery, do you mind me asking what you did to get this?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try.”
“When I was twelve years old, I helped a little old lady cross the street. Turned out she was the governor’s mother-before he was governor. She never forgot my kindness. I told you you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Where are you headed, Larry?”
“Surely you’ve combed through the passenger list. You know perfectly well that I’m bound for San Francisco.”
“What do you intend to blow up there?”
“I’ve gone straight, Isaac. I don’t do safes anymore.”
“Whatever you’re doing, you’re doing it well,” Bell observed. “This train doesn’t come cheap.”
“I’ll tell you the truth,” said Rosania. “You won’t believe this either, but I met a widow who believes that the sun and the moon rise and set on me. As she inherited more money than I could steal in a lifetime, I am not disabusing her of the thought.”
“Can I inform the train conductor that his express car is safe?”
“Safe as houses. Crime doesn’t pay enough. What about you, Isaac? Heading for Chicago headquarters?”
“Actually, I’m looking for someone,” said Bell. “And I’ll bet that even reformed jewel thieves are close observers of fellow passengers on luxury railroad trains. Have you noticed any foreigners I might be interested in?”
“Several. In fact, one right here in this car.”
Rosania nodded toward the back of the club car and lowered his voice. “There’s a German pretending to be a salesman. If he is, he’s the nastiest drummer I ever saw.”
“The stiff-necked one who looks like a Prussian officer?” Bell had noticed Shafer on his way into the club car. The German was about thirty years old, expensively dressed, and exuded a fiercely unfriendly chill.
“Would you buy anything from him?”
“Nothing I didn’t need. Anyone else?”
“Look out for the carney Australian selling a gold mine.”
“The conductor noticed him, too.”
“There’s no fooling a good train conductor.”
“He didn’t tip to you.”
“Told you, I’ve gone straight.”
“Oh, I forgot,” Bell grinned. Then he asked, “Do you know a gem importer named Erhard Riker?”
“Herr Riker, I never messed with.”
“Why not?”
“For the same reason I would never dream of blowing Joe Van Dorn’s safe. Riker’s got his own private protection service.”
“What else do you know about him?”
“From my former point of view, that was all I needed to know.”
Bell stood up. “Interesting seeing you, Larry.”
Rosania suddenly looked embarrassed. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I go by Laurence now. The widow likes calling me Laurence. Says it’s more refined.”
“How old is this widow?”
“Twenty-eight,” Rosania replied smugly.
“Congratulations.”
As Bell turned away, Rosania called, “Wait a minute.” Again he lowered his voice. “Did you see the Chinamen? There’s two of them on board.”
“What about them?”
“I wouldn’t trust them.”