The Night of the Bartered Bride

Marry your daughters betimes, lest they marry themselves.

—William Henry Burleigh (1812-1871). American journalist, reformer, and poet

Chapter One

The possession of power unavoidably spoils the free use of reason.

—Immanuel Kant (1724-1804), German philosopher

Artemus made himself as conspicuous as possible when he pulled the watch from an inside pocket, snapped it open, and cleared his throat. Nonetheless, the man at the desk behind the wooden barrier did not look up from the ledger in which he was studiously writing, dipping his pen periodically into the inkwell nearby.

I should leave. In fact, I will give him fifteen minutes more, and then I am walking out. This is ridiculous and worse, insulting. Edgerton invited me to keep this appointment; he set the time.

Yesterday, a hand-delivered letter had arrived at the Wanderer where it rested in the Washington train yard, addressed to "Mr. Artemus Gordon." Artie had been surprised to realize it came from Mr. Chandler Edgerton, the self-made millionaire who had earned his fortune providing arms to the Union Army during the late war. Some suggested he made even more money by selling to the South as well, but that was never proven.

The letter invited Mr. Gordon to Edgerton's office on the next day at ten-thirty in the morning. Mr. Edgerton had something important to discuss with him, and him alone. He could not give details in the missive, but assured the recipient it was of vital weight to Mr. Gordon as well as to the nation.

The agents had thought the content strange, and definitely mysterious. Why would Edgerton not want to discuss the matter with both agents? Why did he not go directly to their superior, Colonel James Richmond? Jim suggested that a man of Edgerton's wealth and power might also have an inside route to the president himself.

Although they were preparing to head west for an assignment, they decided this was important enough to delay their departure. Colonel Richmond agreed when informed, although he was as puzzled as they were over the summons. No information had been received regarding any problems as far as Edgerton Arms and Munitions was concerned.

Thus, Artemus arrived at Edgerton's fine office a few minutes before ten-thirty, only to be asked to have a seat. Mr. Edgerton would summon him when he was ready. At the time, Artie decided Edgerton had an urgent company matter to take care of. However, that had been well over an hour ago. No one had exited or entered through the heavy, polished walnut door behind the secretary's desk during that time.

Slipping the watch back into its pocket inside his coat, Artemus sat back and fixed his stare on the secretary, who probably had not cast a single glance in the visitor's direction in the time he had been there. It is as though I have suddenly become invisible!

When he decided the fifteen minutes had elapsed, Artemus checked his watch again, which revealed it was within a few seconds of the time he had allotted. He got to his feet. "Excuse me."

A bell sounded somewhere and the secretary rose at once, ignoring Artemus to go to the inner door. He tapped on it and entered, closing it behind him. Thirty seconds later he opened it again. "Mr. Gordon, you may come in now."

Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm his exasperation, Artemus pushed through the swinging gate in the low railing and then brushed by the secretary, who quickly stepped back and closed the door. Artie was not surprised as he noted the appearance of the inner office. The anteroom was rather Spartan, with just enough furnishings for the secretary and whoever might be waiting. This office was large and lavish.

Bookcases lined one wall, while the one behind the desk contained large windows overlooking the factory complex, not very scenic, but probably quite attractive to someone who was making money from that set of buildings. The other walls had artwork that Artemus recognized as being well known and expensive, if not—in Artemus's mind—particularly attractive.

The desk, as expected, was also large, decorated with a couple of figurines, one in ivory, another brass, again both recognizably costly. The man sitting behind the desk was about what Artemus expected: a confident-appearing, well-dressed man of above average height with a fine physical form for a man his apparent age. His dark hair was graying rapidly, and his mustache was completely pale gray.

This man did not look up as Artemus entered, continuing to study a ledger similar to the one the secretary had been working on. Artemus stood quietly and waited… and waited. After about five minutes, he cleared his throat.

Chandler Edgerton raised his head. Gold-rimmed glasses did not completely disguise the sharp brown eyes. "Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Gordon. One does become caught up in the lovely figures of profit, does not one? Please sit down." He waved to the leather-upholstered chair in front of the desk and beamed as his guest moved to that chair. "Now."

Artemus waited a few seconds and when it appeared Edgerton was not going to continue, he spoke up. "What was it you wished to talk to me about, Mr. Edgerton?"

Edgerton's smiled widened. "I am making you the offer of a lifetime, Mr. Gordon."

Artie was flabbergasted. "What?" Employment had not even been considered as a reason for the invitation.

"I've done some investigating, Mr. Gordon. I know of your reputation as a government agent, as well as your scientific knowledge and acumen. I also know how poorly the government pays, even to its best men."

Artie shook his head slowly. "I'm not sure what you're getting at." However, he was very sure. He was positive, and dumbfounded.

"I want to hire you, Mr. Gordon, as my personal assistant. With your insight into government dealings, your connections with government offices—very high-up offices, I know—you would be invaluable to my company. Government contracts are extremely important, as I'm sure you are aware."

This time Artie's head shook more firmly. "I'm not interested in changing jobs, sir."

"Ah, but hear me out. You will not get another offer like this ever again. Of that, I am certain. I will pay you a handsome salary, plus bonuses when you direct contracts our way. I will build you a home that will be the envy of everyone in the District. And you will have my daughter as a wife."

"Your…" Artemus stared at the man on the other side of the desk. Of all things he could have said, the last was the most astounding. He cleared his throat. "Mr. Edgerton, you may not be aware, but I am betrothed to a woman I care about very much." These words were far from what he wanted to say.

Edgerton waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, I do know about that. Miss Lily Fortune. An actress." The tone of his voice and expression on his face left no doubt of his opinion of that profession. "A man in the position in which you will be will need a respectable wife. A wife above reproach, as it goes. My daughter…"

Furious, Artemus jumped to his feet. "Mr. Edgerton, thank you for your offer but I am not in the least interested. Good day!" He turned toward the door.

The other man swiftly rose from his chair. "Wait a moment, Mr. Gordon. Do not be so hasty. We can come to terms. Just tell me what will make you happy? A second house? Perhaps one by the seashore? My daughter does love the ocean."

Artie paused with his hand on the door latch. "I am not interested. That's final."

"You'll be back!" Edgerton called after him. "Begging!"

W*W*W*W*W

Good nature will always supply the absence of beauty; but beauty cannot supply the absence of good nature.

—Joseph Addison (1672-1719), English essayist, poet, and statesman)

When his partner pushed through the swinging door from the galley, Jim West looked up from the boot he was polishing as he sat at the table in the varnish car. "How'd it go? Or shouldn't I ask?" He spotted the expression on Artie's face.

Artemus threw his hat on the back of the nearby sofa, pulled out the chair on the opposite site of the table, and sat down. Leaning his arms on the table's top, he took a long, deep breath then exhaled it before he spoke. "The man is insane, James. Insane."

Jim put the boot on the floor next to the other already shined one, picked up a rag to wipe off his hands. "Tell me about it."

Slowly, in a measured cadence and even tone, Artemus related his experience at the office of Chandler Edgerton. "I was going to thank him and leave, but then he insulted Lily. Right to my face, he insulted her!"

"So you punched him and then left."

Artie had to chuckle. Jim's expression was so serious—other than a twinkle in his green eyes. "I wanted to. I figured the probable consequences were not worth it. He even offered me a second house by the seashore because his daughter likes the ocean."

"I have never met Cecelia Edgerton, but I've heard she's a beauty. Someone told me she's also a spoiled brat, unmarried at twenty-five or so, probably because no one could treat her as well as her daddy does."

"I did see her once. Someone pointed her out to me at a party. She is indeed beautiful. But beauty isn't everything, my friend."

"So we've learned over time, eh? Well, at least that is out of the way. Orrin has the tracks clear for our trip west. We leave tomorrow morning."

"Good. I've had enough of Washington, D.C. for the time being."

W*W*W*W*W

Si fortuna juvat, caveto tolli; si fortuna tonat, caveto mergi.

[If fortune favors you, do not be elated; if she frowns do not despond.]

Septem Sapientum Sententioe Septenis Versibus Explicatoe (IV, 6), Decimus Magnus Ausonius (c. 310-395), Roman (Bordeaux resident) poet and teacher

The first portion of the journey towards the west coast was uneventful. The agents spent their time on pursuits such as reading or playing cards, trying to write reports for past cases, or in Artemus's instance, working in his laboratory. At stops, they connected to the telegraph line to check in with Washington and also San Francisco, where the police were awaiting their assistance in a serious case of counterfeiting.

However, at a siding near Chicago, they were notified that the tracks ahead had been damaged by a flash flood, with a trestle severely affected. Crews were working to make the repairs. After checking the availability of other routes, the decision was reached to remain where they were, near the Indiana town of Hammond. Detouring south or north would not allow them to make better time.

Over the next two days, Jim and Artemus altered their habits. For one thing, they took their horses out of the car and exercised them by riding into town. They found a small restaurant with a very good cook, so enjoyed meals there a couple times each day. They also learned that a traveling acting company was putting on performances, so that was something else to occupy their time. Artie said the troupe was nowhere near as good as Lily's and other larger companies, but they were adequate for their type.

On the third day, a message arrived saying that the route ahead should be ready to use the following day. On the off chance the repairs were completed earlier, they stayed in the train, awaiting that hoped for clatter of the telegraph. By noon, it had not come, but a knock sounded on the door.

Jim was at the desk near the door, and with a glance to ward his equally puzzled partner at the table, he rose to open the door. For a moment, he stared. "Lily!"

The lovely actress smiled, stepped forward to give him a quick hug. "Where's Artie?"

"Right here, my dearest!" Artie had risen from the chair at the table and hurried toward the door, arms open. Jim smiled as he noticed the rather chaste kiss in his presence. "What in the world are you doing here, Lil? You were in Ann Arbor last I heard."

"Our run there finished yesterday and Francis decided to give everyone some time off before our next engagement. I contacted Colonel Richmond and learned you were, um, fortuitously stranded here, less than a day's train journey away. I have a dual purpose—other then simply seeing you, my dear—in coming. The first is this."

She whipped an envelope out of her reticule, handed it to Artemus, and strolled to sit down on the sofa. Artie looked at her a moment, then at the envelope. It was addressed to Miss Lily Fortune in care of the theater in Ann Arbor. The postmark indicated it had come from Washington City. The return address was that of the Edgerton Arms and Munitions Company.

Baffled, he slipped the folded sheet of paper out and opened it. "Read it aloud," Lily bade.

Artie did so. "'Dear Miss Fortune. You will find enclosed a draft in the amount of fifty thousand dollars.'" Artie gasped. "What?"

"Keep going."

"'I am sure that this substantial amount will be sufficient for you to break your betrothal to one Mr. Artemus Gordon. I await that news eagerly. Sincerely yours, Chandler Edgerton.'" Artie looked in the envelope. "Where's the check?"

Lily's expression was smug and satisfied. "I tore it into tiny pieces and mailed it back before I left Ann Arbor."

Both men laughed as Artemus went to join her on the sofa. "I imagine the letter rather surprised you."

"That's putting it mildly."

"But you didn't accept the check," Jim put in, leaning against the desk, legs crossed.

She smiled. "It wasn't enough."

Artie laughed again and leaned in for another quick kiss. He then told her of his encounter with the arms manufacturer. "He seems to be a man who does not take no for an answer. I hope that receiving the draft back—in tiny pieces—will convince him that neither of us are interested."

"Lily," Jim put in, "you mentioned a dual purpose for coming here."

"Oh yes. I want to hitch a ride with you to San Francisco. Our next performances will be in Sacramento, and I would like to spend some time in the city before that. Evelyn is going to visit her family in Omaha while I'm gone." Evelyn was Lily's loyal and efficient maid. Lily loved her services in seeing to her needs day in and day out, but Lily Fortune had spent several years at the beginning of her career without the funds to hire a personal maid. She could also take care of herself.

"You know we are going there for an assignment," Artie pointed out.

"Oh yes. I know, nonetheless, that you'll find a little time to spend with me."

"Lily, you are always welcome on the Wanderer," Jim smiled. "Do you need to send for your luggage?"

"Oh no. It is in the hired carriage outside. I hope you two don't mind bringing it in."

W*W*W*W*W

Unde ille qui semper invenitur unum substitit ad perpetrandum facinus adduxerit?

[Where have you ever found that man who stopped short after the perpetration of a single crime?]

—Juvenal (Decimus Junius Juvenal; c. 60-140), Roman satirical poet

The following morning the Wanderer resumed its trek west. The remainder of the journey again was uneventful, if made more pleasant by the presence of the actress on board. Jim did his best to give the couple some time alone, but in the rather cramped quarters of the train, that became difficult. When they pulled off to a siding to allow a regularly scheduled train to go through, he would take the horses out for some exercise, afterwards lingering in the stable area grooming the pair. Nonetheless, on the moving train, he could not do much other than sit quietly in the varnish car reading or playing solitaire at the table while Lily and Artemus billed and cooed on one of the sofas.

By the time they hit the downward slope of the Sierras, engineer Cobb reported signs of possible engine problems, and requested that he be allowed to put the locomotive into the repair shop during the sojourn in San Francisco. Because of that, the agents packed up their belongings and headed for a favorite hotel, along with Lily.

The hotel clerk was delighted to see them but apologized profusely that without advance notice their accommodations would have to be a bit different from usual. They normally asked for adjoining rooms with a connecting door, but none were available. They accepted a larger room with two beds, allowing Lily the only available suite to be had, on the floor above their room.

As soon as they stowed their bags in the room, Jim and Artemus headed for the police station and their good friend Lloyd Morris, who was in charge of the counterfeiting investigation. Numerous government bearer bonds had been appearing that were not identified as fake until long after they were cashed in. When the bank officers who accepted the bonds were questioned rather a long while after the fact, they had difficulty remembering a description of the perpetrator. About the only available information was that the person was male, well dressed and might or might not have had a mustache and worn spectacles.

"We have only one slight clue which appeared yesterday," Morris said, picking up a manila envelope and pulling some pieces of white paper out of it. "These were found in an empty warehouse on the docks, and we think they are the same paper used for the bonds. I'm hoping you'll be able to confirm that, Artemus."

Artie reached over to take the scraps along with one of the bogus bonds, getting to his feet and going to a window as he pulled a small magnifying glass from an inner pocket. He spent a couple of minutes inspecting both the bond and the scraps. Finally, he turned back to the other two men. "I agree, Lloyd. It's the same paper." Artie looked again at the fake bond he held. "I notice these were 'issued' five years before the war, to mature in '63."

"That sounds as though they were printed—or the plates were created—around fifteen years ago," Jim offered. "Where have they been all this time?"

"Damn good question, Jim," Lloyd stated. "Also notice they are thousand dollar bonds. At least fifteen thousand dollars have been cashed in, and that is only what we know about. How many others haven't been discovered yet?"

"That's a lot of money," Artie nodded, "especially if they continue to cash them in."

"Who owns this warehouse?" Jim asked then.

"Company called Cornelius Pickles. The reason it's vacant at this time of year is that they do their pickling in the later summer and early fall when the cucumbers are available. They store the pickles in this warehouse until they are all shipped out, which is what happens this time of year. Being early summer, it's empty. I've never tried these pickles but apparently they are in great demand and sometimes hard to find."

"Cornelius Pickles…" Artie murmured. He shook his head. "Never heard of them, I'm afraid. But I may have to look for them."

"Evidently they are something of a high-priced delicacy," Morris explained. "Betty said that when she worked at the hotel, they were in demand to be served with sandwiches and in certain dishes." Betty was Lloyd's wife and the mother of his two children. "Not much is sold in stores, except perhaps in larger cities. The fellow I talked to said they shipped to New York and Chicago."

"Did the warehouse show any signs of being broken into?" Jim wanted to know.

"No. In fact, it appears that the padlock was opened with a key. I have had men interviewing company employees, but so far, nothing important has shown up. No one there has criminal records, or even has friends or relatives with criminal records that we have been able to dig up. I know that does not necessarily mean anything, but it's all we have at the moment."

Artemus tapped the arm of his chair with his fingertips. "I know you sent a couple of the bonds to Washington for inspection and possible identification of the creator of the plates…"

"Right. Nothing back yet. I'm taking it that means they don't immediately recognize the hand that did it."

"Doc Keyno has not done bonds in the past," Jim mused aloud. "He might however know something about those who have."

"He's in the federal pen in Colorado," Artie put in. "Maybe someone can go talk to him. I'll send a wire about that."

Morris sighed. "It's not much, is it? These bonds have been passed all up and down the central coast and east to Sacramento. The perpetrator chooses wisely when he does it and where."

"No doubt to banks that aren't looking for that kind of bad paper," Jim nodded. "Small banks."

"Exactly. The bigger banks here in the city have not been hit. Two banks in Monterey cashed them on two consecutive days recently. So the fellow is getting pretty bold."

"Could be his downfall," Artie suggested. "We can hope anyway. I take it you've alerted as many banks as possible."

"Yeah. Which may well drive the fellow to another area altogether," Morris replied sourly.

Jim got to his feet. "We'll get him, Lloyd. For now, I think we'd better take a look at that warehouse."

W*W*W*W*W

A hack carried the three men to the waterfront and the warehouse in question. As Morris had said, it was small in comparison to others in the area, and very empty. The two agents inspected the padlock and agreed that it had not been tampered with. Someone had used a key.

"It has to be someone with a connection to the company," Jim stated as he gazed around the dim interior. "Someone with access to the key."

Artie was nodding. "A friend or relative may have swiped the key and had a copy made without that person's knowledge. Or…"

"Or the person is connected with Cornelius and had a copy made and passed it on."

"You two sure are suspicious!" Morris grinned.

"Comes with practice," Artie retorted. He knew that the policeman had the same thoughts.

Jim shook his head. "Unless we find that person with the key and make the connection, this is going to be pretty tough."

"Well," Artie sighed, "I guess it behooves us to interview the victims ourselves, James. I know Lloyd won't mind."

"Not at all," the police lieutenant smiled. He knew from experience that the federal agents could often elicit much more information than his officers.

"Actually," Jim said slowly, "I can do the interviews. I have a suggestion of another task for you, Artemus."