The Night of the Emperor's Walking Stick
At the peremptory request and desire of a large majority of the citizens of these United States, I, Joshua Norton, formerly of Algoa Bay, Cape of Good Hope, and now for the last 9 years and 10 months past of S. F., Cal., declare and proclaim myself Emperor of these U. S.; and in virtue of the authority thereby in me vested, do hereby order and direct the representatives of the different States of the Union to assemble in Musical Hall, of this city, on the 1st day of Feb. next, then and there to make such alterations in the existing laws of the Union as may ameliorate the evils under which the country is laboring, and thereby cause confidence to exist, both at home and abroad, in our stability and integrity.
—Issued September 17, 1859 by Norton I, Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico (1819-1880)
Chapter One
I am monarch of all I survey,
My right there is none to dispute,
From the centre all round to the sea,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
—Verses supposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk, William Cowper (1731-1800), English poet
"Jim, you'll never guess who just entered and is heading our way."
Jim West smiled toward his partner, putting his fork down. "I see his reflection in the mirror behind you." He had also noted the change in the tone of the conversations being held in the restaurant as patrons recognized the famed person entering. In the mirror, Jim could see the image of some waiters near the doorway who bowed formally.
Both James and Artemus got to their feet, turning to await the approach of the man who was making his way among the tables. He was a stocky man in his fifties, wearing a slightly oversized officer's tunic with gleaming epaulets on each shoulder, while a sword-bearing scabbard descended from the belt around his waist. A military kepi sat on his head with somewhat wild dark curls bursting out from under it. He sometimes wore a beaver hat adorned with a peacock feather and rosette, but tonight was obviously a more casual occasion.A walrus-style mustache and van dyke beard adorned his lower face. He carried a cane.
"Good evening, gentlemen," the emperor greeted.
Artie inclined his head slightly. "Your Excellency, it is a pleasure to see you again. Won't you join us?" He indicated an unoccupied chair.
Jim quickly stepped around to hold that chair, smiling briefly at Artemus over Norton's head. They knew that the Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico had a motive for seeking them out. As he resumed his own seat, he asked, "Your Excellency, to what do we owe the honor of your presence?"
"First," Artie interjected, "will you honor us further by taking a meal with us? We have just ordered." He signaled to a hovering waiter.
The emperor smiled and nodded his pleasure then quickly rattled off his desires without checking the menu the waiter offered. Jim glanced at Artemus, biting back a grin. His Excellency was requesting the highest priced items the restaurant proffered. Oh, well. Expense account item, especially if Norton really has something for us involving a crime. He keeps a sharp eye on "his" city.
A glass of wine was placed before Norton that he sipped with genuine enjoyment before lowering the goblet to the table. "Gentleman, I need your services to correct a heinous crime."
"Anything we can do for you will be a privilege," Artemus said, intensely curious. "What was the crime?"
"A blackguard pilfered my walking stick." Artemus could not help but glance at the stick His Excellency had leaned against his chair when he sat down. Norton noticed. "Not this one." He picked up the polished cane with its brass handle in the shape of a lion's head. "This is a perfectly serviceable walking stick, which I keep in reserve. No, the one that was stolen was a special gift from the City of Portland—in Oregon Territory, you know. I have been told that they were hoping I would be induced to relocate to their city. But I cannot desert San Francisco."
"San Francisco is proud and delighted," Jim assured him. "Tell us what happened, sir. Did you see the thief?"
"I did. I was resting on a bench in Portsmouth Square, as is my habit. I was alone. Ah How had family business to attend to." The agents knew that Ah How, a Chinese man, was the Emperor's friend and devoted companion. "In the warm sun, I'm afraid I dozed off. My stick was leaning beside me, touching my knee. I am sure movement of its removal is what roused me. I looked up to see a man walking away, quite rapidly, with it in his hand. Naturally, I leapt to my feet and called to him. He began running then. A young lad tried to stop him but was pushed to the ground for his efforts. I did not want anyone injured, so I ceased calling out."
"Can you describe him?" Artie asked.
"Only his back, I fear. He was a rather tall, slender man, wearing a decent jacket—deep brown—over lighter trousers. He did not wear a hat, so I saw his hair was also brown, rather the color of oak bark, quite straight, and neatly trimmed."
The agents shared another glance, aware that this description would fit dozens, if not hundreds of men. "Did you see him turn off on any street or enter a building?" Artie inquired.
"He turned down an alley. I made an attempt to follow further, but he was younger and swifter than I."
"Quite sensible, sir," Jim said politely. "You do not want to be mixing with brigands, Your Excellency."
"My thought exactly. Nonetheless, I do want that walking stick recovered. It is very important to me."
"We understand that," Artie nodded, "and we'll do our best, sir. Can you describe it for us?"
"Certainly. It has a mahogany handle carved in the shape of a hand holding a snake. Quite striking."
"Yes," Artie nodded. "I remember reading about it. Sir, you should be aware that we are in the city to testify at a rather important and lengthy trial…"
"Yes, I know. That is how I was aware of your presence in town. I read about it in the Call-Bulletin. Nevertheless, I am sure you will find time to apprehend this dastardly villain."
Once more, the Secret Service agents exchanged a glance, both with the same thought: this was going to be like looking for that needle in a haystack. Artemus smiled. "We'll do our best, sir."
"I know you will. Ah, now we can move onto more pleasant topics."
The first course arrived and the remainder of the evening was enjoyable. Times like these were when many people questioned whether Joshua Norton was indeed mad or simply a very clever confidence man. His erudition and knowledge of world affairs was remarkable. Of course, he occasionally slanted off into railing against the legislators in Washington, D.C. who had ignored his edict to disband immediately. He also talked of his wild idea of building a bridge from San Francisco to Oakland, using an island as a midway base, as well as a tunnel under the bay.
Primarily he wanted to discuss chess, a game he often indulged in at the Bohemian Club, an association frequented by male San Franciscans, mostly newspapermen and businessmen, who paid dues to be members. The emperor of course was never asked to pay those fees. Artemus had twice engaged in a match with Norton at the club, and found him to be a formidable opponent.
The meal was interrupted, as was to be expected, by the curious and by admirers, who approached the eccentric man, asking him questions and often asking him to autograph the "bank notes" he had printed up and sold to support himself. He even produced a couple from his pocket to sell this evening. Because the notes were never used as legal tender, the authorities paid them no heed.
When the evening ended, the agents hailed a hack and put the Emperor in it, paying the driver to deliver him to his boarding house on Commercial Street. They promised to report any success in their assigned task as soon as possible.
"Do you think he is?" Artemus asked as they watched the hack wend its way down the hilly street.
Jim did not need to ask to what his partner referred, shaking his head. "I honestly don't know. At times he sounds absolutely insane, such as when proposing the tunnel under the bay."
They began walking toward their hotel, two blocks away. "I know. Or the bridge. A nearly impossible engineering feat. I've heard he also mentioned one from Fort Point to Marin, across the Golden Gate. Perhaps some day technology will allow such constructions, but not now. How in the devil are we going to find that walking stick?"
Jim chuckled. "I have no idea, pal. Start checking pawnshops, I guess, although I believe pictures of that cane appeared in the newspapers. You'd think pawnbrokers would be too wise to take it in."
"Maybe we'll get lucky," Artie sighed.
W*W*W*W*W
The lucky have whole days which still they choose; the unlucky have but hours, and those they lose.
—John Dryden (1631-1700), English poet and dramatist
The following day, after finishing with the trial in mid afternoon, they spent some time visiting pawnshops in the area around the courthouse, as well as walking to City Hall and talking to people who habituated the area. A man who sold tamales from a cart had seen the theft. His description of the robber matched that of the Emperor's closely, but he could not help much more than that.
"Me habría ayudado a su excelencia y chase, pero yo no podía dejar mi carro desatendido. Usted entiende, amigos. Otro ladrón habría me han robado!"
"He wanted to assist Norton," Artie translated as they walked away, "but he was afraid to leave his cart unattended. He would have been wiped out by the time he came back."
They continued to talk to people in the general area of where the incident took place. Few people had witnessed the crime; those that did had nothing new to offer in the way of description or anything else. Most were angered by the idea that the beloved San Francisco character had been abused that way.
"That fellow must be new in town," one elderly man complained. "Otherwise he'd know he couldn't sell that cane. Everyone knows about it. No honest dealer is going to pay for it."
"He has a point," Jim stated as they climbed into a cab that would carry them to their hotel. "I think if we get out of court in time tomorrow, we should go to the waterfront."
"Good idea. If anyone has the guts as well as idiocy to purchase such a well-known article, it would be on the Barbary Coast. The thief also better not show up strolling downtown with it. He might be lynched!" Artie lifted an issue of the Examiner he had picked up from a newsstand and displayed the headlines that trumpeted the theft in big black letters. They did not know if Emperor Norton made the report himself, or an intrepid reporter had sniffed it out. Both men wished it had remained confidential.
The following day their session in court lasted later than usual. They had been required to be present every day, whether scheduled to testify or not. After giving their initial testimony, the possibility existed that either side might want to recall one or both. That had occurred today, as the defense tried to break Jim's story of the evidence discovered against the defendant; unsuccessfully tried.
Leaving the courthouse, they grabbed a quick meal at a nearby café, having missed lunch due to a meeting with the prosecution, and then boarded a streetcar that would take them close to the area known as the Barbary Coast, a notorious haven for thieves, gamblers, prostitutes and all the lowest dregs of society.
Deciding that offense was the best tactic, they entered pawnshops and other establishments that were known or suspected to deal in stolen wares and immediately identified themselves as federal agents. Although the proprietors were instantly nervous, none confessed to have purchased the purloined walking stick, and more than one offered to allow the agents to search the premises.
"I ain't that stupid," one bald man said, chewing on a cigar that wobbled as he spoke. "Anyone found out I got the Emperor's stick, I'd be mobbed! Look what happened to that copper who arrested the Emperor!"
Jim and Artemus knew the story. An overzealous policeman had decided to haul Norton in to be committed to involuntary treatment for his perceived insanity. The public as well as the newspapers expressed outrage. The police chief ordered Norton released with a formal apology. The Emperor then magnanimously issued an "Imperial Pardon" to the misguided officer. From that day, every police officer saluted Norton upon encountering him on the street.
The sky was darkening to twilight as they exited from the establishment of another suspected dealer in stolen goods. Artie glanced up at the sky. "What do you think? Fog isn't in yet, but it's going to be rolling in soon. It's already getting chilly."
"Yeah," Jim sighed. "We might as well go back uptown and…"
His words halted as both men saw a fellow emerge through the doors of the saloon across the street. A rather short man with a small head and large ears protruding from his head: a man carrying a walking stick. The top of the stick was a hand gripping a snake.
"I'll be damned," Artie murmured, as both men stepped out into the street to stride toward the cane-bearer.
Whether he heard them coming or saw their reflection in a window, or simply had a sixth sense, the man glanced around, then took off running. The agents set out in pursuit. For owning such short legs, the man moved quite rapidly. He turned a corner and for a moment after swinging around that corner into the cross street, West and Gordon had to halt and scan the area.
"There he is!" Artie pointed to the figure rapidly turning down another cross street.
They had just reached that corner when they heard yells, the neighs of horses… and a cry of agony. Veering around into that street, the two men stopped again. A beer wagon was sitting in the middle of the street, its horses stomping and obviously quite unnerved. The driver was just climbing down, his face pale with horror. Under the wheels of the heavily laden vehicle, and bleeding badly, was the man they had been pursuing.
Racing forward, Artie quickly knelt by the man and sought a pulse. He got to his feet. "Gone."
"Wasn't my fault!" the driver wailed. "He come runnin' round there, and smack dab in front of the wagon. I yelled but he was right in front of Georgie there, the lead horse. Georgie, he's got nerves of steel, but that fellow running right up like that… well, he kicked and the fellow went down right under the wheel there. All the horses was upset and I couldn't stop!"
Jim picked up the unharmed walking stick that had obviously flown out of the dead man's hand. "Don't worry. He was fleeing from the law. Go find a local policeman. We'll look after things here." He quickly displayed the driver his credentials as he spoke.
The driver willingly took off at a trot. A few people were on the sidewalk, but no one approached closely as Artemus carefully grasped the dead man's feet and pulled him out from under the wagon, turning him over. "I never saw him before," he murmured.
Jim shook his head. "No. Anything on him?"
Gingerly avoiding the blood that had spewed from the broken head, Artemus reached inside the jacket. He pulled out his hand and stared at what he held for a long moment before looking up at his partner. "What the…?"
Jim reached down and took the handful of bills, flicking through them. "Must be a couple thousand here, Artie. He doesn't look like a man who would have this kind of money. Not honestly, anyway."
On his feet now, Artemus retrieved the cash from his partner, doing the same thing, ruffling them. "Wait a minute, Jim. Look at this. All the serial numbers are the same. Counterfeit."
"That's strange," Jim murmured. "We haven't had any notification about counterfeit bills being passed in San Francisco. Certainly not the amount this wad would seem to indicate."
Artie glanced at the cane his partner still held. "Another question is how this fellow got hold of the Emperor's walking stick."
A burly policeman came striding down the street now. Fortunately, he was a man acquainted with the agents so he did not need to ask many questions. He did not know the dead man by name, although he admitted he thought he had seen the fellow around. "You might ask the other boys who patrol this area."
After arranging for the officer to have the corpse transported to the morgue, the agents found a cab and took it to police headquarters. They were fortunate to find their friend, Lieutenant Lloyd Morris, still in his office, on a later shift than usual for him. Quickly they told him what had transpired and showed him the counterfeit bills.
Morris nodded and pulled a folder from a pile on his desk, from which he extracted several bills that he passed over to them. "Same thing?"
"Same," Artie confirmed, comparing the numbers. "Excellent work, except for the serial numbers."
"Where did you get them, Lloyd?" Jim asked.
"From two banks after being deposited by a couple of stores. They were just turned in today. I haven't had a chance to do anything other than send officers to those stores to see if the owners or clerks remembered who handed those bills over to pay for items."
"And?"
"No luck. One store is going out of business, selling off everything, and was very busy. The clerk was quite harried and had no idea where the bill came from. The other one was a café on Van Ness. They were shorthanded and several employees manned the cash register by turn. None could particularly remember a specific patron handing over a ten or twenty."
"Sounds to me that the passer chose those establishments because they were busy," Jim commented.
"My thoughts exactly. I was going to send a note to your hotel in the morning to tell you about them."
"We've got to telegraph Washington," Artie put in. "We haven't had any word of fake money in this area."
"This is the first I've seen in a while, especially federal notes and so well done."
"Well," Jim sighed, "at least we know it's not Harry Holmes' work."
"Lloyd," Artie leaned forward in his chair, "the dead man has been taken to the morgue. We hoped that you could have some officers who are familiar with the Barbary Coast area come in to take a look at him."
"Good idea. I'll put the word out, and let you know if any recognize him. Might be important to know who he is in order to find out where these fake bills came from."
Upon leaving police headquarters, they went to the boarding house at 624 Commercial Street, where the emperor resided. Entering his room, both pretended not to notice how small it was, barely six by nine feet in dimension, and that all the furnishings were well used and well worn, including an iron cot with rickety springs. Other furniture included a chair, a sagging couch with soiled upholstery, a washbasin, and a night table. No closet was available so he hung his clothes on "ten-penny" nails in the wall. However, the room was clean and neat, with Norton's collection of canes lined up against one wall. He was delighted to have his special walking stick back, and did not ask for many details.
The emperor apologized for being unable to serve them refreshments, but invited them to meet him at the Bohemian Club anytime. He also wanted Artemus to participate in another game of chess. "You are perhaps the most formidable opponent I've encountered, and I truly enjoy our contests."
W*W*W*W*W
The following morning, before traveling to the courthouse, they stopped at a telegraph office to send a coded message east, requesting that any reply be delivered to their hotel. Then on to the courthouse, where they were relieved when the prosecuting attorney stated that he thought this would be the last day their presence was required. Both he and the defense hoped to wrap up testimony and begin their closing statements.
"I have a feeling," Artemus said as they took their seats in the witnesses' waiting room, "that we are not going to be leaving San Francisco as soon as we anticipated."
"It's just so odd that we haven't heard of any bills being passed anywhere. Tens and twenties; that's actually a little unusual. Generally a counterfeiter prints up just one denomination—at least to start with."
"I was thinking about that. Where did the plates come from? The bills don't stand up to really close inspection, but if distributed smartly—as was done with the ones Lloyd had—they could be quite valuable. Was the unfortunate fellow with the walking stick part of the counterfeiters, or someone who bought a bundle to spend?"
"That's a good question. One we need to answer. Two thousand dollars is a lot of money. It could mess up the economy in the region where spent."
Artemus nodded. "Chances are a big city would be chosen so the money could be spread around swiftly. Buy a two-dollar item to get eight or eighteen dollars in change in good money for a sham ten or twenty. Nice profit."
"Thinking of going into counterfeiting, Artemus?" Jim grinned.
"No, not as long as clever fellows like you and I are on the job!"
The prosecution's prophecy was correct. Testimony ended after one more witness took the stand, whereupon both sides presented their summations. Ordinarily, the two agents would have remained to listen to those orations, but on this day, they decided they had better follow up on the counterfeit cash.
Two messages were awaiting them at their hotel. One was a telegram from Colonel Richmond instructing them to stay in San Francisco to investigate the appearance of the fake money. He did not have any information regarding similar bills being found anywhere else. The second was a note from Morris, tersely stating that the dead man had been identified.
At the police station, the lieutenant explained what he had learned. Not one but two officers who worked the Barbary Coast and waterfront area had identified the dead man as "Mouse" Naiman. Neither knew the man's real name; to their knowledge he was a smalltime thief who generally managed to get very short sentences after being arrested, thus was soon back on the streets to ply his specialty. They knew nothing about him being involved with counterfeiters, and both expressed doubt that Mouse was smart enough to be doing it on his own. One officer had seen Naiman with the walking stick earlier yesterday, but had had no knowledge of the theft at that time. They did know that Naiman lived in a seedy boardinghouse near the waterfront.
The next call was to the rundown two-story house with a barely readable sign on the porch announcing rooms for rent by the day, week, or month. A knock on the unpainted door brought a slovenly woman with thinning gray hair and the odor of stale whiskey about her person. She glared at them until Artemus displayed his identification, when her attitude quickly changed. The fear she displayed made both men wonder what she had been up to recently.
However, they were not interested in her, asking to see the room of Mouse Naiman. With alacrity, she led them up creaking stairs and down an odiferous hallway, opening a door at the end. "He owes a week's rent," she said. "Reckon his goods is mine now, ain't they?"
"Depends," Jim replied, stepping inside.
"On what?"
"On whether we find any next of kin. I'd suggest you leave things alone until you get an official release."
The landlady was wailing and cussing when Artie pulled the door shut, leaving her in the hallway. Jim knew as well as he did that little effort was going to be put into finding Naiman's relatives. Nonetheless, it would do the old crone good to have to wait to hawk his possessions, as well as to rent the room again.
"My god," Jim muttered, looking around at the clutter. A mouse skittered from under the bed, heading for safety through a crack visible where the baseboards met at a corner.
"We probably should have fumigated it with sulfur first," Artie sighed. He stepped over and with some effort threw the lone window wide open, thinking that it probably had not been opened in years.
After about a half hour of gingerly picking through soiled clothing and rotting, moldy food, Jim found a small card in one drawer of the battered dresser. He passed it to his partner, who studied it, going to the window for better light. The writing had been done in ink, and dankness had smeared it somewhat.
"I'd venture a guess that it says Mrs. Ivy Carothers," he finally decided. "The address might be Powell Street."
Jim frowned. "What business would a man like Mouse have with someone living on Nob Hill?"
"Good question. We need to find out if I'm reading it correctly. Moira Sargent might know."
Moira Sargent worked for the San Francisco Examiner as a society columnist, detailing the activities of the city's upper crust. She had been helpful in the past, and they were glad to find her in the small office she occupied at the newspaper. She was a widow in her forties, and had started working for the paper in an effort to earn a living to support her two children.
"Good to see you two," she smiled, blue eyes gleaming. "I heard you were in town. What's this about finding the Emperor's walking stick?"
"It was just the beginning," Jim replied, unsurprised that she knew about the theft and its recovery. In many ways San Francisco was a small town, especially the way news got around.
"Moira," Artie put in, "do you know a woman named Ivy Carothers?"
"Ivy Carothers! I surely do! The up and coming queen."
The men exchanged glances. "Is that right?" Jim inquired. "How so? Who is she?"
"Moved to San Francisco three, maybe four months ago now, bought the former Metcalf house on Powell Street and has been entertaining up a storm. You are no one these days if you're not invited to one of Ivy's fetes."
"I take it she has money," Artie offered.
"Seems so. Tons of it. She remodeled the house. I mean, it was a nice family residence for the Metcalf family but it rivals the homes of the finest now. You should see it."
"Maybe we will," Jim smiled.
"Why are you asking anyway?" Moira looked from one to the other.
Artemus explained the situation, knowing from experience that the confidence would be kept. She might spill the secrets of the upper crust, but not those of the government. Moira listened with rapt attention. She shook her head as he completed his narration. "Only thing I can think of is that Ivy might have hired this Mouse to do some work. She wouldn't have anything to do with a small-time thief, that I can assure you."
"How would she react if we called on her to ask about Mouse?"
Moira gazed at Jim with amused speculation. "I'd say she just might welcome you with open arms, James. Both figuratively and literally."
Artie bit back a grin. "What else can you tell us about Mrs. Carothers? I take it she's new to the city."
"As I said, came several months ago, had money to buy and refurbish the house, as well as entertain. She is a widow. No children. I have to admit that is about the extent of my knowledge about her. I have talked to her, tried to find out more, but she… somehow, she diverts the topic without one knowing it. Very charming and quite lovely. I can only assume she inherited a fairly large fortune from her late husband."
Artie had to grin now. "Perhaps Jim can charm the information out of her."
Jim cocked a brow toward his partner. "If that's what it takes, perhaps I can!"