Chapter Two
Gli uomini sono così semplici, e resa tanto per necessità, che colui che inganna sempre lui trovare chi presterà si lascia ingannare.
[Men are so simple, and yield so much to necessity, that he who will deceive will always find him who will lend himself to be deceived.]
—Niccolo Machiavelli (1469-1527), Italian philosopher, statesman, diplomatist, and writer
The secretary behind the desk was slightly plump but not unattractive, her light brown hair in neat, tight curls around her face, the rest of it in a smooth chignon. She looked up as the outer door opened, gazed frowningly at the man who entered, then spoke. "May I help you, sir?"
"I am here to see Mr. Cornelius." He was a well-dressed man, his tailored attire fitting smoothly over his broad stomach. When he removed his porkpie hat, he revealed a head of graying brown hair that matched a full mustache covering his mouth almost entirely as it drooped on either side of his chin.
The woman glanced down at her desk, looked at him again. "Do you have an appointment?" Her left hand lifted to touch her chin, and a large diamond sparkled on the third finger.
The visitor stiffened, chin lifting. "Of course not. Major Homer Thaddeus Blackwell does not need appointments." He pronounced the final word with some scorn.
"I'm… I'm sorry, Major Blackwell, but Mr. Cornelius does not see anyone without an appointment."
"Does he have a visitor right now?"
She could not stop herself from looking at the closed door behind her, nor think fast enough to tell a falsehood. "Well… no… but… Sir! You can't go in!"
Nonetheless in he went, with the secretary hastily behind him, petticoats rustling. "Mr. Cornelius! I'm sorry…"
"Do not blame the lady," the major said, taking in the interior office. Not as plush as he thought it would be, even after viewing the rather sparsely furnished outer office; nothing like that of Chandler Edgerton. "I am a man who does not take no for a final answer. Major Homer Thaddeus Blackwell is the name. Perhaps you've heard of me." Artie stuck his hand over the desk toward the man who had slowly risen while gaping at him.
"Er, I'm afraid not, sir. Are you from the local area?" Jonas Cornelius was around forty, with thinning sandy hair that tended to vanish from sight on his ruddy scalp, a round face with rather thick lips. He was clean-shaven.
"Not at all. New York is my home. The great city, you know. I'm here to talk investments."
"Investments? That will be all, Thelma. Thank you." The secretary backed out, closing the door behind her. "Sit down, Major. What do you mean, investments?"
The major cleared his throat, taking the leather-upholstered visitor's chair. "Well, it's like this. I like risks. I like to think I know when I can, as the saying goes, beat the system. You know what I mean?" He winked.
Cornelius shook his head, although his complexion reddened. "I'm afraid I do not, sir."
"All right. Very well. Tell me about your company."
"There is not a lot to tell. My parents started making pickles in the kitchen of our home in Santa Clara and selling them at a local store. The sales were very successful and they expanded, renting a small house and hiring a couple of people to help. It went on from there until we incorporated and began selling nationwide. As it is, we are something of a part-time business. Cucumbers, as you may know, ripen in late summer. That is when we begin pickling.
"We hire people especially for the tasks done at that time, and when the cucumbers are all gone, we let those people go until next season. We keep a small year-round staff for the distribution from our warehouse in San Francisco, and even those people are idle at this time of year, when the warehouse is empty. We are still a family business. Thelma—Miss Crawford—is my fiancée."
"Well, congratulations." Artie nodded thoughtfully. "You've never considered expanding? You know, other vegetables, and some meats, are pickled. My grandmother made a marvelous pickled beet."
"No, we have not. We are modestly successful, and really have no desire to grow any bigger."
Artie eyed the diamond stickpin in the ascot at the pickle maker's neck. It was twice as large as the stone in the secretary's ring. That is not a "modest" diamond. "Have you any other ventures ongoing?"
"Other ventures? What do you mean?"
Major Blackwell smiled. "Oh, you know. Something on the side." He winked. "As I said, I enjoy taking risks. Big risks. Slipping one under the noses of the big boys. You know what I mean?"
Cornelius's complexion grew even ruddier. "I am sure I do not know what you mean, sir! We are a legitimate business. I don't believe I have anything further to say to you."
Artie reached inside his coat and withdrew a small card. He rose to step toward the desk and help himself to the pen in the inkwell on the desk, using it to scribble on the back of the card, which he then placed on the desktop in front of the pickle man. "Here is the name of my hotel. You may leave a message at the desk and I'll return. Don't ask to see me. The clerk will deny that I'm registered there." He winked again. "Good day, Mr. Cornelius. Happy pickling!"
W*W*W*W*W
Jim felt he had had a reasonably successful day as he described it to his partner while they enjoyed cold beers in the saloon down the street from the hotel. Unlike the policemen who had decided that one particular person had done the bond passing at all locations, he had managed to get more details from the victims.
"I'm all but certain that at least three men were involved in San Francisco. Who knows how many in the other towns? Same men or others? We could be dealing with a fairly substantial gang."
Artie nodded, lowering his glass to the table. He had taken the time to get rid of his disguise in the hotel room before coming to the bar. "I hope we get an answer to the telegram I sent to Denver earlier. Be good to know what Doc has to say, if anything." He lifted the glass again to take a swallow. "Unfortunately, I can't be as certain of Jonas Cornelius. He appeared to be flustered at my suggestion that I was willing to go outside the law to profit, but that could be a usual behavior. After all, I burst in on him unexpectedly. For a 'modest' family company, he and his fiancée, the secretary, sported very large diamonds."
Jim tapped his fingertips on the tabletop for a moment. "Sounds to me that a couple of federal agents should pay a surprise call now."
"I agree. Tomorrow. Jim, I hope you don't mind reporting to Lloyd without me today. I promised Lily I would get a haircut before tonight's theater date. She threatened to not allow me in the box if I didn't."
His partner chuckled. "I have to agree with Lily. You will need to put a bow in your hair if it gets much longer. Go ahead. I'm fine. I'll also check for an answer about Keyno. I've ordered a bath these evening at the hotel and I'm looking forward to a long soak. Which I also need!"
W*W*W*W*W
Toda la belleza no inspira amor. Algunos complacer a la vista sin cautivador los afectos.
[All beauty does not inspire love. Some please the sight without captivating the affections.]
—Cervantes (Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra; 1547-1616), Spanish author
Jim put his magazine aside when the rap sounded on the door, rising from the bed. This would be the porter with the word his bath was ready. Not bothering to grab his jacket, he went to the door to open it—and stared, not at the expected porter, but a very lovely woman with nearly perfect features and translucent ivory complexion. She was in her mid twenties, he thought, with shiny brunette hair stylishly coifed to go with the equally chic gown and hat she wore. Brown eyes were large and shining.
"May I help you?" he asked.
Her smile was wide as were her eyes. "Mr. Gordon?"
"No. He is not here. I'm his partner. Is there something I can do for you?"
The smile faltered, then returned, as she shot a quick glance to her right. "I am Cecelia Edgerton, Mr. Gordon's fiancée. Will he be returning soon?"
Jim realized he was not entirely surprised. Although he had never seen Miss Edgerton in person or in a photograph, she fit the description he had heard of her. As well, Chandler Edgerton did not give up easily. "I'm afraid he will be late. He has escorted his other fiancée to the theater."
That wiped the smile away completely. "His… other fiancée? Papa said…"
"Papa was wrong. Miss Fortune did not desert Mr. Gordon. You may as well go back to New York, Miss Edgerton."
Her glance to the side was longer this time. Jim shifted his position and looked around the doorframe. Two people stood a few feet away, a man and a woman. The woman was colored, probably a year or two younger than Miss Edgerton. Her complexion was that of lightly creamed coffee, her face somewhat round. The dress she wore was last year's style, and Jim suspected it was a hand-me-down, probably from her mistress. They were of a similar size. Her hat was a plain straw bonnet.
The man was thirty or so, on the tall side, fair-haired but dark-eyed. His jaw was square, mouth grim just now, as he stared at Miss Edgerton. Something angered him, Jim decided. He was well dressed but the cost of Miss Edgerton's gown would have purchased five of those suits.
Cecelia Edgerton noticed Jim's interest. "Oh. This is my bodyguard, Mr. Ethan Smith, and my maid, Etta. Papa insists at least one of them is with me all the time, so Etta stays in my suite while Mr. Smith is across the hall." She seemed vaguely embarrassed to reveal this.
"Your father sent you here to meet Mr. Gordon," Jim stated flatly.
"Yes. He thought we should get acquainted." Her smile now revealed charming dimples on each cheek. No embarrassment with this situation was apparent.
"I do think that it is a good idea to know the man you are betrothed to," Jim nodded soberly.
"Yes. Well, that's why Papa sent me here." The smile continued but her gaze evinced some confusion. "Will Mr. Gordon return soon?"
"I doubt it. He and Miss Fortune often like to enjoy a midnight supper after attending the theater."
"I see. I suppose I will meet him tomorrow then. Goodnight, Mr. West."
Only after the young woman led her companions toward the stairs did Jim realize that the porter was standing off to the other side. Alex turned and watched the trio until they began to descend the stairs. Then he headed toward Jim. He was a stocky man with a darker complexion than the maid's, but Jim was aware that colored women who worked in the hotel kitchen considered Alex Foster quite a handsome fellow.
"Did I hear that correctly, Mr. West? Did she say she is Mr. Gordon's fiancée? I thought…"
"It's a big mix up, Alex. The young lady is misled."
"I should say so. Your bath is ready, sir."
"Thank you. I need some quiet time!"
W*W*W*W*W
Dum in dubio est animus, paulo momento huc illuc impellitur.
[When the mind is in a state of uncertainty the smallest impulse directs it to either side.]
—Andria (I, 5, 32), Terence (Publius Terentius Afer; c. 185-159 BC), Roman (Carthaginian-born) comic poet
"What are your plans today, Lily?"
Lily Fortune lowered her fork to the plate of pancakes before her. "A friend of mine from our early days on the stage now lives here in San Francisco, Jim. I have not seen her in a couple of years. I sent her a note by messenger yesterday and she invited me to her home today. We may go out for lunch and do some shopping."
Jim grinned. "Sounds like a perfect day. Sorry we can't join you."
Artie shook his head. "Sadly we have to work, Lil."
Lily smiled at the pair, knowing they were twitting her. "You will be greatly missed."
Jim was facing the door that opened from the hotel lobby. "Artemus, your other fiancée has just entered."
Artie swung his head around. When he returned to the hotel room last night, Jim had awakened to tell him about Cecelia Edgerton's arrival. She paused inside the restaurant door, speaking briefly to her bodyguard, who was just behind her. The maid Jim mentioned was not with them; no doubt, she had gone to have breakfast with the colored and Mexican hotel staff in a room off the kitchen.
"Why, she's lovely, Artemus," Lily cooed, putting her hand on her swain's arm. "You are so lucky."
Artie grimaced at her as Cecelia then headed for their table, while Smith veered off to a small table along the far wall. Miss Edgerton was smiling brightly. Jim and Artemus got to their feet.
"Good morning, Miss Edgerton," Jim greeted.
"Good morning, Mr. West," she responded, but her eyes were on Artemus, barely touching on Lily.
"Miss Edgerton," Jim went on, "may I present your fiancé, Mr. Artemus Gordon."
Cecelia extended her gloved hand. "I am so pleased to finally meet you, Mr. Gordon."
Artie accepted the hand briefly then glanced down at the still seated actress. "And my I present my fiancée, Miss Lily Fortune."
Cecelia did not react. She must have prepared herself, Jim decided. The young woman merely continued to smile. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Miss Fortune."
Lily only nodded. Jim proffered an invitation to Cecelia to join them that she accepted with alacrity, suggesting she had expected that to be the case. Artemus stepped around to hold her chair, then signaled a nearby waiter, who quickly came over to take the newcomer's order.
When the waiter departed, Artemus gazed at Cecelia. "Miss Edgerton, I'm sure you are aware that I turned down your father's… business offer."
"Yes, so he told me. But Papa is certain you will reconsider once you come to know me." She pointedly continued to steer her gaze away from Lily.
"You are a very lovely young lady," Artie said. "Many men would be thrilled to know and court you. Nevertheless, I have no interest. I'm betrothed to Miss Fortune, and it's going to stay that way."
She continued to appear unperturbed. "Papa's lawyer will send his lawyer here with a new offer. Papa is certain you will not refuse."
Lily could not remain quiet. "Doesn't it bother you, Miss Edgerton?"
Cecelia blinked. "What?" Her gaze shifted involuntarily.
"Well, it's obvious your father is 'selling' you in order to increase his fortune."
"Oh. I can see why you would think that." Cecelia smiled sweetly. "However, that is not the case. Not at all. I agreed a long time ago that my duty is to help Papa's business. After all, he doesn't have a son."
Lily and the two agents exchanged glances as the waiter returned with a cup of coffee and the toast Miss Edgerton had requested. Her father is a convincing man, it seems, Artie mused, remembering his time in Edgerton's office. The businessman was certainly confident that he would win in the end. This time he is wrong. Very wrong.
Cecelia looked toward Artemus. "I thought that perhaps we could spend some time today getting acquainted."
Artie shook his head. "No. Mr. West and I have business to attend to. I'm afraid you will need to find something else to occupy your time."
Her disappointment was evident. "Papa said…"
"Miss Edgerton," Artie went on. "You are going to have to accept the fact that this time your father is very wrong. I am not going to marry you. I am not going to go to work for your father. Getting acquainted is not necessary."
As she had last night, Cecelia turned to look toward the table where her bodyguard was devouring his breakfast. He did not return the glance at this moment. She sighed. "I'm sure you'll change your mind, Mr. Gordon. You have to!"
Jim put his napkin aside and got to his feet. "Speaking of work, we'd better get at it, Artie. I'm sure Miss Fortune and Miss Edgerton have things they can talk about."
Artie rose, leaning over to kiss Lily's cheek. "I hope you have a fine day with your old friend, dearest. I will perhaps see you this evening. Miss Edgerton." He nodded shortly to the newcomer then followed Jim out toward the lobby, glancing toward Ethan Smith who was now staring at the table where the two women remained.
Cecelia watched the agents depart then turned back. "Papa sent you some money…"
"And I sent it back," Lily replied tartly. "In shreds. Like Mr. Gordon, I cannot be bought."
"I'm really very sorry. Papa has a terrible opinion of actresses. Actors too, I suppose. He does not know that I attend the theater in Washington. I go with friends who fib for me. I saw you perform more than once. You are very good."
"Thank you." Lily started to lift the last bite of her eggs to her mouth, but lowered the fork. "How did you elude your bodyguard in order to attend the theater?"
"Oh." Cecelia shot another quick look at the man seated along the wall, who was now engrossed in a newspaper he had acquired. "Mr. Smith was hired solely for this journey. He will be dismissed when I return to Washington." Her tone was stiff.
"Miss Edgerton, would you really have married Mr. Gordon simply because your father told you to?"
"I guess so."
"Doesn't love mean anything to you?"
"Well, I'm sure that Mr. Gordon and I could have become very fond of each other. I've heard that happens."
Lily cocked her head. "Did your parents have such a marriage? Arranged for profit, I mean."
Cecelia's cheeks flamed. "Oh, no, of course not. They were childhood sweethearts. Mama died when I was twelve. Papa loved her dearly and misses her so much. We now live in a big beautiful house and sometimes it makes Papa sad because Mama did not live to enjoy it."
"But he does not wish the same happiness for you."
The younger woman's lips tightened. "Things have changed."
"You mean money and profit is more important to your father than your bliss."
"Papa cares a great deal about my future. He feels I would be more secure…"
"Security isn't everything, Miss Edgerton. When Mr. Gordon and I marry, we both expect to continue our careers. We don't know at this time what that will mean to our lives together, but we hope that our love will sustain us."
"What about children?"
Lily smiled. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." She folded her napkin and picked up the beaded bag that she had placed near her plate. "I've enjoyed talking to you, Miss Edgerton. I find you a most interesting young woman. It will be fascinating to see how far you will go to assure your father's happiness instead of your own. For now, I have an engagement I must prepare for. Good morning."
Lily did not look back as she departed the restaurant, but she suspected that Cecelia Edgerton was gaping after her.