Chapter Three

Speechless with wonder and half dead with fear.

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

Thelma looked up when the two men entered the anteroom. "May I help you?" she inquired politely, recognizing neither man.

Artemus pulled out his identification folder and held it in front of her. "I'm Gordon. This is Mr. West. We are with the United States Secret Service. We want to talk to Mr. Cornelius."

"Oh." Clearly she was torn, presumably because she had orders from her boss—her fiancé—to not admit anyone without an appointment, and for the second consecutive day she was faced with a decision. As well, unmistakably, she did not recognize Mr. Gordon.

Odd that Cornelius is such a busy man, Artie mused. The anteroom had been empty yesterday, and it was empty today. This was the offseason for the company, after all.

"Just a moment," the secretary finally said before scurrying to the inner door. She went through and closed it behind her.

"I noticed the ring," Jim said in a low voice. "That's not something one can pick up at the corner drugstore."

"Maybe a family heirloom," Artie murmured.

"Maybe."

The secretary emerged from the inner office, a smile pasted on her face. "You may go in, gentlemen."

They thanked her politely and walked by her into Cornelius's office. That man got to his feet, beaming as he extended his hand over the desk. "Mr. West, Mr. Gordon. What an honor. I know of your reputations. What brings you to Cornelius Pickles today?"

"We want to talk to you about your vacant warehouse," Jim replied, taking one of the chairs.

"Oh? I already talked to the San Francisco police about that." He continued to smile although the expression was patently forced. Cornelius was wearing an emerald stickpin today. The stone was yet larger than the diamond Artie had spotted yesterday. "I have no knowledge of what happened there. Someone broke in."

"However, no signs of a break-in were apparent," Artie pointed out.

"Yes, I know. That is what I was told. Nonetheless, it could not have been anything else. No one here has any connection to counterfeit money."

"The paper was found in your warehouse," Jim spoke with deliberate sternness. "Because no signs of break-in were found, the obvious conclusion is that someone associated with Cornelius Pickles used a key to enter."

"No, no, no!" Cornelius came to his feet shaking his head vigorously. "If someone had a key, it was stolen!"

"That's entirely possible," Artemus nodded somberly. "Have you any suspects?"

Cornelius blinked, sinking back into his chair. "Suspects?"

"Someone who would have access to the keys," Jim explained. "Someone with a grudge against the company?"

The company owner stared at him, then at Artie, and back to Jim again. Unmistakably, he was thinking hard, trying to come up with an answer. "I… I don't think so. Perhaps… maybe someone broke in here."

Artie nodded, his face continuing to display soberness. "That's possible. Have you noticed any signs of a robbery?"

"No…. No. I don't know. I mean, certainly someone got the warehouse keys. However, I do not know who or how. Gentlemen, you cannot seriously believe that I would have anything to do with counterfeiting. I'm a respectable businessman!"

"That's why we are hoping you can help us," Jim smiled. "You want to protect your reputation, I'm sure."

"Of course. Yes. Of course." Cornelius swallowed hard and stared down at his hands that he now had folded on his desktop. He seemed to come to a mental conclusion as he lifted his gaze to speak firmly. "I'm afraid I have nothing more to tell you. Someone knew that the warehouse was empty at this time of year and managed to acquire a key. That's what I told the police."

"You did at that," Artie nodded. "We were hoping you had thought it over and had other ideas." With a glance at Jim, he pushed himself to his feet. "We thank you for your time. If you should think of anything else, you can contact us through the San Francisco Police Department."

Jim rose as well. "We appreciate your time, Mr. Cornelius. This is a very serious matter, as you are no doubt aware. All the resources of the United States Secret Service are being devoted to stopping these counterfeiters. We have a habit of being successful in such matters."

"Yes. I know. I know." Although he plainly would have preferred to duck under his desk just now, Cornelius came around to shake each of their hands and then open the door for them. "I'm sorry I could not be of more assistance, but rest assured that should I think of any possible solution, I will contact you."

"We know you will," Artie smiled.

Both men nodded to Thelma on their way out but did not speak until they reached the hack still waiting on the street. After giving the driver the address of the San Francisco Police Department, they climbed aboard and settled in.

"He's a nervous man," Jim commented.

"However, is it merely the presence of law enforcement figures in his office, or does he have something more to be nervous about?

Jim could only shake his head. "Time will tell. But in the meantime, we are hitting that same brick wall that Lloyd did."

"I hope someone in Denver has managed to talk to Doc Keyno and that the Doc has some information for us. Even though we've sent notices to all the banks in the California area, that does not mean that the counterfeiters won't simply move on to another region or state."

Jim nodded but did not comment. He stared out the isinglass window behind Artie's seat, his mind wandering. Artemus was likewise quiet, a frown deepening on his face. After a few minutes, Jim asked, "What are you going to do about Cecelia?"

Artie made a mild snorting sound. "Well, I'm not going to marry her, that's for certain! With any luck, she's intelligent enough to realize that and will go back home."

"That might depend on just how determined 'Papa' is. He must be pretty damned resolute to send his daughter across the country like this."

"Not to mention worried enough about her safety to hire a bodyguard to accompany her," Artie nodded. "If I had had time, it probably would have been a good idea to look into the Edgerton Arms Company's financial situation. If he's desperate to have someone on the inside to help him get government contracts…"

"It sounds as though he might not be getting many these days after building up his company during the war." Jim's gaze remained on that rear window. "We're being followed."

"Oh?" Artie twisted slightly in the rear seat and peered back. "The carriage with the dapple gray?"

"Uh-huh. Seems like they could have picked a less conspicuous horse." Now Jim reached over his head to open the slot that allowed communication with the driver. "Speed up a little, take the next left turn and then pull over."

The driver merely nodded and shook the reins. He was a man they had hired before, as he kept a station in front of the hotel and had been involved in "out of the ordinary" instructions from the agents. The carriage swayed as he steered the horse into the next street, where it came to a halt, pulled to the curb.

As soon as the hack stopped, both agents jumped out to the street. As they did, the other carriage drawn by the gray horse came around the corner. Almost at the same moment, the passenger in that vehicle leapt out to sprint back toward the street from which it had just turned. Jim took off after him. The driver of that cab halted his vehicle, stood up and began yelling, accusing his fleeing passenger of stiffing him, using words that caused two women who were on the far sidewalk to flinch.

"Hey!" Artie strode up to the man. "Who is that guy?"

The driver glared down at him. "How the hell should I know? He promised me double fare if I kept up with you. Hey, Barney! What's going on?"

Artie replied for the driver of their hack. "We are government agents and we have reason to believe your passenger is a wanted criminal."

"Ha! He said he was a copper and you are crooks!"

Artie pulled out his identification and held it up for the irate driver to see. "Where did you pick him up?"

"Huh? Oh, about a block from that pickle factory."

"Did he come out of the factory?"

"I dunno. He just hailed me down. I was coming back from taking a fare to a spot about a quarter mile away. I wasn't looking for a new customer, just heading downtown."

"What did he look like?"

The driver shrugged. "I didn't pay no attention. All I know is he stiffed me!"

Replacing the identification folder, Artie pulled out his wallet, from which he obtained a couple of bills of paper money, handing it up toward the driver who grabbed it eagerly. "Does that jog your memory any?"

"Naw, afraid not. I was tellin' the truth. He jumped in fast, yelling at me to follow Barney's hack. I didn't get a good look at him."

Jim spotted his quarry veering into a narrow alley about two blocks from where they had entered the street. He speeded up, then halted just before the aperture to that passageway, peering around the corner cautiously. He could see that the alley continued all the way to the street that paralleled this one on the other side of the block, between the two large building, one facing each street. Several doors open off.

Pulling the pistol from the holster under his jacket, Jim carefully stepped into the opening, staying as close as possible to the near wall. The alley was about ten feet wide, probably barely enough room for a wagon to pass through. These were office buildings, he thought. They did not get deliveries from beer wagons or any other extra large vehicle.

All seemed quiet as he made his way through the alleyway. He heard nothing and saw nothing move. Chances were good the guy had sprinted all the way through to the other street and was long gone by now, possibly finding other transportation. Still, Jim determined he needed to go the distance to the other side, in the hopes that the man might still be in view, or at least someone saw him.

The blow that knocked the gun from his hand was a complete surprise, as well as painful. The stick or whatever was used struck his arm just above the wrist, and struck it hard, paralyzing his fingers for a few seconds so that the gun slipped away and clattered on the ground. He was instantly ready, however, grabbing with his other hand to seize the fist with the club. He gripped it and jerked hard.

The fellow that flew out of the deep doorway alcove came out with a yell, hitting the ground hard. Jim went after him, but was hampered slightly by his still throbbing right wrist. When his assailant jumped up quickly, Jim was able to catch his jaw with a quick left, but was unable to follow through, giving the other man an opportunity to get in a couple of blows himself.

Jim ducked the first, but made a mistake in reflexively throwing up his right arm ward off the second. The pain was like an electric shock in his body and he stumbled back against the wall of the alley. His opponent waded in, catching Jim with a blow to the midriff and another to the jaw. Jim quickly recovered somewhat and threw up a knee to catch his foe in a sensitive spot.

The man howled, bending over for a few seconds before he turned and scrambled for the far exit of the alley. Jim took a few steps after him, but was foiled when he stepped on his own fallen weapon, which slipped under his boot, causing him to grab for the wall to keep his balance—and trigger more pain in his wrist. Picking up the wayward gun, Jim hurried to the opening. Looking both ways, he saw nothing, thus headed back to the waiting hack and his partner.

Seeing Jim coming back around the corner—alone—Artie stepped back to motion to the very annoyed but still waiting hack driver. "All right, go along. I'm sure we will find you if we need you."

Jim shook his head as he neared, seeing the question in his partner's face. "Got away. I suspect he ducked into a store or some other building. I couldn't get close enough to get a good look at him, either."

"The driver wasn't any help. He said he picked up the fare about a block from the factory, which doesn't mean much." Artie eyed the way in which Jim was flexing his right hand. "All right?"

"Not exactly, but it's nothing permanent. Let's get going and I'll tell you what happened."

They climbed back into the hack, instructing their driver to continue on to their destination. Jim described his encounter. "A lot of bad luck came my way," he concluded.

W*W*W*W*W

Lieutenant Morris had some information for them when they arrived at the police station. Two more counterfeit bonds had been passed. One had been brought to a bank in Oakland, across the bay. "It might have been the very first one," the policeman informed them. "A clerk doing some overdue filing came across it and remembering our warning, checked it. The bond had been cashed almost two months ago."

"I don't suppose anyone remembers a description of the person who brought it in," Jim frowned.

"As a matter of fact, yes. The teller who cashed it remembers quite well because it was a woman."

The two agents shared a surprised glance. "A woman?" Artie exclaimed. "Any description?"

"Not a good one. It was during that late season rainstorm in early April, and she was bundled up in a hooded cloak. He thinks she was 'older,' although he could not see her face well and her hair not at all. She might have been quite plump but the cloak hid that possibility. He does recall specifically that she was very nervous. She explained it away by needing the money to pay for her husband's funeral."

"I'm sure the name she used isn't helpful." Jim shook his head slightly.

Morris consulted a sheet of paper on his desk. "Mrs. Jane Brown. Just like all the others, very ordinary, untraceable names. The address was fake, some place in Martinez that turned out to be a livery stable where no one ever heard of Mrs. Jane Brown."

"They certainly planned well," Artie mused. "It is interesting that this woman was sent to cash in the first one. Because they thought that if the fake was immediately noticed, they would never suspect of female of anything untoward?"

Jim nodded. "She could claim it was with her husband's papers and she didn't know anything about it."

"With a successful beginning, they went on to send men in with the bonds."

"Where did the second one turn up?" Artie asked.

"Down in Monterey County, the farthest south yet, at a bank in Salinas. Usual method was followed. A man came in with some story about needing money for an emergency; otherwise, he would not think of cashing in his 'nest egg' bonds. Although the bank had received the warning notice, apparently the manager did not see fit to educate his employees about it. The bond was noticed and identified two days after the fact."

Jim shook his head. "These people aren't helping much."

"I think we need to visit both places," Artie stated.

Morris nodded. "I agree. Somehow your badges seem to make people more nervous that an ordinary police badge." He grinned.

Artie chuckled. "We have noticed that."

Jim consulted his watch. "It's getting late in the day. I think tomorrow morning we should take the ferry over to Oakland, talk to the bank people there, then the train down to Salinas."

"Sounds good to me," Artemus nodded. "You know, however, that we missed lunch and my stomach is complaining."

"Your stomach is always complaining," Jim twitted. "Lloyd, do you want to go with us tomorrow?"

The policeman grimaced. "I would like to, but I have a meeting tomorrow with the chief and some other bigwigs that I'd better not miss. So you'll be on your own."

"We'll do our best to struggle through," Artie grinned. "James, let's go eat."

The meal at one of San Francisco's finer restaurants took longer than anticipated because of encountering two military friends stationed at the local Presidio. A lot of catching up was required, along with a few beers that accompanied the excellent food. By the time Jim and Artemus caught a hack to take them back to the hotel, the shadows were long and the street lamps were being ignited.

As they entered the hotel lobby, Cecelia Edgerton was descending the stairs on the arm of Ethan Smith. She was attired in a fine sateen gown with a fur wrap over her shoulders. Both were laughing at something—until Cecelia turned to see the two agents, stopping abruptly. As Smith realized his companion had halted, he turned to also see the pair; he scowled.

Both Jim and Artemus paused in the middle of the lobby, removing their hats, causing Cecelia to begin moving again toward them. She looked very nervous, and her smile was tentative. "Mr. Gordon. I hope you don't mind. Mr. Smith has invited me to dinner and the theater. Etta is spending the evening with Alex, the porter, and his family."

Artemus smiled warmly. "You do not need my permission, Miss Edgerton. I have no say in how you spend your time. I'm sure you will have a lovely evening." With a nod, he put his hat back on his head and headed for the desk. Jim nodded as well, and followed his partner.

Jim glanced back once he reached the desk where Artie was talking to the clerk. The pair was standing in the lobby yet and he thought that Smith was now convincing Cecelia that they should continue on with their intended evening. She glanced toward the desk a couple of times, then finally nodded, took his arm again, whereupon they strolled toward the outer door.

"At last," Artie said, "a telegram from Denver." He opened the envelope as he strolled away from the desk, Jim alongside him. "Okay, it's from Pike. 'Sorry for delay. Keyno is ill. He remembers a man specializing in bond plates some 20 years ago, cannot remember name. Will contact me if he does. Regards, Pike.' I guess that's a little bit of help."

"Not without the name of the guy," Jim groused. "It doesn't help that Washington doesn't have any information on a possible suspect."

Artemus did not speak until they were inside their room. He tossed the envelope containing the telegraph message onto a small stand beside his bed. "I have a feeling our trek tomorrow isn't going to help much either."

"These are clever people we're up against, Artie. By scattering their activity around the countryside, they are still collecting their money but making it hellish for us to try to pin them down." Jim sat down on his bed.

"The fellow who tried to follow us seems to indicate to me we might be making them a little nervous."

"True." Now Jim lay back, putting his left arm under his head on the pillow, resting the injured right one on his chest as he crossed his stretched out legs. "However, does that indicate Cornelius is involved?" His wrist was no longer throbbing but it was slightly swollen and the flesh was livid. Although Artemus had shown concern and suggested a doctor, Jim had refused. He knew nothing was broken.

Artemus now sat on his own bed, leaning his elbows on his knees. "That is a very good question. The fellow in the hack may have been following us previously without us noticing. However, that then begs another question: how would this fellow and his confederates know we were on the case? Cornelius is the only person we've talked to beyond the employees of the banks."

Jim winced. "Please don't suggest that one of those employees is complicit. That would take forever to check them out."

Artie chuckled. "I'll try not to. That brick wall is just getting thicker and higher. We have to hope that Doc regains his memory and has a name for us in the near future." He got to his feet. "I neglected to ask Raymond at the desk if Lily had returned. I'm going to go check."

Jim closed his eyes as his partner exited the room, but those eyes popped open again as the door quickly reopened. "What's wrong?"

Artie leaned out the partially open door then backed up. "Someone was down at the end of the hall, at the back stairwell. He appeared to be wearing a wide-brimmed planter's hat. He ducked into the stairwell as soon as I appeared."

Jim swung his legs over and got to his feet. "You go that way, I'll go down to the lobby and to the back entrance."

"Maybe we can pin him between us," Artie nodded, heading out.

That did not happen. When the two agents met at the base of the rear stairs, neither had encountered anyone else. Artie grimaced. "He might have headed upstairs instead of down. Who knows where he might be now?"

"Let's go back to the lobby and ask anyone there who might have come through."

Again, the search and query were fruitless. The clerk was at the desk. The only persons he had seen were a couple from Phoenix who just passed through the lobby on their way to dinner.

Artie cocked his head. "Have you seen a man at any time wearing a wide-brimmed hat?"

The clerk nodded immediately. "Earlier this afternoon he was in the lobby. I thought he was waiting to register while I was engaged with Miss Edgerton. She was asking about you, Mr. Gordon, wanting to know where you were. When I told her I had no idea, she didn't believe me for some reason. She said that she was your betrothed and had a right to know your whereabouts." Now the clerk appeared embarrassed; he was quite aware that Miss Lily Fortune was Mr. Gordon's fiancée.

Artie sighed. "She is a very complex young lady, seemingly weak-willed where her father's wishes are concerned, yet strong-willed in other matters. Pay her no mind, Fred. She will be heading home any day now, I'm sure."

"What became of the man in the hat?" Jim inquired.

"Oh. He suddenly turned around and left. I called out to him, thinking I had lost a customer. But I don't know."

Returning to their room, the two agents sat in silence for long minutes, each considering the odd occurrence. Jim spoke first. "If he is the same man from earlier today, he knows where we are staying."

Artie nodded. "I'm thinking we have been followed without us being aware. Someone seems to be quite concerned about our presence in San Francisco."

"That's flattering, I guess. Now we know about the man in the hat, we can watch for him. Others have to be involved… and we have no idea what they look like other than the vague descriptions obtained at the banks."

"None of those people have mentioned a man in a planter's hat, have they?"

"No. For whatever that is worth."

Artie got to his feet once more. "Well, again I forgot to ask the clerk if Lily returned. I am going to her room to see."

Jim grinned. "Then you had better take advantage of having Lily to yourself without a duenna present." Usually the maid, Evelyn, would be nearby.

His partner made a face at him as he exited. Jim smiled then grew thoughtful, sitting on his bed and staring at the floor. They were pretty well flummoxed thus far. Of course, it was early in the situation. In their experience, eventually the perpetrators made a mistake of some sort, often from overconfidence or ignorance. These bond passers seemed to have things well in hand.

The police could not be at every bank checking every person who came in to transact business. The managers and clerks could be warned, but so often those people took their customers at face value: a well-dressed man, or a woman in mourning, would be less suspected than a ragged, unkempt person. If the customer portrayed confidence, they would also be less wary of what that customer wanted to transact.

Deep in his thoughts, Jim absently reached inside his jacket for the flat metal box that held his black cigarillos, the thin, tightly wrapped tobacco he preferred to smoke. Flicking the container open brought his attention to his actions, for the box was empty. Grimacing, he remembered smoking the last one on the trip to the pickle factory earlier in the day.

He got to his feet and glanced at the window. The sky was darkening, but the tobacco shop a block away often stayed open later to accommodate customers who had long days at their place of employment. Grabbing his hat, Jim left the room and descended the stairs. He had just stepped outside when he saw the man across the street: the man wearing a planter's hat.

Unfortunately, that man happened to turn his head to spot the agent at the same moment, and instantly started running down the hill. Jim raced across the street, held up for a few seconds by a passing taxi, but he saw the man in the hat turn into an alley about a block away. Jim followed, pausing briefly before he stepped out into the alley mouth, as he had earlier in the day, the pistol that had been inside his jacket now in his hand.

The alley was darker than the street and littered with all manner of debris, although a wider thoroughfare than the previous one. Jim moved carefully, listening hard, but hearing only the sounds from the street behind him. Finally reaching the other end of the alley, which opened into another street, he sighed and holstered the gun. This was a less traveled street, not much more than an alley itself, onto which the back doors of the buildings opened. He saw only two signs indicating businesses with doors off of it, one for a trash hauler, the other too faded to make out in the dim distance. The man in the planter's hat was nowhere in view.

As Jim reentered the hotel, the clerk called to him to hand him a telegram that had just been delivered. Jim opened it quickly and grimaced as he read the brief message. When he got to the room, Artie was there, changing his clothes.

"What happened to you?"

Jim shook his head. "I ran out of cigars and went out to get some—and didn't. Saw the planter's hat man across the street and chased him. He got through an alley and vanished."

"Another alley, another disappearance. I presume you were uninjured this time." Artie's frown deepened as he fastened the buttons of his white shirt. "What in the world is going on, James? Who is this guy? Connected to the counterfeiting? Or something else?"

"You've got me. Oh, just got a wire from Jeremy. Doc is still sick and in quarantine at the moment."

"Quarantine! What for?"

"Jer says it's a precaution because the prison doctors haven't identified what he has. But he can't be talked to."

"Great. I'm going out…"

The tap on the door halted Artie's words. Jim went to the door to open it, not entirely surprised to find Cecelia Edgerton, her scowling bodyguard waiting half a dozen feet away.

"Miss Edgerton? What can we do for you this evening?"

She smiled, but the way her gloved hands were clutched together belied her uneasiness. "I know it's very bold of me, but I wish to invite Mr. Gordon to have dinner with me. We need to get acquainted."

Artie had tucked in his shirt and grabbed his maroon jacket to don. He stepped closer. "That's very kind, Miss Edgerton, but I have an engagement with my fiancée. However, you may join us if you wish. I'm sure Miss Fortune would not mind."

Cecelia's face fell. She flicked a glance toward Jim, who had been watching Smith. The bodyguard's expression lightened considerably with Artie's negative response. "Mr. West, perhaps you…"

Jim smiled and shook his head. "Not this evening, Miss Edgerton. I too have plans. I'm sure Mr. Smith will be happy to escort you."

She looked back at the other man, and Jim could see she was very nearly smiling now. A smile she quickly smothered. "Very well. Mr. Gordon, perhaps we can make an appointment for tomorrow?"

"You're very thoughtful," Artie said gently, "but tomorrow Mr. West and I have plans involving our work. It's very difficult for us to plan ahead when we are on assignment."

"Yes. I suppose so." Cecelia sighed, plainly torn between relief and concern. "Good evening."

Jim closed the door. "Persistent little lady. Bound and determined to do her duty to her father."

"So it seems. What are your plans for the evening? You're welcome to join Lily and me."

"Thanks, but no. I think I'm going to go talk to Lloyd. He is probably home, but I'll check at the station first. I want him to have men looking for this guy in the hat. Did Lily have a good day?"

"Apparently so. She wants to tell me about it. I'm not hungry after our late lunch, but I'll have some soup. I can't bypass a chance to be with her."

"Would she really have enjoyed having Miss Edgerton join you?"

"I think she would. She told me she had a conversation with Cecelia after we left the table this morning, and is fascinated by Cecelia's determination to abide by her father's wishes. After all, look how Lil has defied her mother's plans for her! Lily thinks Cecelia is attracted to Mr. Smith."

"I think so too. And vice-versa. You couldn't see him out there but if he had bullets in his eyes, you might be dead now."

Artie laughed. "I hope if I continue to refuse her overtures, he might even come to like me."

Jim nodded, then gazed at his partner thoughtfully. "You know, proffering the invitation to you for dinner took some courage on her part."

"I don't think she's a coward, Jim. For some reason, she thinks she owes a great deal to her father. Perhaps she is trying to make up for the death of her mother. Lily said Cecelia thinks her father is still grieving after nearly a dozen years." Artie picked up his hat. "I'll see you later. I am not sure what we will do after dinner. Perhaps take a walk. Perhaps just sit somewhere quiet and talk."

"Have a good evening, pal. Don't forget we need to get up earlier than usual to be able to catch that first ferry to Oakland."