Chapter Four

Calamity is man's true touch-stone.
—Four Plays in One-The Triumph of Honour (sc. 1, l. 67), Francis Beaumont (1586-1616) and John Fletcher (1579-1625), English dramatists

The day did not progress as planned. In fact, as the hours went on, disaster piled on disaster. The agents made it to the ferry on time, and the boat transported them across the bay to Oakland without incident. They also found the people they needed and wanted to talk to in the bank, people who had been greatly chagrinned to realize they had accepted a fake certificate and did not know it for weeks.

Artemus assured them that they were not entirely at fault. For one thing, the counterfeits were very good and for another, the Oakland bank was probably the first place the shams were presented, so they had no reason to suspect foul play. The teller who had accepted the bond had nothing further to add to what had already been related to the San Francisco police.

Leaving the bank, Jim and Artie headed for the railway station to catch a train south to Salinas. That's where the first "disaster" occurred, when they were informed that a rock slide south of the city had blocked tracks in both directions. No trains would be going to Monterey County until tomorrow at least. The only thing left to do was to send a telegraph to the bank in Salinas and then take a ferry back across the bay. They grabbed some lunch at a café near the wharf before hiring a taxi to transport them to the police station to report the problems to Morris.

"It was probably going to be a futile trip anyway," Artie grumbled. "We are getting absolutely nowhere on this."

"Anything on the man in the planter's hat?" Jim asked.

Morris shook his head. "I put the word out for every patrolman to watch for him, but nothing so far. Of course, it's still early in the day. I guess you haven't heard further from Pike."

"Not yet," Jim replied. "It doesn't help a bit that Doc Keyno is now in quarantine so that no one can talk to him. This whole business seems to be jinxed."

"Meanwhile, more certificates are probably being cashed in." Artie shook his head. "Maybe they've moved on to Oregon or Washington, or who knows, Indiana."

"Just keep printing them out and cashing them in," the policeman sighed. "Over twenty thousand so far."

"I wonder if they'll get to a point where they feel they have enough and just vanish with their money," Jim pondered.

"Until they run out of that money and start all over." Artie sighed. "Well, what shall we do with the remainder of the day, James?"

His partner shrugged. "Go back to the hotel and see if we have heard from Pike, I guess. Perhaps the man in the hat will make another appearance. Lloyd, let us know if anyone does spot him."

"I sure will. We can hope that he will even get picked up. Finding out who he is would help a lot! Have you thought any more about Cornelius?"

Jim shook his head. "He's the only suspect we have, but due only to the use of his company's warehouse—apparently—by the counterfeiters."

"And that could have happened merely because the opportunity presented itself to use a vacant building," Artie inserted.

"Cornelius certainly has a sterling reputation," Morris sighed.

"It would be interesting to find out where the money to buy those jewels he and his betrothed are sporting came from." Artie got to his feet. "Nevertheless, for now we have nothing to go on."

Jim rose as well. "Perhaps Major Blackwell should make another visit."

Artie nodded. "I was thinking about that. Tomorrow, perhaps. I have an idea for a little twist to put on that character."

A hack took them back to the hotel. The lobby was empty as they entered and headed for the desk, where Fred was now on duty. He greeted them with a smile but shook his head when Jim asked if any telegrams had been delivered. "However," he said, turning back toward the wall of small pigeonholes where keys and mail were stored, "I found this on the counter a while ago. It's for Mr. Gordon. I had stepped back into the office for a moment, and it was here when I returned. I didn't see who left it."

With a bemused glance at Jim, Artie took the envelope, which he studied a few seconds. The paper was cheap, and his name was crudely printed on it with a blunt pencil. Opening the flap, he pulled out the folded sheet of paper inside. Jim had been accepting the room key from Fred when he heard his partner's gasp. Turning, he caught a glimpse of Artie's ashen complexion just before his partner whirled and sprinted for the staircase, where he ascended, taking the steps two or three at a time.

Baffled, Jim watched him briefly before taking a step to follow. Just then the street door crashed open and Ethan Smith raced across the carpeted floor, shouting. "Is she here? Did Miss Edgerton and her maid come back here?"

Fred shook his head. "No sir. I haven't…"

Smith grabbed the counter with one hand and pounded on its surface with his other. "Where are they?"

"I'm afraid I don't know, sir."

Jim caught the bodyguard's arm. "Smith, settle down. What's going on?"

Smith's eyes were wide, his expression frantic. "She disappeared! They both disappeared! I was watching, but they both disappeared."

"Jim!"

Jim looked toward the stairs, where Artie was now descending, his demeanor quite a bit calmer although tense. He was holding Lily Fortune's hand as she was at his side. "Artie, what the devil happened?"

"You have to help me find Cecelia!" Smith grabbed Jim's shoulder.

"Just a moment," Jim replied grimly. "I have a feeling these are connected." Whatever "these" are!

Artemus did not speak as he approached Jim and the bodyguard, extending his hand to give Jim the piece of paper that had set him off in terror. Jim glanced at the paper, looked at Artie with startled eyes, then turned and gave it to Smith.

"Oh my God!" Ethan Smith's facial expression was one of horror. "Cecelia!"

"What do you mean?" Lily asked urgently. "Has something happened to Miss Edgerton?"

Jim turned to the clerk. "Fred, do you mind if we use your office for a few minutes?" Several other guests had arrived in the lobby, either through the front door or down the stairs, and had paused to observe the agitated group at the desk.

Although Fred had no idea what was going on, he recognized the seriousness of it by the expressions of the faces of the three men and the woman. He waved them around the counter, and closed the door securely behind them. Artie motioned Lily to the only chair by the small desk and then turned to the bodyguard.

"Smith, what happened?"

Ethan Smith took a deep breath. "After lunch, Cecelia wanted to go to a dressmaker that she said Miss Fortune told her about."

Lily quickly nodded. "Yes. She said she felt she had not brought a complete wardrobe and wanted to enhance it. I told her about Mrs. Francis, who has a shop about two blocks from here."

"I walked down there with her and Etta, and then I went across the street to the billiards parlor, positioning myself where I could see the front door of the shop constantly. I also made Cecelia promise that she would not leave the shop without me. She promised!"

"She left without telling you?" Jim wanted to know.

"No. I mean, I don't know. After an hour, close to an hour and a half, I began to wonder. Cecelia had said that she did not expect to be much more than hour today. She was going to only look through pattern books and, er, have her measurements taken. Anyway, I decided to go check to see what was taking so long.

"When I entered the shop, Mrs. Francis was at her front desk. I saw the surprise on her face, which told me something was wrong. She said she thought that Cecelia and Etta had departed some thirty minutes ago. They had been in a dressing room, and Mrs. Francis left them there for a few minutes when another customer came in. I actually had seen that woman enter the shop and leave with a package after about ten minutes.

"Mrs. Francis said the back door to the shop was ajar, and she thought they had gone out that way, perhaps not wanting to disturb the conversation she was having with the other client. I looked out the back door, which opens into an alley leading to a connecting street, and saw nothing. I also checked other establishments in the area. Neither woman was in one, nor had any clerk I questioned seen them!"

Smith still held the piece of paper. He looked down at it again, reading quietly aloud. "'We have your fiancée. Drop the case and leave Frisco and she will be safe.' Someone took Miss Edgerton." His face registered his grief and concern, as the knuckles on the hand holding the paper whitened.

"Remember what Raymond told us about the man in the hat?" Jim asked grimly, looking at Artie, who nodded as Jim continued for the benefit of Lily and Ethan Smith. "Miss Edgerton came to the desk insisting that the clerk tell her where she could find Artemus—because she was his fiancée. The man we have seen in the vicinity wearing a planter's hat was in the lobby behind her, but left without talking to the clerk or anyone else."

"Oh, no!" Lily was horrified. "So they think she really is Artemus's fiancée!"

"Someone must have been watching the hotel," Artie stated. "They saw their chance when the two women were alone in the dressmaker's shop."

"You have to do something!" Smith cried. "Tell them the truth!"

"I think it's too late for that," Artie spoke quietly. "Not only is it likely we wouldn't be believed, but we have no way of contacting them. They aren't asking for a ransom, only that we leave town."

"Will you?" Lily looked from one agent to another.

The two men's eyes met. "We don't have a choice," Jim said.

"At least for appearances," Artie nodded.

Lily reached out and touched his arm. "Dearest, I want to help!"

He smiled down at her. "And you shall, my love. You shall indeed."

"First," Jim said, "we need to go look around and ask possible witnesses."

W*W*W*W*W

Crimes lead one into another; they who are capable of being forgers are capable of being incendiaries.

—Edmund Burke (1729-1797), Irish orator and statesman

Artemus instructed Lily to remain in her hotel room and not open the door to anyone except himself and Jim. She nodded, but smilingly reminded him of the "lovely little pistol" she owned, and that he had trained her to use it well. She would keep it nearby.

The next hour or so was mostly a fruitless one. The dressmaker could not tell them any more than she had related to Ethan Smith. No other nearby storekeepers or their employees recognized the description of Cecelia and Etta nor had they seen a man in a planter's hat. A shoeshine boy at a stand further down the street had seen nothing.

The only bit of luck they had was another patron of the billiards parlor where Ethan had spent his time. This man had departed the establishment perhaps twenty minutes before the bodyguard had decided to go check on his charge; he had noticed a coach pulled up to the curb on the next cross street. That coach had started out suddenly as the man stepped off the sidewalk, causing him to jump back.

"I yelled and cussed the driver, but he never even looked back." The most important piece of information he could give, however, was that he was certain he saw a colored woman among the several passengers. "She grabbed at the door window and tried to stick her head out and someone seemed to pull her back."

The coach itself was rather nondescript. He could not think of a distinguishing feature of it or the two horses that were pulling it. Just a couple of bays, he said. With this scrap of information, and aware that someone among the passersby and onlookers was likely observing their activities, the three men returned to the hotel, with Jim and Artemus rather loudly proclaiming that they would be pulling out the following morning.

Once at the hotel, they went up to Lily's suite. Per instructions, and her own common sense, Lily did not open the door until she heard Artemus's voice replying to her query. Even then, she had the small weapon in her right hand as she opened the door with her left. "Anything?" she asked.

Artie shook his head, telling her briefly of the little they had learned. "That had to have been Etta," he sighed. "We have no idea who is behind this… other than very likely the man in the planter's hat."

"What are you going to do?" Ethan Smith asked, his face frozen into a mask of concern.

"To all appearances, we will leave San Francisco tomorrow morning," Jim replied, going to the liquor cabinet provided in this luxury suite. Without asking, he poured three shots of whiskey, handing two to his male companions, after a glance at Lily received a negative shake of her head.

Smith held his glass. "What will you be doing actually?"

Artie opened his mouth to respond, but a tap on the door halted him. With a glance at Jim, he put his glass on a small table, inserted his right hand inside his jacket to grasp the pistol holstered there, and stepped to the door. "Who is it?"

"It's Alex, sir."

Relaxing only slightly, Artie opened the door to see the hotel porter. He was still in his regular clothes, having not yet changed into his hotel uniform and apparently just arrived to report to his duties. He spoke before Artemus could.

"Is what Mr. Fred told me true, Mr. Gordon? Is Etta kidnapped? And Miss Edgerton? Are they all right?"

"Come in, Alex," Artie invited, stepping back. Once the porter was inside, Artemus quietly confirmed that the information was correct. "But we will get them back safely. I promise."

"I want to help."

Artie nodded, with another glance toward his partner. "I think you can be of great assistance. Sit down. Would you like a glass of whisky?"

Alex evinced a little surprise at the offer. "Thank you, sir, but no. I've got to work this evening." He smiled slightly. "What can I do?"

Jim stepped forward, extending his hand. "You could offer that telegram if it's for us."

The porter's surprise was greater as he looked down at his own right hand, which held a yellow envelope. The surprise changed to chagrin. "Oh! I'm sorry, Mr. West. I forgot I had it, I was so worried." He extended the envelope to Jim. "Mr. Fred told me to bring it up. It just came as I walked in the door."

Jim took the envelope, placing his own whisky glass on a small table. He lifted the flap and pulled out the folded paper. His eyes scanned it. "Well, Jer finally got some information for us. Turns out Doc had measles, which Jeremy had as a boy, so he was allowed in. Let's see. 'Doc says he remembers an expert on bond plates, name of Crawford. I wired HQ. They found an Adrian Crawford who died in prison in 1870 after being arrested for counterfeiting bonds. His plates were never found. Had no known close family or associates.' Not sure if that helps much."

Artie was frowning. "Crawford. I've heard that name somewhere… Thelma!"

"Who's Thelma?" Lily inquired.

"Cornelius the pickle man. She's his secretary and fiancée. Thelma Crawford." Artie looked at Jim. "Coincidence?"

"A big one, if so. Crawford isn't exactly a rare name."

"But the telegram says this Adrian Crawford didn't have any family," Ethan Smith pointed out.

"No 'close' family," Jim reminded. He grimaced. "How do we find out if she's kin to the Crawford who died in prison?"

"I don't think we have time," Artie stated. "The evidence is circumstantial, but it's all we have, Jim."

"I don't see how you can do anything if you're going to follow instructions and leave San Francisco," Smith complained.

Jim grinned at him. "Don't worry. We have learned how to be in two places at the same time."

"We need to inform Lloyd Morris of what is happening," Artie put in. "Alex, that will be your first task. Don't worry about your job here. We'll make sure that Fred and the others understand."

"Don't forget the Wanderer is in the repair shed," Jim said. "We also need to get word to Orrin."

"Lily, do you have some paper and a pen?" her fiancé inquired.

W*W*W*W*W

Il y a des mensonges qui représentent la vérité si bien que ce serait juger mal de ne pas être trompés par eux.

[There are falsehoods which represent truth so well that it would be judging ill not to be deceived by them.]

—François Duc de la Rochefoucauld (1613-1680), French philanthropist and social reformer

Early the following morning the two agents left the hotel, carrying their luggage, to enter a waiting hack that they had engaged the evening before. The driver immediately headed for the railroad depot, where his passengers debarked and entered through the building. Although they appeared casual, both Jim and Artie were quite watchful, with the intent of attempting to identify who, if anyone, was following them.

Orrin Cobb was awaiting them on the platform, where he told them in a rather loud voice that the Wanderer was not yet ready to move. They would have to take public transportation and their personal train would catch up to them. Displaying annoyance, the pair bought their tickets for the next eastbound train, which would leave toward Sacramento in about an hour.

"My only possible is the heavy set fellow who needs a shave," Artie murmured as they sat down on the bench on the platform. Probably a dozen people were on the platform, two or three women and the remainder men whose garb identified them as businessmen or workers of some type.

"Noticed him. However, that woman down there got off the hack that pulled up right behind ours."

"Ah." Artemus stole a glance toward the woman in question. She was seated on another bench, a book in her hand seeming to claim her entire attention. She was thirty or so, he thought, plainly garbed, her dark hair in a tight bun topped by a ribbon trimmed straw hat. Quite unremarkable. "Did she buy a ticket on our train?"

"I don't know. If she is part of the gang, her job may be to report that we got on an outgoing train. By the way, I presume you haven't recognized the unshaven chap. Take another look."

Artie did, and then chuckled. "I guess I've never seen Sean Dooley out of uniform. Or unshaven. I presume he's our contact."

"One of them. I'm pretty sure I saw Henry Fisher inside the ticket office. I'm going to go over and let Dooley know that the lady is our target, especially if she does not get on the train."

Jim got to his feet, searching his jacket pockets. "Artie, do you have a match?"

Catching on quickly, his partner shook his head. "Sorry, no. I forgot to pick some up."

Jim nodded and strolled over to where the unshaven man was leaning against a post. He spoke in a conversational tone, asking whether the "stranger" had any matches. The policeman genially provided a small box of lucifers, telling Jim to "keep them," as he had another. Jim took the time to light his cigarillo, thankful that he had taken time to buy a new supply earlier, and while cupping the match close to his mouth, quickly told Dooley that the woman could be someone to watch, but that he should be alert.

Dooley laughed aloud. "Ah, that's a good one, pal! I'll have to remember that!"

"Thanks again," Jim called as he wandered back to the bench. "Lloyd chose well. Dooley is a good cop and an intelligent man. He'll follow her if she doesn't get on the train, and get on the train with her if she does."

Artie consulted his pocket watch. "Hope our train is on time."

"Yeah."

The hour crawled by as the pair behaved pretty much as any anxious prospective passengers would, sitting, getting up and wandering around, sitting again, peering down the tracks, asking the ticket agent if the incoming train was on time, and sitting again. All the while they watched the people who entered and departed from the station platform. Finally, the train did arrive. After waiting for its passengers to exit the cars, Jim and Artemus boarded.

They chose seats facing each other and thus facing in opposite directions in order to be able to watch as much territory as possible. Artie could see the woman on the platform. She was still seated and reading, barely glancing up. Dooley had gone to the ticket agent's window and while he could not be heard, Artie was pretty sure he was asking the agent about the time of the next incoming train, as though that was the one he was awaiting.

Then the train chugged out of the station, heading east. Jim waved down the conductor, and quietly gave him some instructions, displaying his identification.

W*W*W*W*W

Dissimulation was his masterpiece; in which he so much excelled that men were not ashamed of being deceived but twice by him.

—Lord Clarendon, Edward Hyde (1608-1674), English historian and statesman

Thelma Crawford looked up when the door to the anteroom opened and her mouth popped open. Two visitors entered, one of whom was Major Blackwell. Jonas had told her that that odd man might well return. "Treat him courteously, my dear. I'm not sure what his game is, but he might be useful in the future." She smiled and tried not to stare at the major's companion.

While not surprised that a man as handsome as the major would attract a female, Thelma could not help but question why such a man would bother with a tart like this. The woman clung to his arm as if she was glued there. A silver fox stole was wrapped around her nearly bare shoulders; indeed, the satiny red dress she wore was far better suited to an evening out rather than an early afternoon visit to a business office.

The hair was brassy blonde and frizzy. To Thelma's mind, the woman likely treated her darker hair too often and now it was completely unmanageable. The combs and clips nestled in the wild mop did little to tame it. Makeup was almost caked on her face, causing Thelma to wonder at the woman's age. She did not look that old but perhaps the makeup assisted in that matter. Black eyebrows were painted on, as were bright red lips.

Worst of all was the décolletage of the gown, revealing far, far too much of the collarbones and dipping toward the admirably small waist the woman possessed. At least she had kept her figure, whatever her age. Jewels glittered on several fingers, her wrists, and around her neck. Thelma could not help but glance at her own ring and wonder whether those jewels were real. If so, they certainly were worth a lot more than her engagement bauble.

The pair ambled up to the desk, where the major removed his hat and dipped his head. "Good afternoon, Thelma. I hope Mr. Cornelius is available."

She cleared her throat, remembering once more what her fiancé had told her after the last visit. Thus, she pasted a smile on her face and kept her eyes on the major. "Please have a seat and I'll see."

Quickly she rose and hurried through the inner door. Jonas looked up. "What is it, my dear?"

"That major is here again. He brought a… a woman with him. Do you want me to send him away?"

Cornelius got to his feet quickly. "No, no. I mentioned this man to Horace and he agrees that the major might be of great help if we play it right. We might be able to dump the whole lot on him."

Thelma's eyes widened. "And leave?"

"And leave, my dear. Paris, Rome… everything we've always wanted. Show the major and his companion in."

Jonas Cornelius was grinning widely and holding out his hand as the major and his "lady" entered. As Thelma had done, he had to prevent himself from staring at the female. "Major Blackwell! Good to see you again. I am sorry I haven't been in touch. Things have been a little busy around here. This time of year we start to gear up for the later summer canning season."

"Not a problem, sir. None at all. May I present my friend, Miss Sally Waters? She's interested in, er, investments as well."

"How do you do, Miss Waters," Cornelius beamed and strove to keep his eyes from the shadowy canyon where the gown's fabric dipped low. "Please sit down. Now, what can I do for you today?"