stepping into the light, offered it to the Treasury Secretary.
'Agent Littlemore,' said Houston. 'Lurking in wait is becoming habitual with you. I don't think I approve. How did you know I would be here?'
'From your calendar,' replied Littlemore.
'You went through my private calendar?'
'Your secretary left it open on the desk. Was that Mr Lamont, sir?'
'Yes. The bankers are gathering in force tonight. Never a good sign.'
'The war with Mexico?'
'Obviously.'
'Worried about it, Mr Houston?'
'Blast it — why does everyone keep asking me that? I'm worried to the extent that the nation's treasure will be called on. What do you know about this Mexican business? More than what you read in the papers, I think. Where are you getting your information, Littlemore? And what are you doing here?'
'Just wanted to have a look inside the Assay Office, Mr Houston.'
'Why?'
'Maybe the stolen gold's hidden inside there. That would explain why no one saw the getaway truck. They wouldn't have seen a getaway truck if there was no getaway truck.'
'Nonsense. I've been in the Assay Office a dozen times since September sixteenth. The gold's not here.'
The detective scratched the back of his head. 'With nearly a billion dollars of gold in this building, sir, you can tell that the four million we're looking for isn't here?'
'Yes, I can. I can also tell that the period of your usefulness to me has come to an end. But that won't disturb you, since you haven't been working for me for some time already. You're Senator Fall's man, aren't you? What did he promise you?'
'Did you happen to look for the gold in the hidden safe room on the second floor, Mr Houston? The one behind the wall of the superintendent's office?'
A new expression flashed momentarily in Houston's eyes. Littlemore's practiced eye recognized it at once: guilt. Houston whispered angrily: 'How do you know about that room?'
'From the architectural plans, Mr Secretary. You gave them to me. I also found the work order you signed, authorizing Riggs and the rest of your boys to start moving the gold on the night of September fifteenth.'
'What is that supposed to prove?'
'Nothing. Mind if I come with you into the building, sir?'
Houston turned his back to Littlemore and, braving the wind, mounted the stairs, calling out to the two soldiers posted closest to the imposing front door, 'No one enters this building, do you understand me? No one.'
The Secretary's voice sounded strangely thin in the wind-rent air. The soldiers threw each other a glance. As Houston neared the front door, they stepped into his path and blocked hm.
'What is this — a joke?' asked Houston. 'I meant no one else enters the building. Stand aside.'
The soldiers didn't budge.
'I said stand aside,' repeated Houston.
'Sorry, sir,' said one of the infantrymen. 'Orders.'
'Whose orders?'
'Mr Baker's, sir.'
Even from behind, and notwithstanding the Secretary's overcoat, Littlemore could see Houston's entire body realign. 'Mr Baker — the Secretary of War?'
'Yes, sir.'
'You must be mistaken.'
'No, sir.'
'This is an outrage. This is my building. The Secretary of War has no authority to keep the Secretary of the Treasury out of a United States Assay Office.'
'He has authority over us, sir.'
Houston strode forward, daring the soldiers to stop him. They did. Houston attempted to push through; they thrust him bodily backward — two uniformed young men manhandling the sixty-year-old Secretary, who was clad in black tie and tails. Houston fell to the ground, top hat rolling onto the cement, then sailing away once again into the night. When he stood, his face was darkly colored. Houston descended the steps, unsteadily, and made for his car. The driver hurried out and opened the back door. Houston climbed in without a word. Littlemore put his hand on the door as the driver was about to close it.
'I know what you're guilty of, Mr Houston,' said the detective.
'You're fired,' said the Secretary. 'Give me your badge. That's an order.'
Littlemore handed over his badge. This one wasn't as hard to part with as the last.
'Now get away from my vehicle,' ordered Houston.
'And I know what you're not guilty of,' added Littlemore, pressing a large, folded piece of paper into Houston's hand. 'Be there, Mr Secretary. Bring some men.'
Once Houston's car was out of sight, Littlemore walked from the Assay Office to the corner of Broad and Wall Streets. He stopped when he reached Younger, who was leaning against a corner of the Equitable Building, hatless, cigarette smoldering in the sharp wind.
'What was that about?' asked Younger. He was holding two covered paper cups of coffee, which he handed to the detective.
'Just getting myself fired,' said Littlemore. 'I guess it's better this way. Now it won't be a disgrace to the federal government if you and I get arrested.'
'We're committing a crime?'
'Want to pull out? You can.'
'One question,' said Younger. 'Are we going down an elevator into an underwater caisson which is about to be flooded, leaving us no way out except to turn ourselves into human geysers?'
'Nope.'
'Then count me in.'
'Thanks.' The two men headed back down Wall Street toward the Sub-Treasury, leaning into the wind. 'I got to say,' said Littlemore, 'I like this city.'
'What are we doing, exactly?' asked Younger.
'See that little alleyway between the Treasury and the Assay Office? That's where we're going.'
'The soldiers are going to let us through?'
'No chance,' said Littlemore. 'They're not letting anybody in. The alley's locked off' by a fifteen-foot wrought- iron gate. There's another gate just like it at the other end, on Pine Street. More soldiers on that side too.'
'So how do we get there?'
'Got to go up before you come down.' Littlemore led Younger up the Sub-Treasury steps. No soldiers stood guard there; the Treasury Building had been emptied of its gold and would soon be decommissioned. But a night watchman remained outside its doors, and Littlemore greeted the man by name, handing him a cup of coffee. Thanking Littlemore, the guard rapped on the door, which a few moments later was opened by another lonely guard, to whom Littlemore gave the second cup of coffee. Then Littlemore took Younger through the rotunda to a staircase in the rear.
'What do those men think you're doing?' asked Younger.
'I work here,' said Littlemore. 'I'm a T-man, remember? Leastways, I was until a few minutes ago.'
After climbing four and a half flights of stairs Younger and Littlemore stepped out onto a flat rooftop. The wind was so strong it knocked them sideways. They went to a parapet facing the Assay Office, which was only about three yards from them. At their feet were several long coils of rope, attached to the stone crenellations adorning the parapet. Next to the rope was a pile of additional equipment: crowbars, pulleys, friction hitches — all deposited there by Littlemore the night before.
Below them, at street level, was the alleyway between the Treasury and Assay buildings. To the right and left, at either end of the alley, illuminated by klieg lights, infantrymen manned the wrought-iron gate. The soldiers were facing out to the street, their backs to the alley. Gesturing to the pulleys and hitches, Littlemore asked quietly,
