Malcolm followed the stagehand into the theater, past the rows upon rows of empty seats, then through a small door that led to an area behind the stage.
“This is the green room,” the stagehand said. “Wait here, I’ll get Mr. Fowler for you.”
“Thank you.”
The stagehand started to leave, but he turned back toward Malcolm and took a doughnut from the box.
A moment later a rather short and nearly bald man came into the room.
“Reid said you needed to see me.”
“Actually, I wanted to see Mr. MacCallister.”
“He’s no longer here.”
“Do you have any idea where I might find him?”
“You’re not American are you? You sound just like Mr. MacCallister. What are you, Scottish?”
“Yes, I am, actually.”
Fowler looked at the box of doughnuts Malcolm was holding.
“You didn’t come here to deliver doughnuts, did you? You came here to find MacCallister.”
Malcolm smiled. “I’m afraid you have divined my secret. Aye, ’tis to find Duff MacCallister that I have come.”
“Why do you want to find him?”
“Why, the man is a good friend from Scotland. I thought perhaps that two people from the same county in Scotland, here in New York at the same time, should have a bit of a meeting.”
“Is he your friend? Or have you come to arrest him for the murder?” Fowler asked.
The smile left Malcolm’s face and his eyes narrowed. “You know about that, do you?”
“I know that he killed two men here,” Fowler said.
The tone of Fowler’s voice convinced Malcolm that he would be able to work with him.
“Aye. MacCallister is wanted for murder. And so tell me, m’lad, how is it that ye be knowin’ about that?”
“I know,” Fowler replied, without directly answering Malcolm’s question.
“The reason I am lookin’ for him, is I’ve been sent by himself the sheriff to deal with the matter,” Malcolm said.
“Were you one of the three who came for him last week?” Fowler asked.
“You know of last week?”
“I know that before he left Scotland, Duff MacCallister killed one of the sheriff’s sons and two of his deputies. And I know that last week, when you and the sheriff’s other two sons came for him, MacCallister killed them both,” Fowler said.
“Aye, that is true. I was here with the sheriff’s last two sons.”
“Why is it that you want to go after him? It sounds to me as if he is too dangerous a man to pursue.”
“I will be ready for him this time. If I find him.”
“I imagine the sheriff back in Scotland must want him something fierce,” Fowler said.
“Aye, that he does, seein’ as how MacCallister has killed all three of the sheriff’s sons.”
“How badly does the sheriff want him?” Fowler asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I know where MacCallister is,” Fowler said. “And I could make that information available to an interested party if the price is right.”
“I see. And how is it that you know where he is?”
“I overheard him talking to his cousins. They discussed where he should go. Would that information be worth anything to you?”
“Would you not be willing to share it for the satisfaction of knowing it is the right thing to do?” Malcolm asked.
“Yes, I will have the satisfaction of knowing that it is the right thing to do. But I would also appreciate the reward. There is a reward, is there not?”
“Have you not been rewarded enough by being promoted? ’Tis true, is it not, that you would nae have the job of stage manager if MacCallister had not run off?”
“That is true,” Fowler said. “But with my new position comes new obligations. Financial obligations. You are in need of information, I am in need of some money. Perhaps we can work something out between us.”
“You want money.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.
“Yes.”
“I could see my way to giving you five pounds,” Malcolm suggested.
“Five dollars? Do you mean to tell me that all the sheriff is willing to give to find the killer of his three sons and
