two deputies is five dollars?”
“I said five pounds, not five dollars. If you took the five pounds to the bank and made a currency exchange you would get twenty-five dollars.”
“I’ll be needin’ more than twenty-five dollars,” Fowler said.
“Ten pounds. That would be fifty dollars.”
“I want a hundred dollars,” Fowler demanded.
“I’ll not give you a hundred dollars. The offer is fifty. Take it or leave it.”
“You’ll not find MacCallister without my help,” Fowler insisted.
“If you know where he has gone, there will be others who know as well. Perhaps someone who knows the value of money and will give me the information for five pounds.”
“All right, all right,” Fowler said. “You go to the bank, convert your money into dollars, then come back and see me,” Fowler said. “When you do, I’ll tell you where Duff MacCallister has gone.”
“Wait here, I will be back shortly,” Malcolm said. He turned to leave, with the box of doughnuts still in his hands.
“Leave the doughnuts,” Fowler said.
“Beg your pardon?”
“The doughnuts,” Fowler repeated, pointing to the box.
“Ah, yes, the pastries. Of course.” Malcolm put the box on the green room table, then left.
As luck would have it, the Commercial National Bank was but a very short distance from the theater. There, Malcolm changed all his British currency to American. He also opened an account there.
Returning to the theater, he found Percy Fowler waiting for him outside.
“Do you have the money?” Fowler asked.
“I do. Shall we go inside?”
Fowler looked around furtively. “No,” he said. “I think it is best we do our business out here. I don’t want anyone to see me talking to you. Give me the money.”
Malcolm counted out fifty dollars in five-dollar bills. Fowler took the bills, folded them over, then stuck them in his pocket.
“He went to Colorado,” Fowler said.
“Colorado? Isn’t that a state? Can’t you be more specific than that?”
“He has a cousin there, named Falcon MacCallister. I am given to understand that Falcon MacCallister is a name that nearly all in Colorado will recognize. I think if you go to Colorado, then start inquiring about Falcon MacCallister, you will find your man soon enough.”
“All right,” Malcolm said. “I will do that. But if I go to Colorado and find that I am on a wild duck chase, I’ll be coming back to settle with you. And you, I know where to find.”
Fowler chuckled. “Goose,” he said.
“What?”
“It is a wild-goose chase. But I’m not sending you on one. MacCallister did go to Colorado, and if you can find Falcon MacCallister, you will be able to find Duff MacCallister.”
After leaving the theater, Malcolm went to the transatlantic cable company, where he paid fifty cents a word to send a message back to Sheriff Somerled. He wrote it several times, but tore up the message each time until he had it worded exactly as he wanted, giving the maximum information with the least possible words. Then, once he was satisfied with it, he gave it to the clerk.
The clerk counted the words.
“Nineteen dollars,” the clerk said.
Malcolm counted the words.
“I thought my name was free.”
“No, sir. We charge for every word we dispatch,” the clerk replied.
“Give it back to me. I am going to rewrite it.
“Are you going to attach your name to the message?” the clerk asked.
“There is no need. He will know who it came from.”
“Very well, sir. Your total is twelve dollars.”
Sheriff Angus Somerled gasped as he read the words in the telegram that was given him by the young messenger.
“Dead? Both of them? But what happened to them? He dinnae say.”
“Beg pardon, sir?” the messenger, who was scarcely over fourteen years old, said.
