you that.' Nor would he mention to this fat, sweaty fellow, who looked more speculator than Southerner, that he was acquainted with the woman's brother, Colonel Main of the War Department. The civilian excused himself quickly.
Bent hurried into the square and paused by the great statue of Washington, whose birthday those on both sides continued to celebrate. He lingered until the couple emerged and entered a barouche driven by an old Negro. The barouche rolled past Bent where he lounged in the shade of the statue's pedestal. The woman took no notice of him or any of her surroundings; she was busy berating her husband. She struck Bent as arrogant, but she definitely resembled Orry Main. She was worth investigating.
Now that he had accomplished his first mission without a hitch, he was full of confidence. On the spot he decided to risk one more day in the Confederate capital.
In bed that night, he formulated his plan. Next morning he called at the post office as soon as it opened. He introduced himself as Mr. Bell, a native of Louisville, and persuaded the clerk to overlook any deficiencies in his accent by passing a folded bill over the counter. The clerk opened a thick book and found the address of James Huntoon.
Hiring a hack, Bent drove past the Grace Street residence twice. Then, downtown again, he searched the stores till he found some over-priced linen that could be torn up to simulate bandages. He fretted through the next few hours at his lodging house. He planned to call late in the day, before the government offices closed.
Around four, he walked out Grace Street and, when he was unobserved, paused for a swig from a metal flask kept in his side pocket. In an alley two blocks from his destination, he tied the linen into a sling and slid his left forearm through. A few minutes later, the same black man he had seen driving the barouche admitted him to the foyer.
'Yes, Miz Huntoon's at home, but she wasn't expectin' callers.'
'I'm a visitor in the city. Tell her it's important.'
'Your name again, sar?'
'Bellingham. Captain Erasmus Bellingham, on furlough from General Longstreet's corps.' Longstreet was currently far from Richmond, which was the reason for that particular lie. 'I must soon return to duty, so kindly ask your mistress to see me at once.'
Homer led Bent to a small sitting room, then trudged off. Bent was too nervous to sit. He paced and chewed a clove to cover his whiskey breath. Underneath his white shirt and alpaca suit, sweat soaked him. Just as he had decided to flee, he heard a swish of skirts in the hall. Ashton Huntoon swept in, cross and sleepy-looking.
'Captain Bellingham?'
'Erasmus Bellingham, currently with General —'
'My nigger told me that.'
'I dislike interrupting you without prior warning, ma'am —' Her expression made clear that she disliked it as much as he did. Though her resemblance to her brother automatically generated rage, Bent kept his unctuous smile in place as he went on. 'However, I haven't much more time in Richmond. I am nearly recovered from this wound I received at the siege of Suffolk. Before I return to Longstreet's command, I wanted to inquire about an old acquaintance.'
'You don't sound like a Southerner, Captain.'
Bitch. He broadened the smile. 'Oh, there are all degrees of Southern speech, I find. You don't sound like a Virginian' —
'How interesting.' Ashton didn't conceal her boredom.
Bent explained that while on duty in the lower part of the state, he had heard that one of his West Point classmates was stationed in Richmond. 'Last evening I was conversing with a gentleman at my lodging house — some chap with friends at the Treasury Department — and when I mentioned my classmate, he brought you and your husband into the conversation. He said you both hailed from South Carolina, as my classmate did, and that your maiden name was the same as his.'
'Is your classmate Orry Main?'
'Yes.'
She acted as if he had dumped a spittoon on her. 'He's my older brother.'
'Your brother,' Bent echoed. 'How extraordinary! I haven't seen him in years. Come to think of it, though, I do recall him mentioning you in an affectionate manner.'
Ashton dabbed her upper lip with a bit of lace. 'I doubt that.'
'Please, tell me, is Orry in Richmond?'
'Yes, and so is his wife. I don't see either of them. By choice.'
'Is he perchance in the army?'
'He's a lieutenant colonel attached to the War Department.' Gathering her skirts, Ashton rose. 'Is there anything else?' Her tone said she hoped not.
'Only the location of his residence, if you'd be so kind —'
'They have rooms on Marshall near the White House. I've never been there. Good day, Captain Bellingham.'
Rudely dismissed, Bent nevertheless managed to reach the street without displaying his anger. He had brief, dizzy visions of tearing Ashton Huntoon's clothing and subjecting her to punishments that would also yield certain perverse pleasures.
The spiteful mood passed. Turning toward town, he strode along as if there were clouds under his feet. In another alley he stripped off the sling and threw it away. Orry Main was here. Bent was close to one of the objects of his hatred — closer than he had been since Charles Main eluded and disgraced him in Texas. He ought to walk into the War Department, find Main's desk, and shoot him right between —
No. Not only would hasty action imperil his life, it would rob the vengeance of savor. Bent also had the new job to think about. Baker would be expecting him in Washington. He should collect his horse from the stable and leave at once.
Instead, he decided to remain an additional night. He wanted to be thoroughly familiar with the terrain when he returned to Richmond on another mission, as he undoubtedly would. He wanted to know precisely where to look for Orry Main.
Locating the War Department offices next day proved easy. Bent watched the building for half an hour but didn't go in. Finding the flat on Marshall in the fashionable Court End district proved a little harder. He offered three-cent silver pieces to several black children before he found one who knew the colonel and his wife. The youngster pointed out their residence, a large house evidently converted into suites of rental rooms for the duration.
He approached from the opposite side of the street. The brim of his black hat protecting him from the May sunshine, he surveyed the house and got a shock when a lovely woman with a parasol came out and turned left on the walk.
Bent felt as if a thunderbolt had come down to smite him. The woman passing from view was instantly familiar because he often sat gazing at her, or someone very much like her, in the canvas stolen from New Orleans. This woman's mouth, shape of nose, color of eyes and hair were not identical with those in the picture. But the resemblance could not be mistaken.
Sweating, Bent lumbered up the steps of her residence and rang the bell. A wispy old woman answered. He swept his hat off.
'Your pardon, ma'am. I have business with a Mrs. Wadlington, whom I don't know. I was told she lived in this block, and I just passed a lady who fits the sketchy description I was given. The lady came out this door, so I wondered —'
'That's Colonel Main's wife. Never heard of a Mrs. Wadlington, and I know everyone. But I don't know you.'
Flushed, elated, and short of breath, Bent went reeling away. His luck had turned at last. First the Baker connection and now this. Orry Main, a high military official, was married to a nigger whore — and he had the evidence. How he would use it, he was too overwrought to determine just now. But use it he would, of that he was —
