“Well, no,” I said.
“These two gentlemen will have dinner, please. And a pitcher of beer. Put it on my tab.”
“Thank you,” said Holmes. “Do you happen to know what dinner consists of this evening?”
“Roast beef on kummelweck, pickled hard-boiled eggs, beer, sauerkraut, and pickles,” said the barman. “All you want.”
“Excellent,” Holmes said, with what appeared to be sincerity.
I was surprised at the eagerness with which Holmes and the police chief attacked the strange food, but I joined in with little hesitation, and found that the bar fare was exactly what I needed after a long day with my medical colleague. I particularly liked incidentals that had been judged not worth mentioning—short lengths of sausage and small pieces of chicken, primarily thighs and wings. I have often found that in exotic countries the native diet is exactly what is required for the maintenance of health and vigor.
Holmes stood and looked up the hallway behind the barroom to be sure there were no eavesdroppers, then opened the conversation almost immediately. “Chief Bull, do you know why I asked for a chance to meet with you?”
“I do,” he said. “When Captain Allen came to me on your behalf, I made inquiries with the president’s secretary, Mr. Cortelyou. I’ll confess I was feeling insulted that they would hire a private citizen from another country to do my job of protecting important guests in my home city.”
“And did Mr. Cortelyou settle your mind on that score?”
“He did,” said Bull, then leaned closer to us and kept his voice low. “Now I’m not insulted. I’m afraid for everyone involved. If this goes wrong, it will be difficult for anyone to believe that we weren’t joined in a murderous conspiracy. Once the name ‘Booth’ is mentioned …” He shuddered.
“We must be certain that there are no mistakes,” said Holmes. “The fact that you are with us has helped to settle my mind considerably.”
“And what will you need from me?”
“First,” said Holmes, “we must request that you maintain the utmost secrecy. This is not a hoax that can later be revealed. We mean to establish a historical event that will remain enshrined in public knowledge for centuries. The men who know of it are the three of us, the president, Mr. Cortelyou, Dr. Roswell Park, Mr. Booth, and Captain Allen. I believe we can keep it within a small circle of honorable men, only those who must know.”
Chief Bull sipped his beer thoughtfully. “Agreed. Any of my men will do as I say because I say it. They don’t need to know why I say it.”
“Exactly,” said Holmes. “The portions for which we most need your help are the arrangement and disposition of the audience, the immediate aftermath of the performance, and then, just as important, the events of the following two weeks.”
“You have my cooperation,” he said. “We’ll need to go over exactly what you want to happen, and what you don’t want to happen.”
“I propose to do that as soon as we have finished this sumptuous repast,” said Holmes.
And he did. It took only about an hour spent pleasantly in the American pub for Holmes to choreograph exactly what he wanted—where each officer was to stand, how the citizens would be lined up to meet the president, what would happen as soon as Mr. Booth discharged his part, and so on. Chief Bull, I must say, proved to be a canny and intelligent strategist, picking up every detail and foreseeing more than a few that came from his professional knowledge of the behavior of crowds. By the end of the hour, when he stood and retrieved his policeman’s hat, he and Holmes had a clear understanding.
Holmes was extremely thorough by habit and temperament, and in the time that followed he made sure that each member of the group knew something of the role of each of the others, so that none would mistakenly impede the execution of another’s part. At his urging, each went to the Exposition alone and studied the areas he would need to know during the fateful day, like an actor blocking his part in a play.
And then, before I was even prepared for the day to come, it was the sixth of September. The moment I awoke I knew that the day was going to be hot. The sun had barely risen on the slightly overcast morning when it began to exert a power over the city. The humidity reminded me of those days in Delhi just before the government would decamp each year to the higher, cooler climate of Simla.
At 7:15 A.M. the president awoke at 1168 Delaware Avenue, the home of Mr. Milburn. He took a walk along the avenue, where he met another solitary figure, a tall, trim gentleman equipped as a peddler on the way to the Exposition with a tray of souvenirs to sell. I’m told they walked together for only a couple of blocks, but in that time, a great deal of information was conveyed in both directions. Then the mysterious salesman parted with the president, and they went their separate ways.
Later in the morning Holmes and I were at the railway station to board a train which was to take us to Niagara Falls. I noticed that there seemed to be a large number of prosperous-looking and well-dressed gentlemen waiting on the platform, even after Holmes and I had climbed aboard. The train was held up at the last moment, to take on a particular passenger. The president and his party arrived by coach and were ushered to a special car. The local dignitaries were far too numerous to be admitted to the car, but they filled in on the nearest alternative cars as well as they could, with little jostling.
I whispered to Holmes, “Where is Mrs. McKinley?”
He whispered back, “She’s still at the Milburn house. Her husband fears this heat would be too much for her.” He paused, significantly. “And she has a great many preparations to make. She will have a large role to play in the next few weeks.”
The train took us along the Niagara River, which I judged to be a half-mile wide with a current of three to five knots for most of its length. It was pleasant to ride along at a brisk pace in the heat. But Holmes insisted on standing and walking the length of the train. I said, “What are we doing?”
“Looking,” he said. “Look for faces that are familiar, faces that don’t belong here, faces that don’t want to meet our gaze, faces that look at us with too much interest.”
We walked from one car to another, with a leisurely gait, looking at the many passengers. At times Holmes would stop and speak to someone in a seat. “A wonderful day to visit the falls, isn’t it?” he would say. Or “Do you have any idea when this train reaches the falls?” Or even, “Is this seat taken?” The person would reply, he would nod and touch the brim of his hat, and then go on. I can be sure that nobody who was in the public sections of the train escaped his scrutiny. At the end, when we were standing at the back railing of the front car, staring ahead at the coal car and the engine, I said, “Well, we’ve looked. What have we seen?”
“Not enough,” he said. “But we’ll see more on the way back.”
“What do you expect to see?”
“You and I have a plan. But what if someone else has a plan of his own? This is a fine day for it. The Exposition is a fine place for it. But an even better place might be the falls.”
“You mean—”
“I mean nothing more than that. Search the faces, Watson.” He opened the door and went up the aisle. This time we were facing the passengers, and had a better opportunity to stare at each one.
At the end of the last carriage before the president’s, he whispered, “We shall have to be vigilant today. There are three on this train who are not what they seem.”
“Which ones?”
“There is a man in a coal black suit in the third car up. He is thin, with long elegant fingers that play idly along the length of his walking stick. He has on the floor between his feet a hard-sided case. I wondered at it because he didn’t put it in the luggage rack.”
“Do you suspect it holds a weapon?” I asked. “Perhaps something silent like the air gun that the blind craftsman Von Herder made and Colonel Moran used in his crime some years ago?”
“The same idea crossed my mind when I saw it, but then I noticed that the clasp on the case bears the emblem of Bergmann-Bayer, a maker of military firearms for the Spanish army,” he said. “The weapon needn’t be silent if he intends to fire it after we reach the falls. I’m told that the roar of the water is so loud that you could fire a field piece and the report would seem no more than a pop. No, I think with him, we have time.”
“An angry Spaniard, trying to get revenge for the war. Who are the other two?”
“One is the middle-aged lady, quite small, wearing the brown dress with green trim in the front car.”
“A lady? Surely you can’t be serious.”
“She’s an unusual lady. She has a very slight but fresh cut, half an inch and nearly vertical, along her jaw line
