“My name is Ned Brandt, and I’m the Pinkerton agent who was assigned to track down and arrest Willie. Can you tell me how he came to be in your car?”
“Thank you, Mr. Brandt,” she responded coolly, still not willing to relax her guard after his prying question. “The beast thrust his way into my compartment without permission and proceeded to hold me at gunpoint, demanding I call him Aunt Millie. He was insisting on holding Camellia, probably to enhance his disguise, and was reaching over to grab her when the train lurched and he fell.”
“But you managed to disarm and disable him!”
“Oh, he dropped the gun when he fell!”
“Where is it?”
“Behind the basket.” She tilted her head and nodded toward the corner. “It’s just a derringer but could have been deadly at close range,” she shuddered. “Was it the murder weapon?”
“No, his lady friend was killed with a .45, and this,” he said, reaching for the weapon and eyeing it, “is a .22. Since I won’t need it as evidence, would you like to keep it? Providing, of course, you know how to use it.”
“Why, yes. Yes, I would like to have a bit of extra protection, I do believe. And we were taught various means of self-defense at school.”
“I caught the end of that altercation. Were those some of the moves they taught?”
She nodded, rather pleased with herself that she’d held her nerve and actually used the lessons. But she still had a few questions.
“Why,” inquired Megan, “is he called Willie ‘the Dip’?”
“Well, he started out as a pickpocket in the train stations, ‘dipping’ into people's pokes and pockets. Even when he moved upscale to train robbery, he kept the name. Eventually we believe he partnered with a fellow known as ‘Droopy Pete’ because of his oversized handlebar mustache. We are not sure how someone who is that noticeable can disappear, so rapidly, but he has, time after time.
“Willie has been nabbed once or twice although he's awfully slippery, too, but we've never managed to get our hands on Pete. As long as it was fairly minor, obviously the detectives concentrated on bigger game, but now murder has come into it. Once someone starts killing, he usually doesn't stop, so we are very concerned to capture him as quickly as possible.
“We don't know for sure whether Pete is on the train, but do exercise caution as you move about! Please do not go any place by yourself.”
“We are on a train. Where do you suppose I could go?”
Casting a level gaze at her, the detective replied, “The train is its own little village, with its many cars. The dining car is just behind yours, so in order to eat it will be necessary for you to travel along the corridor and between carriages. Please be sure Mr. Stevenson or Johnson escorts you, even to the privy!”
Blushing, Megan dipped her head in acknowledgement of his concern.
Mr. Brandt stood up. “I think that about takes care of it. I’m proud to know you, Miss Maddux. Should you ever need a job, Pinkerton has need of intrepid women like you. I’d happily shake your hand were they not both full. But I see Mrs. Kemble is here so I’ll not take any more of your time.
“You have the gratitude of the Pennsylvania Railroad and the Pinkerton organization. Thank you.”
Surprised at this new twist to an already abundantly eventful morning, Megan nodded politely.
“You are quite welcome Mr. Brandt. Thank you for your assistance in removing the varmint!”
Ned Brandt laughed and added, “I believe you might be due some reward money. I’ll be in touch.” Leaning over, he returned the gun to its previous position behind the basket. Then, raising his hat to her, he offered the same courtesy to Mrs. Kemble as he stood aside to permit her to enter. “Good day, Miss Maddux, Mrs. Kemble.”
“Good day, sir,” the ladies replied, nearly in unison as, courtesies completed, he slipped from the room.
CHAPTER SEVEN – Mrs. Kemble
Johnson, who had held the door for Mrs. Kemble and then Mr. Brandt, now stepped into the compartment as well.
“Mr. Stevenson explained about your sister, Miss Maddux; please accept my condolences. Unfortunately the ticket master neglected to indicate you’d be needing childcare so we are a bit short-staffed at present, or I’d have brought one of our Pullman maids to assist you. However, may I present Mrs. Flora Kemble, who used to work for us and is admirably skilled?
“Meanwhile, here is a pitcher of warm water and a basin for you and the little miss.”
He proceeded to set up the items in a drop-down table slotted to accommodate the items.
“Thank you, Johnson,” Megan replied, rounded eyes watching his deft movements before turning to the tall, dark woman standing before her. “Won’t you please be seated Mrs. Kemble?”
Mrs. Kemble nodded graciously, moving her own infant from right to left arm so she could adjust her skirt to sit.
“How do you do, Miss Maddux,” she replied in a soft voice. “Has Johnson explained my situation?”
“Only that you are traveling to the Arizona Territory.” And, seeing the porter was about to slip out the door, she called out to him, “Thank you, Johnson!”
Although speaking as graciously as if about to pour tea for her visitors, Megan had been constantly shifting about, feeding and burping Camellia, and now, having moved the empty bottle to the basket, starting to peel back the layers of blankets and clothing to do something about the diaper whose pungence
