The conductor traced name by name with a clean, manicured fingernail. He was indeed familiar with most, for the 20th Century Limited was very much a rolling private club. The costly excess-fare express drew on the tiny minority of passengers who were extremely well off, and the train ran a proscribed route between New York and Chicago that was fully booked and rarely took on passengers at intermediate stations. Bell saw well-known names in business, politics, and industry, and some famous touring actors. He noted the names of those few Dilber didn't know.
I am particularly interested in foreigners.
We've got the usual handful. Here's an Englishman.
Arnold Bennett. The writer?
I believe he is on a lecture tour. Traveling with these two Chinamen. Harold Wing and Louis Loh. They are missionary students, from an English seminary, I believe. Mr. Bennett made a point of telling me personally that he's their protector in case anyone gives them trouble. I told him it was all the same to me as long as they pay their fare.
Did he say what's he's protecting them from?
Remember that murder last month in Philadelphia? The girl, and all that white-slaving talk in the papers? The police are shadowing Chinamen hot and heavy.
Train conductor Dilber continued down the list. I don't know this German gentleman. Herr Shafer. His ticket was booked by the German Embassy.
Bell, make a note.
Here's one I know, the detective said. Rosania-if he's traveling under his own name. But he can't be-a natty dresser of about forty?
That's him. Snappy as a magazine ad.
What are you carrying in the express car?
The usual stocks and banknotes. Why do you ask?
The fellow is a regular wizard with nitroglycerine.
A train robber? the conductor asked less unflappably.
Bell shook his head. Not as a rule. Rosania generally favors mansions he can talk his way into to blow the jewelry safes after everyone goes to bed. Master of his craft. He can detonate an explosion in the library that they'll never hear upstairs. But last I knew, he was at Sing Sing State Prison. Don't worry, I'll have a word with him and see what's up.
I would appreciate that, sir. Now, this Australian. Something told me he was trouble-not that he did anything, but I overheard him discussing the sale of a gold mine and caught a tone of the bunco man in his palaver. I'll watch him close in the club car if he joins any of the card games.
And here's another I know, Bell said. Funny. Bell pointed at the name.
Herr Riker. Oh, yes.
You know him?
The diamond merchant. He's a regular, every couple of months or so. Is he a friend of yours?
We met recently. Twice.
I believe he is traveling with his bodyguard. Yes, this fellow here. Plimpton. Big bruiser in a Pullman berth. Riker's got his usual stateroom. I reckon there's something locked up in the express car that's Riker's. He followed down the list. No mention of his ward.
What ward?
Lovely young lady. But, no, she's not listed this trip. Pity.
What do you mean.
Nothing, sir. I just mean, one of those girls that isn't hard on the eyes.
Riker seems young to have a ward.
She's just a student-oh, I see what you mean. Don't you doubt it, sir. I see every sort of couple you could imagine on the Limited. Riker and his ward are completely on the up-and-up. Always separate staterooms.
Adjoining? asked Bell, who always booked two staterooms when he traveled with Marion.
But it's not what you think. You get an eye for this on the 20th Century, Mr. Bell. They're not that sort of couple.
Bell resolved to check on that. Research had made no mention of a ward.
What is her name?
I only know her as Miss Riker. Maybe he adopted her.
The train was flying at a clip of sixty miles to the hour, and mile-posts were flashing by the windows. But just as he and the conductor were finishing up the passenger list, forty minutes out of New York, Bell felt the engine ease off.
Harmon, the conductor explained, checking the time on his Waltham watch. We'll exchange the electric for a steamer and then we'll fly, better than four miles in three minutes.
I'll have a word with my old nitro acquaintance. Find out what he's got planned for your express car.
While they changed engines, Bell telegraphed Van Dorn, inquiring about the German, the Australian, the Chinese traveling with Arnold Bennett, and Herr Riker's ward. He also sent a wire to Captain Falconer:
INFORM GUNNER'S DAUGHTER MURDERER DEAD.
A single glimmer of justice in a joyless day. The death of Yamamoto might comfort Dorothy Langner, but it was hardly a victory. The case, already thrown into turmoil by Scully's murder, was completely unhinged by the death of the Japanese spy who had come so close to handing Bell his true quarry.
He climbed back aboard the 20th Century.
The high-wheeled Atlantic 4-4-2 steam locomotive swiftly gathered speed and raced northward along the banks of the Hudson River. Bell walked to the head of the train. The club car was fitted with comfortable lounge chairs. Men were smoking, drinking cocktails, and waiting for their turn with the barber and manicurist.
Larry Rosania! Fancy meeting you here.
The jewel thief looked up from a newspaper blazing headlines about the Great White Fleet approaching San Francisco. He peered over the tops of his gold wire-rimmed reading glasses and pretended not to recognize the tall, golden-haired detective in the white suit. His manner was polished, his voice patrician. Have we been introduced, sir?
Bell sat down uninvited. Last I heard, my old pals Wally Kisley and Mack Fulton leased long-term lodgings for you at Sing Sing.
At the mention of Bell's friends, Rosania dropped the faASSade. I was saddened to hear about their demise, Isaac. They were interesting characters and honest detectives in a world short of both.
Appreciate the thought. How'd you get out? Blow a hole in the prison wall?
Haven't you heard? I got a pardon from the governor. Would you like to see it?
Very much so, said
