The suave safecracker pulled from his coat a finely tooled wallet. From it he drew an envelope embossed with gold leaf and from the envelope unfolded a sheet of vellum with the seal of the governor of New York State on top and Rosania's name illuminated as if drawn by monks.
Assuming for the moment that this is not a forgery, do you mind me asking what you did to get this?
If I told you, you wouldn't believe me.
Try.
When I was twelve years old, I helped a little old lady cross the street. Turned out she was the governor's mother-before he was governor. She never forgot my kindness. I told you you wouldn't believe me.
Where are you headed, Larry?
Surely you've combed through the passenger list. You know perfectly well that I'm bound for San Francisco.
What do you intend to blow up there?
I've gone straight, Isaac. I don't do safes anymore.
Whatever you're doing, you're doing it well, Bell observed. This train doesn't come cheap.
I'll tell you the truth, said Rosania. You won't believe this either, but I met a widow who believes that the sun and the moon rise and set on me. As she inherited more money than I could steal in a lifetime, I am not disabusing her of the thought.
Can I inform the train conductor that his express car is safe?
Safe as houses. Crime doesn't pay enough. What about you, Isaac? Heading for Chicago headquarters?
Actually, I'm looking for someone, said Bell. And I'll bet that even reformed jewel thieves are close observers of fellow passengers on luxury railroad trains. Have you noticed any foreigners I might be interested in?
Several. In fact, one right here in this car.
Rosania nodded toward the back of the club car and lowered his voice. There's a German pretending to be a salesman. If he is, he's the nastiest drummer I ever saw.
The stiff-necked one who looks like a Prussian officer? Bell had noticed Shafer on his way into the club car. The German was about thirty years old, expensively dressed, and exuded a fiercely unfriendly chill.
Would you buy anything from him?
Nothing I didn't need. Anyone else?
Look out for the carney Australian selling a gold mine.
The conductor noticed him, too.
There's no fooling a good train conductor.
He didn't tip to you.
Told you, I've gone straight.
Oh, I forgot, Bell grinned. Then he asked, Do you know a gem importer named Erhard Riker?
Herr Riker, I never messed with.
Why not?
For the same reason I would never dream of blowing Joe Van Dorn's safe. Riker's got his own private protection service.
What else do you know about him?
From my former point of view, that was all I needed to know.
Bell stood up. Interesting seeing you, Larry.
Rosania suddenly looked embarrassed. Actually, if you don't mind, I go by Laurence now. The widow likes calling me Laurence. Says it's more refined.
How old is this widow?
Twenty-eight, Rosania replied smugly.
Congratulations.
As Bell turned away, Rosania called, Wait a minute. Again he lowered his voice. Did you see the Chinamen? There's two of them on board.
What about them?
I wouldn't trust them.
I understand they're divinity students, said Bell.
Laurence Rosania nodded sagely. The preacher man is The Invisible Man.' When I worked the divinity student game, and the old ladies took me home to meet nieces and granddaughters, the gentlemen who owned the mansions looked through me like I was furniture.
Thanks for the help, said Bell, fully intending when the train changed engines at Albany to send Sing Sing's warden a telegram recommending a head count.
He walked back through the club car, eyeing the German. Skillful European tailoring mostly concealed a powerful frame. The man sat bolt upright, erect as a cavalry officer. Afternoon, Bell nodded.
Herr Shafer returned a cold, silent stare, and Bell recalled that Archie had told him that in Kaiser Wilhelm's Germany citizens, both male and female, were required to surrender their train seats to military officers. Try that here, Bell thought, and you'll earn a punch in the snoot. From men or women.
He continued toward the back of the train through six Pullman and stateroom cars to the observation car, where passengers were drinking cocktails as the setting sun reddened the sky across the Hudson River. The Chinese divinity students were dressed in identical ill-fitting black suits, each with a bulge indicating a bible near his heart. They sat with a bearded Englishman in tweed whom Bell assumed to be their protector, the journalist and novelist Arnold Bennett.
Bennett was a rugged-looking man with a stocky, powerful build. He appeared a bit younger than Bell had assumed him to be based on the articles he had read in Har per's Weekly. He was holding forth to a rapt audience of Chicago businessmen on the pleasures of travel in the United States, and as Bell listened he got the distinct impression that the writer was practicing phrases for his next article.
Could a man be prouder than to say, This is the train of trains, and I have my stateroom on it.'
A salesman with a booming voice like Dorothy Langner's Ted Whitmark brayed, Finest train in the world, bar none.
The Broadway Limited ain't nothing to sneeze at, remarked his companion.
Old folks ride the Broadway Limited, the salesman scoffed. The 20th Century's for up-and-up businessmen. That's why Chicago fellows like it so.
Arnold Bennett corralled the conversation again with practiced ease. Your American comforts never cease to amaze. Do you know I can switch the electric fan in my bedchamber to three different speeds? I expect that it will provide through the night a continuous vaudeville entertainment.
The Chicagoans laughed, slapped their thighs, and shouted to the steward for more drinks. The Chinese men smiled uncertainly, and Isaac Bell wondered how much English they understood. Were the slight young men frightened in the presence of large and boisterous Americans? Or merely shy?
When Bennett flourished a cigarette from his gold case, one student struck a match and the other positioned an ashtray. It looked to Bell like Harold Wing and Louis Loh filled dual roles as wards of the journalist and
