Always curious, Bell moved around the desk and looked down at the letter Mrs. Murphy had been typing on a Remington typewriter. It was addressed to Van Dorn, and spelled out the superintendent of the western states’ displeasure at having Bell come in and take over the unsolved case. Bell had never met Nicholas Alexander, who headed the Denver office, but he was determined to be courteous and polite to the man despite any antagonism.
Bell moved away from Mrs. Murphy’s desk and stood looking out the window over the rooftops of the city when Alexander walked into the anteroom. He looked more like the bookkeeper of a funeral parlor than the chief investigator who had unraveled many crimes and brought the offenders to full justice. He was a short man, his head barely coming up even with Bell’s shoulders. He wore a coat that was too large and his trousers were baggy. The high collar of his shirt showed wear and sweat stains. His head was devoid of hair except around the temples and at the rear; the eyebrows were trimmed as neatly as his hair. A pair of pince-nez glasses were clipped to the bridge of his nose in front of almost-sad-looking gray-green eyes.
Alexander held out his hand as his lips spread into a smile that was completely lacking in humor. “Mr. Bell, I’m honored to meet Van Dorn’s finest agent.”
Bell didn’t buy the compliment since there was no hint of warmth about it. “The honor is mine in meeting you,” Bell replied, nearly biting his tongue. It was obvious Alexander simply thought of Bell as an interloper into his private territory.
“Please come on back. Before I show you to your new office, we’ll have a talk.”
Alexander abruptly turned and strode stiffly through the door into the inner offices. Mrs. Murphy stood aside and smiled sweetly as they passed.
Alexander’s office was positioned in the only corner with a panoramic view of the mountains; the other offices were small and windowless. Bell observed that they were also doorless, offering almost no privacy. Alexander’s domain was embellished with cowhide sofas and chairs. His aspen desk was expansive and completely barren of paperwork. Though Alexander’s suit was a poor fit and bore wrinkles, he was fastidious about his working habits.
He seated himself in a high-backed chair behind his desk and motioned Bell to sit in an uncushioned wooden chair on the opposite side. The only thing missing for intimidation, Bell thought, was a platform under Alexander’s work space so he could look down on his employees and visitors like a minor god on Mount Olympus.
“No, thank you,” Bell said quietly. “After sitting on a train for two days, I’d prefer a softer seat.” He lowered his long frame onto one of the sofas.
“As you wish,” said Alexander, not pleased with Bell’s superior demeanor.
“You were not here when I worked on a case three years ago.”
“No, I came six months later when I was promoted from our Seattle office.”
“Mr. Van Dorn spoke very highly of you,” Bell lied. Van Dorn had not mentioned him.
Alexander folded his hands and leaned across the empty wasteland of his desk. “I trust he briefed you on the murderer and his operations.”
“Not in conversation.” Bell paused to hold up the valise. “But he gave me several reports that I examined while riding on the train. I can see why the felon responsible for the robberies and murders is so difficult to pin down. He plans his criminal ventures with extreme care and his techniques appear to be flawless.”
“All reasons why he eludes capture.”
“After absorbing the material, I do believe his fetish for detail will be his undoing,” said Bell thoughtfully.
Alexander looked at him suspiciously. “What, may I ask, brought you to that conclusion?”
“His jobs are too perfect, too well timed. One small miscalculation could prove his last.”
“I hope we can have a close relationship,” Alexander said with veiled animosity.
“I agree,” said Bell. “Mr. Van Dorn said I could have Art Curtis and Glenn Irvine on my team, if it is all right with you.”
“Not a problem. I wouldn’t go against Mr. Van Dorn’s wishes. Besides, they told me they worked with you a few years ago.”
“Yes, I found them to be dedicated agents.” Bell came to his feet. “May I see my office?”
“Of course.”
Alexander came from behind his desk and stepped into the hallway.
Bell saw that all the offices were quite small and quite plain. The furniture was sparse and there were no pictures on the walls. Only one other agent was present in the office, a stranger to Bell whom Alexander did not bother to introduce.
Before Alexander could point out a closet office, Bell asked innocently, “Do you have a conference room?”
Alexander nodded. “Yes, on the opposite side of the hallway from the offices.” He stopped, opened a door, and stood aside as Bell walked in.
The conference room stretched nearly thirty feet and flowed fifteen feet to the side. A long pine table, stained dark and with a polished surface, sat beneath two massive, circular chandeliers. Eighteen leather captain’s chairs were spaced evenly around it. The room was paneled in pine that matched the table, the floor carpeted with deep red pile. High windows rose on one wall, allowing the early-afternoon sunlight to illuminate every corner of the room.
“Very nice,” said Bell, impressed. “Very nice.”
“Yes,” said Alexander with pride showing in his bloodhound eyes. “I use it frequently for meetings with politicians and influential people in the city. It gives the Van Dorn Detective Agency significant respect and an image of importance.”
“It will do nicely,” Bell said matter-of-factly. “I’ll work in here.”
Alexander looked directly at Bell, a fiery look in his eyes that suddenly glowed with anger. “That’s not possible. I won’t permit it.”
“Where is the nearest telegraph office?”
Alexander seemed taken back. “Two blocks south on Sixteenth Street and Champa. Why?”
“I’ll send a message to Mr. Van Dorn requesting
