IT WAS SURPRISING, considering the Baron's recent frantic activities, how quiet he had become. He was not to be seen; presumably he was preparing for the lecture in two days' time-it was all Baltimore talked about. I took several circuitous walks around the city, trying to discover which hotel he had moved to.
While I was engaged in this way, my shoulder was tapped.
It was one of the men whom I had seen so many times following the Baron Dupin. Another man stood near him in a similar coat.
'Account for yourself,' said the first one, with a concealed accent. 'Who are you?'
'Why is that your concern?' I replied. 'Shall I ask you the same?'
'This is not a time to be bold, monsieur.'
'We have seen you in past weeks. You seem always to be outside his hotel,' he said with suspicion, his eyebrows gesturing in that peculiar French manner Duponte sometimes exhibited.
'Yes, well, there is hardly anything extraordinary about that. Does not one visit his friend often?' A man who had in the past kidnapped, deceived, and intimidated me-to call that a friend!
Caught in their silence, I worried about the implications of my hasty statement. My spying on the Baron, it seemed, had made enemies of these enemies of the Baron! I added, 'I know nothing of that man's debts or his creditors, and have not the slightest interest in such matters.'
The two men exchanged a quick glance.
'Then tell us which hotel he's putting up at now.'
'I do not know,' I said honestly.
'Do you have any idea, monsieur, the scope of his troubles? They shall become yours if you try to guard him. Do not protect him.'
I turned quickly and began walking away.
'We are not finished with you, monsieur,' he called out from behind me.
I looked over my shoulder; they were following. I wondered if I ran, whether they would do the same. Testing this, I accelerated my steps.
Crossing Madison Street, I neared the Washington Monument, where a small assembly of visitors was gathered. The massive marble column, twenty feet in diameter, rose up from the base and supported the grand statue of General George Washington at the summit. The pure white marble stood out not just for its massiveness, but as a contrast to the brickwork of the street. It seemed the safest place in Baltimore right now.
Entering the base of the monument, I joined others waiting to begin the passage on the stairwell that ascended in a spiral up the long, hollow column. After I'd climbed the first flight of steps, I paused at one of the curves, illumined by only a small square opening, and watched a few young boys race past me. I smiled to myself, satisfied that the men had let me be or not seen me enter-but just as I expressed this silent delight to myself, I heard the heavy steps of two pairs of boots.
Without waiting for a glimpse of them, I turned and dashed up the stairs. My only advantage was that I had known the vast interior of the monument from the time I was young. The Frenchmen may have been stronger and quicker, but they were strangers here. Indeed, I imagine they'd compare this narrow flight to the wider compass of their Arc de Triomphe in Paris. Both places had the same reward for the sturdy climber-an unrivaled view of each city at the summit-but honored opposite achievements. The Parisian arch, Napoleon's empire. The marble column, Washington resigning his commission as commander of the army, refusing to use his position to seek the permanent power of a despot.
I suppose none of this occurred to these men, who seemed to prefer thinking of throwing me off the top of the monument. They ran faster even than the group of young boys, who, chasing each other upward, had wearied by the middle of the ascent. The two men finally reached the observation gallery at the top, and walked around the circular platform, pushing past the visitors who stood looking across the Patapsco River to the Chesapeake in the distance. Though the two men inspected the face under the brim of each man's hat, and peered around widely flounced dresses, they did not see their subject anywhere.
But I could see them. I'd already hidden 120 feet below: near where a narrow, unmarked door in the lower portion of the stairs opened onto a lower ledge used by those whose task it was to keep every crevice of the monument clean. It was a passage used also by persons who needed a bit of air on their journey upward. I waited on that ledge to ensure that both men appeared on that gallery platform far above, thus confirming that neither was lying in wait for me below.
Realizing they had been deceived, they now leaned upon the railing and found me standing below them. I smiled and saluted them before rushing back to the door.
My celebration was short. The door back to the stairs would not budge.
'For God's sake!' I kicked at it.
The latch on the inside of the door had somehow fixed itself after I had closed it. I pounded at the heavy door for someone to open it from inside.
Observing my situation from their all-seeing view, one of the men started back to the stairwell, while the other waited and watched me from that omniscient perch. If the first made it down the stairs and to my door, I would certainly be trapped. I craned my neck and watched with faint hope that the band of older ladies emerging above from the stairs would delay his descent long enough for me to arrive at some miraculous plan for my deliverance.
The second man stood guard by leaning over the rail and keeping his eyes fixed on me. After another fruitless attempt to attract attention from the other side of the door, I returned to the railing and looked down below to assess my chances of jumping into the trees. Then I was met with a familiar face from below!
'Bonjour!' I exclaimed.
She looked up at me, then looked to the sky where that blackguard was peering down at me. 'Back up toward the door,' she said.
'It is bolted from the other side. You must open it for me, mademoiselle!'
'Back up! More…more, monsieur…'
I did as instructed, moving away from the railing. The man above leaned farther over the railing so he could still watch me.
Bonjour took a breath and then shrieked, 'He's going to jump!' She pointed with hysterical gestures to the Frenchman, who was now nearly hanging from the railing 180 feet above the ground. The Frenchman's face went pale as screams erupted from the gallery. The gallery-goers, in an effort to aid him, swarmed the man on the rail so forcefully as to almost push him off. Meanwhile, those sightseers rushing up from below to witness the human tragedy now herded the second Frenchman, who had just managed to enter the stairwell for his descent, back onto the gallery platform.
'Mademoiselle, ingenious! Now, if you can open this door!'
Bonjour entered the stairwell, and soon enough I could hear the door to the base unlatch. I gleefully swung the door open to thank my savior, perhaps the one woman left who cared about me.
She stepped through the doorway, the end of a small revolver pointed at me. 'Time to come with me, monsieur.'
Bonjour did not say another word on the way to the hotel. She untied my hands and legs-which she had bound-upon our arrival at Barnum's Hotel and rushed me through the anteroom without attracting notice. Upon reaching their rooms, where the Baron awaited, she spoke. 'He was with them, very hand and glove together,' she said to the Baron. 'I separated them, but they may have been signaling each other.'
'Who?' I asked confusedly. 'Those two blackguards? I would never have anything to do with men like that.'
'Very cozy, going into that monument together.'
'They were accosting me, mademoiselle! You rescued me!'
'I had no such intention, monsieur!' she assured me. 'Perhaps Duponte leads
