The Floating Outfit 34: To Arms! To Arms! In Dixie! (A Floating Outfit Western)

by J. T. Edson

  One of the problems which had faced the Confederate States all through the War had been how to counteract the strangling efficiency of the Federal Navy’s blockade on Southern ports. To this end, several devices had been manufactured and used with various degrees of success. Amongst the most novel had been the ‘coal torpedo’.

  Simple to produce, effective in operation, the device—it would have been called a booby-trap in later years—had been nothing more than a hollow-cast chunk of iron, filled with gunpowder and shaped like a piece of coal. To further disguise its purpose, it had then been coated with tar and coal dust. The idea behind the deception was that, when left by Confederate agents in Union marine fuel depots, the torpedoes would be taken aboard Yankee warships. When a torpedo was fed into a furnace by a stoker, it exploded and blew up the boilers. Belle knew that at least three Northern vessels had been set on fire and destroyed in such a manner.

  What Belle could not understand was why O’Reilly would have the ‘coal torpedoes’ in his baggage. Great Britain had the most powerful navy in the world, so they might be intended as a means of dealing with blockading warships. Or they could have some other purpose in the fight to ‘liberate’ Ireland. Maybe the two examples were being sent to show ‘freedom fighters’ in the ‘ould country’ how to produce more of them. Yet Belle thought that the organization ought to be able to find some better way of transporting the samples.

  Slowly the girl turned the ‘coal torpedo’ over in her hands. It looked as if it had been made some time ago. While it was black, all its original coating of tar and coal dust had been removed. That had left a metallic glint that might be noticeable when compared with the genuine article.

  Belle wondered where the ‘coal torpedoes’ had come from, Possibly they had been part of a consignment overlooked at the end of the War, or kept as mementoes. Irishmen had rendered good and loyal service to the Confederate States and one of them might have had the dangerous items in his possession or have known how to make them. If it came to a point, a man with Northern persuasions might have heard about them and decided to make some for his own purposes.

  Realizing that she had neither the time nor the inclination for idle conjecture, Belle replaced the ‘coal torpedo’. She put the bag back into the wardrobe and ascertained that its companion was empty. Satisfied that the room held nothing of interest, she reduced the lamp’s glow. Closing and fastening the window, she went to the door. Opening it, she stepped out ready to act as if she had been making a legal visit. She still had the passage to herself, so she locked the door behind her.

  Safely in her own room, Belle removed the cloak. She studied her reflection in the wardrobe’s mirror, touching her jaw gingerly and wincing a little. After making such repairs as she felt were necessary to her appearance, she sat on the bed and gave thought to her next line of action.

  Once again Belle was faced with the problem of what to do for the best.

  Should she stay at the hotel and hope that somebody would come to search O’Reilly’s room? Or ought she to go as arranged to examine the consignment in Molloy’s warehouse?

  If she took the former alternative, she might be able to follow whoever arrived when they left and see what developed. A sound and profitable way of spending the rest of the evening—provided that somebody came and presupposing that she could follow him after his departure without being detected or otherwise losing him.

  Against that, there might not be an attempt to collect O’Reilly’s belongings that night. Maybe his companions, or superiors, would not want to take a chance on drawing further attention to him. The police would be interested in him already, more so than was comfortable for the organization. Adding a further mystery would not be to the conspirators’ advantage.

  Could the others rely upon O’Reilly not to be in possession of incriminating documents?

  Belle was inclined to believe that they might. From what she had seen and deduced, O’Reilly was an intelligent man and might be high in the organization’s chain of command. As such, he would know better than keep incriminating papers in a hotel room. The ‘coal torpedoes’ would mean little or nothing, and might be ignored as unconventional but innocuous souvenirs. They might puzzle the police but would not be connected with the organization.

  So the girl would gamble on the attempt not being made that night.

  A fresh, alarming thought gave added strength to her decision. She had to consider Darren. He might have made a fool of himself, but it was technically still his case. So he had the right to know everything that had happened that evening. There was also another point about him for her to consider.

  Not only was he expecting Belle, but his life might be in peril.

  Everything depended upon the conclusions drawn by the conspirators regarding O’Reilly’s killing. If they decided that Darren had been fooling them and was not their dupe, they could figure on closing his mouth. Despite the prominent manner in which he displayed his gun—or rather because of it—Belle doubted if Darren would be capable of protecting himself against an unexpected attack.

  What was even worse from Belle’s point of view, she could indirectly contribute to Darren being taken unawares. Hearing a knock at his door and expecting her to arrive, he was likely to open up without first checking who might be at the other side. Belle might dislike Darren, but she had no desire to have his death on her conscience.

  Replacing the cloak, Belle hurried down to the foyer and asked the desk clerk to find her a cab. If he was puzzled by her second departure, the man concealed it very well. Leaving the desk, he carried out her request. While he was gone, Belle wondered if she might confuse a possible visitor to O’Reilly’s quarters. She remembered hearing of how a professional gambler of her acquaintance had saved his life by altering the number of his hotel room. [8] However, she decided against making such an attempt. Probably whoever came would know in which room O’Reilly had been lodging, so would be suspicious if he checked and found an alteration in the register.

  Boarding the cab, Belle told its driver to go to the street upon which the warehouse and Darren’s hotel were situated. While being carried in the required direction, she felt the uneasy sensation rising again. Somehow, she was certain that there were ramifications to the affair which had not yet fully come to her attention.

  Eight – The Shipment’s Going Out On Saturday

  ‘Hello, Miss Boyd,’ Darren greeted, having opened the door without checking who was at it. However, he stood with his right hand concealed and she guessed that it held his revolver. She also figured that the weapon was there merely to impress her with his preparedness. ‘I’d almost given you up.’

  ‘I had a little difficulty getting here,’ Belle replied, walking by him.

  Having left the cab some distance from the hotel, Belle had continued the journey on foot. She had kept a keen watch for anybody who might have had the building under observation, but felt sure that none were present. The hotel did not maintain a permanently manned desk, so she had gone unchallenged on her arrival. At Darren’s door, she had paused and steeled herself against the possibility of having reached him too late. It had been a relief when he had opened up to her knock.

  Watching Darren twirl the bulky, short-barreled British Webley Bulldog revolver on his forefinger, as a preliminary to tucking it under his waistband, Belle could hardly hold down her smile. There was no wonder that the Irishman had become suspicious of him. However, he had shown sufficient good sense to dress suitably for the expedition. The clothes he had worn earlier were replaced by a black shirt, matching trousers and Indian moccasins.

  ‘What kind of trouble?’ Darren inquired, then remembered his duties as a host. ‘Let me take your cloak.’

  On removing and handing over the cloak, Belle saw surprise and then grudging approval flicker across Darren’s face. He laid the cloak on the bed and indicated a chair at the table.

  ‘Did you see the fire at the Bijou Theater?’ Belle asked, sitting down.

  ‘Is
that where it was? I saw the glow and heard the commotion. By the way, O’Reilly said that the shipment’s going on Saturday.’

  In his eagerness to pass on the choice tit-bit of information, Darren was clearly dismissing the fire at the theater and Belle’s difficulties as of minor consideration. He searched her face for some hint that she was over-awed by his words. Nothing showed. In fact, she appeared to be taking it very casually.

  ‘How did you come to meet him?’ Belle wanted to know.

  ‘In the saloon along the street,’ Darren replied. ‘Not that I make a habit of going into saloons when I’m working—’

  ‘It’s lucky that you broke your rule. But how did you get to know him?’

  ‘Luck, mostly. He was cursing Molloy for a Protestant son-of-a-bi—Well, I could see that he didn’t like Molloy. You know how Irish Catholics are where the Protestants are concerned?’

  ‘I’ve heard about it,’ Belle admitted, but the full significance of the words did not register at that moment. She was to remember them later. ‘So you made him an offer to spy on Molloy?’

  ‘It took a little longer than that,’ Darren protested. ‘But that’s about how it happened. He’s been very useful.’

  ‘I’m sure he has. Where does he live?’

  ‘I couldn’t say for sure. Nor far away, most likely.’

  ‘At the Traveler’s Hotel?’

  ‘That’s not likely,’ Darren stated. ‘It would be too expensive for him.’

  ‘I’d have thought that,’ Belle remarked. ‘Except that I followed him there after he left you.’

  ‘He must have been delivering a message, or something!’ Darren insisted. ‘On his pay, he couldn’t afford to live there.’

  ‘Not on a warehouse hand’s pay. I agree,’ Belle drawled. ‘But he’s been there since the day the consignment reached Memphis. Claiming to be a Pinkerton detective, Sheriff by name.’

  ‘How did the Pink-eyes [9] get involved?’ Darren asked dazedly, then a glint of understanding showed. ‘I suppose they’re on to this affair and are trying to show they’re more efficient than the Secret Service, as usual.’

  Ever since Allan Pinkerton had retired from the Secret Service at the end of the War and had resumed operations with his National Detective Agency, there had been considerable rivalry between the two organizations. Members of the Secret Service believed, possibly without justification, that the Pinkerton family would not be averse to seeing them fail in their appointed duties; and for Congress to be compelled to turn to the National Detective Agency for assistance.

  ‘I’d be surprised if O’Reilly really was a Pink-Eye,’ Belle stated. ‘That was just an excuse he used at the hotel; so that he could come and go in his working clothes without arousing comment.’

  Watching Darren’s face start to register alarm and realization, Belle suddenly felt sorry for him. He was young, inexperienced, but desperately eager to make good. Possibly he had never received any training for the exacting work in which he was engaged. Trying to break her news as gently as possible to him, she went on to describe all that had happened since she had left him.

  ‘You went alone?’ Darren growled, when Belle reached the point where she had broken into the theater.

  ‘Everybody makes mistakes,’ Belle answered, with an attitude of apology that she did not feel. ‘I believe that I could take him prisoner—’

  ‘You—?’

  ‘I’m an expert at savate; and I expected to have the element of surprise in my favor.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘It was a mistake,’ Belle conceded. ‘But all of us make them. Don’t we?’

  ‘Yours could have gotten you killed,’ Darren warned, taking the point.

  ‘It nearly did,’ Belle admitted wryly, touching her jaw. Continuing with her story, she concluded by saying, ‘Neither Opal nor O’Reilly were Irish.’

  ‘O’Reilly always sounded like a Mick-lander to me,’ Darren protested.

  ‘Not when he was speaking to Opal, he was a Southron then,’ Belle countered. ‘Of course, he would probably have put on an Irish accent for your benefit.’

  ‘How about Opal,’ Darren inquired, changing the subject. ‘I’ve seen him on the stage, but he does a dumb act and I’ve never heard him speak. Where does he fit into all this?’

  ‘That’s puzzling me, too. Apparently they were planning to hold a meeting of some kind at the theater tonight—’

  ‘Not tonight. Opal had taken over the Bijou to give a show for Confederate veterans. A free show, so there’d be a good attendance.’

  ‘And provide an excellent excuse for a large number of conspirators to get together. Nobody would notice them, attending a free show at a theater.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Darren agreed. ‘O’Reilly’s crowd must have employed Opal to do just as you say. But he’s an important performer. Why would he do it?’

  ‘For money, I’d say,’ Belle guessed. ‘It certainly wasn’t through patriotism, or any other high motive. I’d almost persuaded him to set me free and help us against them, for a price when Mephisto walked in.’

  ‘Who is this Mephisto?’ Darren asked.

  ‘A professional magician, or something of the kind, I’d reckon. He must have picked the lock, which wouldn’t take a genius. But the way he produced the bunch of flowers was no beginner’s trick. Opal knew him and seemed surprised to see him, but I don’t think he’s connected with our business.’

  ‘Or me,’ Darren agreed, showing that he was willing to dismiss Mephisto from his thoughts on those grounds.

  ‘What do we do about him?’ Belle demanded.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mephisto. He murdered Opal in cold blood.’

  ‘For his own private reasons. He’s hardly our concern—’

  ‘The hell he isn’t!’ Belle barked, then felt contrite as she identified the cause of her irritation. ‘I’m sorry. My conscience is pricking me. If I’d gone straight to the police—’

  ‘They probably wouldn’t have caught him. It’s not likely he would have stayed around, with people coming from all sides to the fire,’ Darren consoled her. ‘Besides, it’s possible that Captain O’Shea would be in sympathy with the Irish nationalists, even if he isn’t in cahoots with them.’

  ‘That’s possible,’ Belle sighed. ‘In fact, I’d thought of it.’

  ‘Anyway, I think you acted for the best,’ Darren declared and put up almost the same reasons that Belle had considered when she was deciding against speaking to the police. ‘What you could do is write an anonymous letter, describing this Mephisto and pretending that he killed Opal and O’Reilly while trying to rob the theater. That way, O’Shea’s men will know who to look for and we won’t need to become involved.’

  ‘That’s what I’ll do,’ Belle agreed. ‘But, if O’Shea’s with them, it might make them suspicious. That could be dangerous for you.’

  ‘We’ll worry about that when the time comes,’ Darren assured her.

  ‘You said that the shipment will be going on Saturday?’ Belle prompted, wanting to avoid a demonstration of heroics.

  ‘Yes. They’re sending it downriver to New Orleans.’

  ‘Why New Orleans?’

  ‘So it can be put on a ship for Ireland,’ Darren replied. He did not add the words, ‘of course’, but they were there.

  ‘They could do that far more easily in New York, or any of the East Coast ports,’ Belle reminded him.

  ‘Which is where we’d expect them to ship from,’ Darren countered.

  ‘True,’ Belle conceded. ‘Only that doesn’t explain why O’Reilly should be telling you their plans.’

  ‘I’ve been paying him for information.’

  ‘How well do you pay him?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Have you been paying him enough for him to have been able to move into the Traveler’s Hotel?’ Belle elaborated.

  ‘Of course I haven’t!’ Darren snorted indignantly. ‘Unc—Mr. Stenhouse keeps a sharp eye on my—all h
is agents’ expenditure. I gave O’Reilly five dollars for each report and increased it to twenty for tonight’s information.’

  ‘That hardly seems enough money to have made him decide to turn traitor,’ Belle admitted, having withheld any mention of the disparaging comments made by Opal concerning Darren’s abilities. ‘Could they have suspected that you’re watching the shipment?’

  ‘I don’t see how they could have!’

  ‘And you never let O’Reilly, or anybody else, know that you’re a member of the Secret Service?’

  ‘Certainly not!’ Darren stated vehemently, but his cheeks reddened and he refused to meet her eyes.

  ‘Then it’s a mystery,’ Belle drawled and let the subject drop.

  There was nothing to be gained, other than profitless self-satisfaction, in exposing the young man’s inadequacies. Belle knew that she would be working with him, at least until Saturday. Letting him know how badly he had failed would shatter his confidence. It was sure to render him useless for anything that might lie ahead.

  Yet, as Belle knew, there were many puzzling aspects to the affair. Time, thought and investigation would supply the answers. Until then, Darren must be prevented from brooding and, if possible, stopped drawing the correct conclusions about how he had been fooled by O’Reilly.

  ‘Is everything ready for our visit to the warehouse?’ Belle asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Darren replied. ‘If you still think it’s worth our while going.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘Well, we know that the shipment’s going. So all we need to do is arrest Molloy and his men.’

  ‘Which you could have done on the day that it arrived,’ Belle pointed out.