“Do you know which way they went?” Sophie asked.
“Don’t know. Told ’em the bread was for the soldiers, and they tried to tell me they were ones.” He laughed and swiped an arm over his damp forehead, pushing a swath of hair out of the way. “Maybe down yonder.” He gestured to the right with his paddle, then moved on to another oven.
Adam and Sophie went off in that direction. He hoped to try and track the boys, so he kept his eyes open for smaller footprints made in the dirt and flour that covered the floor. They spoke to another baker, and one of the workers who was tossing cooled loaves into a large canvas sack to be delivered. Each time, they pointed them in a different direction, and after a while, they found themselves in another part of the basement, some distance from the bakery.
The noise of activity could still be heard, along with shouted directions and even some singing plus the sounds of dull thuds rang in the distance. But this was an almost deserted part of the cellar, and the floor was dirty and the damp foundation walls were covered with cobwebs and patches of moss and algae. Only some of the gas lanterns hanging from the walls worked, and the ones that did gave off a small, sickly glow.
“They must have been underfoot everywhere,” Sophie said with a pained laugh as Adam paused to check the floor at the junction of three corridors that led even deeper into the basement. “Tad! Willie!” she called, cupping her hands around her mouth and aiming down a narrow, dark hall. “Bud! Your fathers are looking for you!” Her voice echoed into the cavernous space.
“This way,” Adam said when he at last found their prints—the smallest sets of the myriad of marks throughout the area. He gave a mental sigh of relief when he recognized all four of the boys were still together. “No surprise—they’re going down this empty hall here.” Watching the floor, he took two steps, then jolted to a halt when he saw the footprint next to the trail he was following.
Like those of the boys’, the mark was outlined clearly in flour—so clear, in fact, that he could tell the back heel of the right boot had a chunk missing from its corner.
CHAPTER 11
“Adam? What is it?” Sophie asked when she realized he’d stopped dead.
“Go on back and tell Mr. Taft that I’m on the boys’ trail,” he replied, but there was a tension in his voice that alarmed her. “Get him and some of the others to come and help.”
“What is it?” She carefully crouched to look at the footprints he’d been examining, using the wall to balance herself since her dratted corset would hardly allow her to bend at the waist. “Are one of the boys injured? Did you see some blood?” She knew what an exceptional tracker he was and didn’t doubt he could tell that or more.
“Sophie, please go back and do as I ask,” he replied, looking into the darkness ahead of them. His false arm had come out in front of her, as if to keep her back—or to offer protection.
She looked up at him and pulled to her feet. “Adam, what’s wrong?”
“Please go back and get Taft and some others,” he said once more, this time from between clenched teeth. He reached for one of the lanterns that hung at the junction of the hallways and looped it over his prosthetic hand. “It might be dangerous.”
She sighed, warring between exasperation that he wouldn’t tell her, and embarrassment. The latter finally won out. “I would, but . . . I don’t think I can find my way back.” At his muttered exclamation, she defended herself. “We took so many twists and turns, I lost track. I was so busy looking for them and calling for them that I didn’t pay attention.” She looked up at him in the dim light and forced a smile. “I’d probably get lost myself.”
“All right.” She could feel him battling with himself now—she sensed he couldn’t decide whether to lead her back or to allow her to come along. There was no doubt that he hadn’t lost track of where they were. “I don’t want to take the time to go back.”
He shifted and dug through the pocket of his coat, and Sophie was shocked when he pulled out a revolver. “Please tell me what’s going on,” she said.
He pointed down. “That footprint belongs to the man who murdered Pinebar Tufts and Billy Morris.”
She managed not to gasp, but didn’t quite keep herself from taking an involuntary step backward. Even she could tell that the footprint was very fresh.
Suddenly, she wasn’t enamored with the idea of going into a dim, narrow tunnel where a murderer might be lurking. But then—
“The boys!” Her eyes flew wide. “You don’t think he’s after them, do you?” She would have started off down the passage if he hadn’t grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back.
“Quiet. And slow,” was all he said, and started into the tunnel. “Don’t step on the tracks—stay to the right side, please, Sophie, so I can see what they’re doing.”
Well, if she had to go into a dim, dark tunnel where a murderer might be lurking, the one person she’d want to go with—if it was only one, and not an entire troop of armed men—was Adam Quinn.
The vaulted ceiling had given way to a narrow, low, flat-topped covering that was only inches above Adam’s head. The walls were still constructed from stone, but huge masonlike blocks instead of the costly marble that made up the more showy part of the building. Although they had their own light, its illumination was bolstered by occasional kerosene lanterns that somehow remained lit. Sophie hadn’t been exaggerating—she had no idea what direction they were walking, or which way to go to retrace their steps. She stayed close to Adam, holding the lantern for him as she listened carefully for the sounds of voices or footsteps. But even though she listened for them, she didn’t call out for Tad and Willie as she’d done before. It seemed safer not to draw attention to any of them.
A sleek shadow moved at the periphery of the small circle of lantern light, streaking across the floor in front of them, and she didn’t so much as snatch in her breath when she saw the long tail of the rat. Nor did she make a sound when a heavy swath of cobwebs caught on her bonnet and trailed across her face, clinging like a sticky veil. But inside she was shuddering and, if she were honest, even shrieking a little in her head.
It was dark, dank, dirty, and creepy down here, and knowing there was a murderer lurking about made it even more dark, dank, dirty and creepy. But Sophie was not about to leave those four little boys to the mercy of a killer even if she had to dodge rats, mice, spiders, and whatever soft, smelly things oozed in piles on the floor. She thought maybe she should consider starting to carry her own little derringer—especially since this was the third murder investigation she’d been working on, and she’d nearly gotten herself killed during the last one.
With that unpleasant memory now accompanying her, Sophie continued on, hoping this time she wouldn’t actually come face-to-face with this murderer.
The going was slow, for Adam was now tracking two trails of prints. He didn’t tell her that, but Sophie could see the way his attention scanned over the breadth of the narrow hallway, jumping from one area to the other. The fact that he kept the revolver in his hand and his other arm slightly back, nearly across her midriff, made her feel more comfortable.
Just so long as the killer didn’t sneak up behind them.
She glanced back to make sure, and nearly bumped into Adam when he stopped.
They were at the junction of another corridor. She heard him mutter under his breath and without being asked, she brought the lantern closer to the ground where he was studying traces in the dirt.
“The boys went that way,” he said, pointing to the left. “The killer went that way.” To the right.
“At least they’re not together,” she said.
“Yes.” Adam looked down at her, and she saw the consternation in his face as his jaw moved slightly.
She understood immediately. “I can go after the boys,” she said. “You should try and find the—him.” It was silly, but she couldn’t get herself to say “killer” as they stood there in the empty, distant, foreboding tunnel. “Even I can follow thei
r tracks from here.”
She felt confident of that, at least, for the tunnel was so lightly traveled it was easy to see the marks of the smaller footprints.
But Adam shook his head. “No. You might get lost, or something else might happen.” Like the killer somehow showing up. Sophie grimaced at the thought. “The most important thing is to find the boys. I can come back and tr—”
A shriek reverberated through the hall, coming from some distant location ahead of them. It was followed by another horrible screaming sound.
“Tad! Willie!” Adam bolted down the corridor, leaving Sophie to follow as well as she could. She gathered up her skirts in one hand and ran behind him, the lantern swaying wildly from her other hand. More shouts and bloodcurdling shrieks echoed through the dim warren of tunnels. Even when her foot landed in something soft and squishy, she kept going—although her insides twisted and heaved at the raw, putrid scent that now clung to her shoe.
Soon, Adam was so far ahead of her she couldn’t see him or even hear his footsteps, and the calls and shrieks had stopped.
Sophie slowed to a fast walk, panting. She held the lantern high and clutched her skirts as she hurried along, ignoring the stitch in her side. She sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be a turnoff in the corridor where she’d have to make a decision about which way to go.
Then she heard voices—exuberant, boy voices—and the sounds of enthusiastic movement in the distance. No one sounded distressed, and they seemed to be coming closer.
“Adam?” she called as loud as she could, though she was still panting a little. Her voice echoed down the expanse of tunnel. “Willie! Tad, are you there?”
When Adam’s response echoed back—“Coming! They’re here!”—Sophie felt such a wave of relief that she stopped in the hallway to catch her breath.
They were near, and she could actually hear the boys bouncing and running as they made their way toward her.
“Miss Gates!” cried Willie, who was the first one to come into view. “We had so much fun!” He threw himself into her arms for a hug, which she happily gave back. He really was the sweetest little boy.
“It was like a pirate’s treasure cave,” Tad shrieked, barreling down the hall toward her. He was carrying a long stick and narrowly missed jabbing it in the ground—and his brother and Sophie—as he came dashing up. “Me and Bud was torturing them—Willie and Holly—for them’s treasure!”
Sophie met Adam’s eyes as he came into view behind the quartet of loud, bouncy boys. There was a mixture of relief, exasperation, and levity in his face and Sophie concurred with each one of those emotions.
“Come on, you ruffians,” he said firmly, gesturing to the hall in front of them. “It’s long past time for your dinner. March.”
“But we had some bread!” Holly spun as he shouted at the top of his lungs, surely just so he could hear the words reverberate down the tunnel.
“Let’s go,” Adam said, a trifle less patiently. “Straight ahead, right at the next tunnel. March, young men.”
“But we didn’t get to explore—”
Tad’s complaint was cut off when Sophie took him by the ear. It was the only way to get his attention. “Young man, do you know how worried your mother has been all these hours you’ve been gone?” she said, giving him a stern look. “Not to mention your papa? You don’t want to keep them worrying anymore, do you?”
To his credit, Tad—who adored his father—sobered. “We was gone a long time, wasn’t we?”
“You certainly were,” she said, still stern. But she released his ear and took his small hand, ignoring whatever grimy, sticky, gritty mess was on it. “Everyone in the whole house, and lots of other people in the city were looking for you, and now they all want to go home and have their dinners. And besides, your dog—what’s his name?”
“Splot,” said Tad, trotting along with her. “Like a splot of something falling on the ground.”
Sophie thought she knew exactly what he meant by a splot on the ground because she’d stepped in one. “Splot, then, is waiting for you to feed him. He’s awfully hungry too.”
This appeared to make sense to him and his friends, and although they seemed to be nowhere near running out of energy, the four moved along without distraction now.
Sophie and Adam walked behind them, and although they didn’t converse, he seemed far more relaxed than before.
But Adam still had his revolver in hand, and Sophie noticed he didn’t put it away until they reached the bakery.
* * *
Mr. Taft was relieved to see his sons, and he immediately took them off, Sophie presumed, to give them a bit of a tongue-lashing at home. Although she suspected he’d be somewhat lenient, as it was always Tad and Willie who were the instigators in their adventures and they merely dragged the Taft boys along like flotsam on the river of their activity.
“I can take the boys back to the President’s House,” she told Adam as they walked out of the Capitol. “If you want to . . . go back in there and see what you can find with those tracks.”
“No,” he replied. “It’s after dark, and it’s most certainly not safe for you to be walking down Penn Ave, even with those hooligans. Too many soldiers with nothing better to do than cause trouble.”
Sophie opened her mouth to argue—for heaven’s sake, there were plenty of people about and the Avenue was the most well-lit street in the city—but the expression on his face stopped her short.
“Very well, then, I suppose I can have no argument, Mr. Quinn,” she replied, giving him a prim look from beneath her bonnet—then realized there were cobwebs dangling from it. With a sound of disgust, she untied the ribbon and temporarily removed the hat so she could pull off the remnants of the sticky veil as they began to walk back to the White House.
Adam had already sent a messenger off at a run to deliver the news to the Lincolns posthaste, and at last they set off down the Hill to the Avenue. As the two of them went, along with the boys—who finally were showing signs of exhaustion, setting a surprisingly slow pace, Sophie finally had the chance to speak to Adam.
“So the killer was in the tunnels,” she said, pitching her voice just loud enough for him to hear, but not the two Lincoln boys. “What do you think he was doing there?”
Adam shook his head. “I reckon there’s lots of reasons he might have been down there. Could be he works in the Capitol and was just going from one place to another. Could be he was looking for something—or someone.”
“Do you think he was after the boys?” she asked, tilting her head so she could see him beyond her bonnet brim. “Everyone in the city knew they were missing.”
By the way his jaw set, Sophie knew Adam had wondered the same thing. “I don’t know.”
“Tad. Willie,” she said, and stepped forward to catch each of them by the hand. “When you were playing pirate in the tunnels, did you see anyone down there with you?”
“There was lots of people,” Tad said. “They kept chasing us away, and all we wanted—”
“She means when we got aways from those baking people,” Willie told him loftily.
“Yes. When you were way deep inside the tunnels, did you see anyone?”
“A man? With light-colored hair?” Adam said, giving Sophie a bit of information she hadn’t known. So the murderer was fair, was he? “Not so tall as your pa, though.” Hmm. Another crumb of information.
“Oh yes, we seen a man in there,” Tad replied.
“Did you talk to him? Where was he?” Adam asked.
“He was in the tunnels, walking along like he was going somewheres—he told us to quiet down and stop disturbing people. So we went a different way to get away from him,” Willie said. “He was mean.”
Sophie’s heart lurched. “Was he mean to you?”
“Not to us, but he talked mean. And he had a mean face,” Tad said.
“Was he wearing a hat? Could you tell whether he had light-colored hair? White, like Mr. Taft, or maybe just yellow, like cornsil
k or butter?”
“He had on a hat but I could see his hair and sideburns. Yes, it was like that hairy stuff on the corn we have to pull off, I guess,” Willie replied.
“Yeah,” Tad said, not to be outdone. “It was white like Mr. Taft.”
“Was there anything else about him you noticed that was interesting? Or different?” Sophie asked, still holding on to their hands.
“Naw, he was just a man, is what I said,” Tad replied.
“Was he older than your pa? Or younger?” she pressed.
“I dunno. There’s home!” Tad pulled his hand from hers and with a sudden burst of energy took off running the last half a block along Lafayette Square to the mansion’s east portico.
“It was hard to tell, Miss Gates, in the light, whether he was real old. But he wasn’t bent over like Fuss and Feathers is or Old Ed, if’n that’s what you’s asking. He did have a walking stick, though—there’s Ma! Ma!” He yanked free and bolted off, leaving Sophie with no choice but to chuckle and look after them.
“Good heavens. If I ever had that much energy . . .” she said, shaking her head.
“I reckon it’s safe for me to see you back to the Castle, now that those ruffians are safely in their mother’s care,” Adam said, offering his arm.
“Thank you,” she replied. The knowledge that a murderer was still out in the night made her acutely aware of how dark it was. The midnight blue sky was cloudless with only the barest sliver of moon showing and a faint scattering of stars very high in the heavens.
“I wasn’t able to tell you what I found in Mr. Tufts’s study last Saturday,” he said as they walked down Fourteenth Street toward the canal.
“You found something in Mr. Tufts’s study?” she exclaimed. “And you’re just now mentioning it? After the way I brilliantly worked things out so you could snoop around in there while I talked to Mrs. Tufts?”
“I apologize, Miss Gates. Sophie, I mean.” His voice shook a little as if he were suppressing a laugh. “I would have told you before, but I’d actually forgotten about it until earlier today. The President has had me running in all directions what with McDowell getting the troops ready to go off and other concerns.” He went on to describe a packet of papers he’d discovered, and the three messages on them. “The timing is right for them to be blackmail letters, but I don’t reckon why Pinebar Tufts would have had them if he was the blackmailer.”
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