“I’m going to leave New York as quickly as I can. Maybe I’ll go to Canada until this blows over.”
“Is it likely to blow over?”
“It could. Everyone was crazy over German spies during the war and now they’re after Bolsheviks and it will probably be somebody else by next month. What will you do?”
“I’m not going to do anything. I have a . . . a business deal going here. I have to stay until Thursday, and then I’ll be able to go wherever I want.” Cuba was looking better and better, even if he had to take a tramp steamer.
But not until he got the money from Bates.
* * *
—
Elizabeth was surprised to find Oriel entertaining a visitor when she returned from what had become her regular morning shopping trip for food. She was especially surprised to see that the visitor was Sergeant Kellogg. He had taken pains with his appearance today, and he was wearing civilian clothes. He jumped to his feet when Elizabeth entered the parlor, still wearing her coat and carrying her heavily laden market basket.
“Hello,” Elizabeth said tentatively. The baby was nowhere in sight, which meant he was probably sleeping upstairs. “How nice to see you, Sergeant Kellogg.” Hopefully, her tone conveyed the disapproval she felt for his having completely disappeared for a week.
“I’ve been busy, looking for a job,” he said. “I didn’t want to come back until I had a place for Oriel and the baby to live.”
“Am I to understand that you have found work, then?” she asked. A glance in Oriel’s direction confirmed that she seemed very pleased about something.
“I have. In fact . . . Well, I was just telling Oriel that the captain found a place for me in his father’s company.”
“That was . . . thoughtful of him,” Elizabeth said.
Kellogg had the grace to look a bit chagrined, but he said, “He told me he might not have ever gone back to France for Miss Fortier if I hadn’t . . . I mean, if Oriel hadn’t sent those letters.”
Which was more than generous of Logan, but Elizabeth didn’t bother to point that out. Very few men would help a man who had cheated him. Kellogg must know that.
“I just came by to tell Oriel to pack her things because I found a place for us to live. I’ll come back this evening when I get off work to get her and the baby.”
“Are you satisfied with this arrangement, Oriel?” Elizabeth asked.
“Mais oui, I am.”
“Turns out Oriel has a little money left over from what the captain sent her, so that will help, too,” Kellogg reported.
“How fortunate,” Elizabeth said, exchanging a knowing glance with Oriel who obviously knew how to keep secrets. “Perhaps Oriel told you that we have a salon here on Monday evenings, so don’t be alarmed if you see a lot of people here.”
“She told me, but I should get here before it starts.”
“We shall miss Oriel and the baby,” Elizabeth lied. “I know my aunt and her friend have become very attached to little Phillipe.” That much was true, anyway.
“And I will miss their help with the baby,” Oriel said. “I am in your debt, Miss Miles.”
“I was happy to be of assistance,” Elizabeth said with a smile.
Oriel smiled back. “And so was I.”
* * *
—
Oscar Thornton spent the rest of the day stewing over the fiasco with Vane and his cousin Berta. He’d pored over all the New York newspapers, looking for any mention of her arrest but found none. He did see stories about the congressional hearings being held in Washington City. Vane had said they were taking Berta there to testify, but so far, he had seen no mention of Berta or of the search for Vane himself. If Vane went to Canada, they were unlikely to find him in any case.
If only Thornton knew whether Berta was going to implicate him. Vane had been so sure she didn’t even know his name, but someone had known it. That someone had known all about Vane and Berta and her trunk and her securities, and that someone had also known exactly where to find Oscar Thornton. So now he had to worry about federal officers tracking him down and arresting him for aiding a foreign agent while at the same time being furious that some completely different woman had tricked him into giving her twenty-five hundred dollars.
Vane had suggested that Thornton destroy any papers he had that would indicate he had provided Berta with assistance. Those papers were, of course, the promissory notes he and Vane had signed in which Vane agreed to repay the money Thornton had advanced for Berta’s rescue and to give Thornton half of his share of Berta’s fortune. With Berta in jail and her fortune confiscated, Thornton had no hope of collecting on any of these debts, so he burned the papers without regret. When they were ashes, he knew nothing could connect him with that plot except the word of a woman who may or may not even know his name.
Thornton gave a moment’s thought to the bank president, Diller, but he’d never volunteer to explain how his bank became involved in a plot like this. And the woman who had pretended to be Berta was equally unlikely to come forward, since she was nothing more than a crook.
By evening, Thornton’s white-hot rage had settled into a smoldering lump in his chest. He was furious at Vane and certain the man had done something stupid to cause the betrayal and subsequent arrest of his cousin. The fortune at least had been real enough. He’d seen part of it with his own eyes, hadn’t he? He also couldn’t believe a mere female could have planned to outsmart both him and Vane to get herself to America and then make off with the entire fortune to give away to some Russian revolutionaries. That never could have happened. Even that vixen Elizabeth Miles had needed help from her brother. No, Thornton would have figured it out and gotten at least his original share if the government hadn’t stepped in when they did. The loss of the twenty thousand dollars in expenses burned, but that, at least, had been his choice. A man had to be willing to take chances if he wanted to win big, and Oscar Thornton had never been afraid to take chances.
No, what burned was the money he’d given that woman, even though it was a much smaller amount. Who on earth was she and how had she found him? Who knew enough about Vane and his cousin to trick him like that?
Thornton tried to make sense of Vane’s theory, that the captain of their boat must have eavesdropped and learned of the plan. Vane would have had to discuss every detail with Berta on the boat and then mention not only Thornton’s name but also his hotel. Otherwise, how would the other woman have found him? Now that he thought it through, he realized Vane’s theory was ridiculous.
No, the information must have come directly from Vane, from him telling someone the sad story of his cousin Berta the way he’d told it to Thornton. Then that person had to find out somehow that Thornton was helping Vane. But hardly anyone even knew Thornton was in the city. He tried to think of everyone he’d seen during his stay here.
Vane knew, of course. He’d chanced to see Thornton in the hotel dining room. And Diller, the banker. He actually knew almost all the story, but why would he have sent a woman to bilk Thornton out of such a relatively small amount of money and then warn Thornton not to give it to her? Bates knew he was in town, of course, but he knew nothing about Berta and her fortune. How could he?
And Elizabeth Miles knew. He hadn’t seen her, but he’d felt her presence every moment he’d been here. She had cheated him twice already. He was sure of it. The first time there was no doubt. She and her so-called brother had tricked him out of fifty thousand dollars. Then there was the government deal that went so very wrong. He had never figured out how she was involved, but he was sure she was. Hadn’t she made him think her dead so he would never seek revenge? That was an elaborate charade for an innocent person to concoct.
Thornton went over and over his short list of prospects far into the night, first pacing his room and then tossing restlessly in his bed until the winter sunrise lighted the artificial canyons th
at served as streets in New York City. By then he had finally found the link: Leo Vane had been Leopold Volker. Over a year ago, Volker had sold Thornton a warehouse full of rifles that vanished when the army had interrupted his deal with a retired general and confiscated everything. That was the deal he’d been sure Elizabeth Miles had planned.
Thornton had remembered that connection when he first encountered Volker/Vane down in the hotel restaurant, but he hadn’t considered it a problem because Vane hadn’t been involved in the final part of the deal that had gone so horribly wrong. But what if he was involved somehow? What if he was part of it and what if he had engineered this whole deal with Berta and . . . ?
But no, the story was in the newspaper. That part was real enough, and the real Berta was in jail. Vane would hardly have planned something like that. But Vane was very likely to have told someone else about Berta and her fortune, someone here in New York, before he even went to Mexico. He’d been ready enough to tell Thornton everything, and Diller, too. Thornton had no reason to think he was the first person Vane had asked for help. What if Vane had confided in someone less trustworthy? Someone connected to the army swindle. Someone who would figure out a way to trick Thornton out of five thousand dollars? Maybe the fake Berta had only gotten half of that from him, but she’d wanted more. Even what she’d gotten was a tidy sum for a few hours’ work.
It all came back to Elizabeth Miles. She was responsible for everything that had gone wrong in his life. He should never have walked away that last day. He should have made sure she was dead. He should have had one of his men make sure. If he’d done that, none of this would have happened.
Suddenly, getting the money from Elizabeth Miles seemed like the most important thing he could do. The deadline was only two days away, but it might not be safe for him to wait around even that long. If Berta had told the government about him, they could be looking for him at this very moment. The Miles girl should have the money by now anyway. All he had to do was find her and get it, and once he did, he’d make sure she would never cheat him again.
The problem, of course, was that he had no idea where to find her. His men might have been able to find her, but he’d let them go months ago, after she’d cleaned him out in that deal with the army and he could no longer afford to pay them. No, he’d have to find someone who knew where she lived. Bates knew, but he’d never tell. He’d protect her to his dying day.
Thornton could stay in town until their wedding. The location would probably be in the newspapers, but that was too public and much too long to wait. If he didn’t leave town and Berta told the congressional committee about him, he might be in jail himself by then.
But he did know someone who could tell him how to find her, someone not very clever who could be tricked into telling before he realized Thornton’s intent. And he knew exactly where to find him.
Thornton shaved and dressed carefully, then packed his bags so he’d be ready to leave the moment he returned with the money. Then he stopped for breakfast in the hotel dining room because it was still too early for his first errand. After breakfast, he chose to walk because the day was crisp and clear and the cold air helped him think. He needed a plan for getting the information he required, and by the time he reached the building he’d been looking for, he had one.
The building he sought was located just off Fifth Avenue, an old office building that no one had gotten around to tearing down and replacing with something new and modern. The wavy glass in the windows disgusted Thornton, as did the general air of age inside, created by the dark wood wainscoting and the ancient wallpaper.
To his surprise a girl secretary sat at the front desk in the suite of offices he’d entered. The war had changed a lot of things.
“Good morning,” she said, looking down at her appointment book after greeting him. “Did you have an appointment?”
“No, I—”
“Our partners don’t see anyone without an appointment, I’m afraid. If you’d like to schedule one—”
“I don’t want to schedule one,” Thornton said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. He’d obviously failed, if her startled expression was any indication. “I just need to see David Vanderslice for a few minutes.”
“David Vanderslice?” she asked with a puzzled frown.
“Yes. Is he in or not?”
She bit her lip. “He, uh . . . he isn’t in, I’m afraid. Perhaps one of our other partners can help you.”
“No other partner can help me. I need to see Vanderslice. When will he be back?” He should have known. Men like Vanderslice kept banker’s hours and only on the days they came to work at all. Perhaps he should have telephoned and made an appointment.
“I . . . Are you and Mr. Vanderslice friends?” she asked, still frowning. What was wrong with her?
“No, we aren’t. Just tell me when he’s coming into the office and I’ll be back.”
“He . . . I’m very sorry to have to tell you, but Mr. Vanderslice is . . . no longer with us.”
Why didn’t she just say that in the first place? “Then tell me where his new office is and I’ll go find him.”
“He doesn’t have a new office. He . . . I . . . I don’t know how to tell you this, but Mr. Vanderslice is dead.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dead? What do you mean he’s dead?” Thornton demanded.
The girl flinched, but she was determined to maintain her composure. “He died. Last fall, I believe. That was before I came.”
“In the war?” Thornton asked, trying to make sense of it. Vanderslice would have been the right age for that.
“No, uh, I believe it was the flu.”
The flu? Thornton wanted to swear, but that would probably send the girl screaming for help. He glanced around and wondered if any of the other partners were even there. No sense causing a disturbance to find out. The girl wouldn’t be any help anyway. The flu. What a disaster.
Totally frustrated, Thornton left the office without another word, leaving the girl gaping. Once out in the street, he started walking again, hoping the cold air would clear his mind. To his great relief, it did, because a few minutes later he remembered another person who could help him. She would be just as stupid as her brother and a girl to boot. He wouldn’t even need to be clever to get her to tell him how to find Elizabeth Miles.
* * *
—
That’s quite a signature,” the gentleman behind the large mahogany desk said, examining the papers Percy had just returned to him. They were at Mr. Westerly’s bank, where he had taken Percy that morning to finalize the arrangements for Percy’s “loan.” “Why do you have two last names, Mr. Hyde-Langdon?”
“He’s an earl, Gilbert. It’s Lord Percy,” Westerly corrected him with an unmistakable air of satisfaction.
“Lord Percy, then,” Mr. Gilbert said, a little doubtfully. Percy thought he looked like an artist’s version of what a banker should look like: corpulent, well dressed, and not quite bright.
“Hyphenated names are an old British custom. Aristocratic families with no male heirs who didn’t want their name to die out would ask the man who married a daughter to add her name to his.”
“I see,” Gilbert said, still peering at Percy’s signature. “Earl of Hartwood. Where is that?”
“In the Cotswolds,” Percy said, knowing full well no American had any idea where that was.
“Yes, of course.” Gilbert was still peering at the signature. “This is an unusual arrangement, I must say.”
“Providing a girl with a dowry?” Westerly scoffed. “It’s not unusual at all.”
“I mean structuring it as a loan that will be forgiven upon marriage,” Gilbert clarified. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that.”
“But surely it’s perfectly legal,” Percy said as if he really wondered.
“I suppose it is,” Gi
lbert said without much enthusiasm.
“Then is everything in order?” Westerly said impatiently.
“What?” Gilbert looked up. “Oh yes, everything is fine. I suppose you’ll want the money transferred into an account for Mr., uh, I mean Lord Percy.”
“If you don’t mind, old chap,” Percy said before Westerly could express an opinion, “could I have it in cash?”
“Cash?” Gilbert actually blanched at the word.
“Yes, you see, I have several large expenses to take care of.” He glanced at Westerly and said, “The horses.” Then turned back to Gilbert. “And I will be taking the remainder of it directly to England, you see. Since the war, things are very uncertain, and I don’t really trust the usual channels.” Then to Westerly again, “I’ll need the money to be available so the work can begin on my estate at once. I want the place in tip-top form when I bring my bride home.”
“Oh yes, good idea,” Westerly said, even though he looked almost as shocked as Gilbert.
“Will that be a problem?” Percy asked with perfect innocence.
“Not at all,” Gilbert said, still worried, “but aren’t you concerned about carrying that much cash?”
“I’ve brought a friend along, and I have a motorcar, so I won’t be trudging through the streets with a bag of money thrown over my shoulder, if that is what you’re imagining.”
The other two men smiled at Percy’s little joke.
“And of course I want to visit a jeweler this afternoon,” Percy added to Westerly. “Rosemary did say she wanted our engagement announced in next Sunday’s newspapers.”
“Why yes, she did say that, didn’t she?” Westerly said, his good mood restored. Rosemary had actually said she wanted her engagement announced well before Logan returned from France with his new bride. Percy was only too happy to do his part.
“Then I’ll have your money prepared,” Gilbert said, rising ponderously to his feet. “I don’t suppose you have something to carry it in.”
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