by J. T. Edson
Furthermore, already the older twin was realizing that the solution to the problem of repaying the gambling debts was available and he was also aware that the need to get away from the hotel without delay was imperative. Giving a shrug, he pulled the small canvas sack from beneath his belt and joined his brother, who was already doing so with another brought for the purpose, in putting the jewelry into it. With the task completed and the neck of the sack secured by its drawstring, he fastened it securely to the back of the belt where it would not be in his way while carrying out the first and most difficult part of the departure.
“Keep watching Jinks for any sign that somebody could have seen us,” Libby ordered as she and the brothers went onto the balcony. “I’ll go up—!”
“Why you first?” Luigi asked, meaning to do no more than give a reminder that he and his brother were heavier and would be a greater strain upon the strength of Stanislaus Padoubny so they should precede the reddish-brunette.
“Don’t worry,” Libby answered, her tone and manner chilling. “I can’t get up there and cut the rope to leave you stranded any more than you could do it to me. In either case, whichever it was would tell the police where to find the rest.” Then, realizing she could be putting an idea into the heads of the brothers that might be acted upon without a thought of the consequences to the perpetrators, she went on in an equally menacing fashion, “Go ahead if that’s the way you want it, but don’t forget Laus and Jinks are my men and they wouldn’t take it kind should anything happen to stop me coming after you. What’s more, I’m the only one who knows where to sell the loot at a reasonable price. Besides, you’re carrying it with you, not me.”
“You go first, Libby,” Giovanni offered, to his credit never having given a thought to the possibility of a double cross any more than his sibling had when posing the interrupted question. Like his brother, he did not need to be reminded where the loyalties of the other two participants in the affair lay. Therefore, he had no doubt what their response would be if anything happened to the reddish-brunette who exerted such a control over them that they gave her complete and unswerving loyalty. To do so where Padoubny—who rarely needed any faking to carry out the various feats in his act as a strong man—was concerned would be tantamount to asking for reprisals of the most painful and possible fatal kind. Nor, as past events had proven, would Jinks prove any less dangerous regardless of his physical appearance. “We’ve done all right so far by following what you said.”
Satisfied that she had once again attained her moral ascendancy over the two brothers who had been so essential for the success of her plan, the reddish-brunette gripped the rope in both hands just above one of the knots tied to offer a more secure grip and gave a sharp tug at it. For a moment, knowing how limited the intelligence of the man above was at the best of times, she wondered whether he would have remembered the instructions he had been given and were repeated just prior to her unaided descent. Then, feeling a jerk in return and satisfied that he had not forgotten, she placed her right foot against the wall. Bracing herself and inclining her body to the rear, the reddish-brunette started to walk upward. She was helped in this by Padoubny’s exerting his enormous muscle power to draw the rope upward. In fact, after a few seconds, she realized that she could not have made the ascent regardless of her own not inconsiderable strength and agility. As it was, she was soaking with perspiration and breathing heavily by the time she arrived at the top.
“You do it?” Padoubny said, more as a statement than a question, as Libby stood on the balcony and released the rope.
“We’ve done it,” the reddish-brunette answered breathlessly, but did not offer to mention that the affair had not gone off without blood being shed and murder being done.
“Want me to cut rope ’n’ leave ’em down there?” the strong man asked. “Jinks said I should.”
“No!” Libby denied, not in the least surprised that such a proposal would be made by the fifth member of their group. Jinks had developed a devious nature as a means of offsetting his lack of other qualities. However, she considered that the explanation of reasons for the refusal that she had given to the brothers might be beyond Padoubny’s limited comprehension, so she made one she felt sure he would be able to appreciate. “They’ve got the loot with them.”
“Then I better get ’em up,” the strong man admitted, taking the point, albeit with reluctance. “One of ’em’s pulling for me to do it.”
There had been some justification for the concern that caused Luigi to ask the reddish-brunette the misunderstood question. Stating the intention of going next, which came as no surprise to his sibling as he had always been the dominant one despite being the younger, Giovanni made the climb more slowly than she did. In fact, it seemed to the older twin that he would never receive the notification. However, he eventually felt the tug indicating he was at liberty to go up. He found doing so as demanding a task as had his predecessors. Nor was this surprising, as, on reaching the balcony, he discovered the strain of drawing them up had been taking a steadily increasing toll upon even the exceptional strength of Padoubny. Like himself, the huge man was perspiring copiously, and he released the rope with a gasp of relief. It had, Luigi realized, been a very close thing that he arrived at his destination before Padoubny was unable to continue drawing him upward.
“All right!” Libby said after she and the men had regained their composure and badly depleted strength. “Get that rope up and ‘round you again, Laus. Then put your clothes on. You can let me have the loot, boys. It’ll attract less notice in my reticule if anybody should see us going out.”
Three – My Jewelry. It’s All Gone!
“What do you think, Belle, is our good Colonel’s other guest of honor a Russian spy?”
Listening to the question put to her by Horatio A. Darren, Belle Boyd—who had won fame and the sobriquet “Rebel Spy” for her specialized services to the Confederate cause during the War Between the States—could not help thinking how his attitude toward her had changed for the better since the first time they had worked together. ii Then, like many other members of his gender with whom circumstances had caused her to participate on assignments in the civil conflict and since signing the oath of allegiance to the Union when it ended and becoming a member of the United States Secret Service—despite having far less experience, he had tended to treat her in a condescending fashion. iii Now that they were once again required to work in cooperation, he had shown respect for her point of view and a willingness to go along with whatever suggestions she made, which—although she was not an overreacting feminist vociferously claiming to be able to do everything a man could do, and far more efficiently—she found most refreshing.
All in all, Belle and her companion made an attractive picture.
Particularly as there was only one other member of her sex present who came close to duplicating her physical attractions, albeit being possessed of different bodily contours, Darren was willing to concede Belle was an exceptionally fine figure of a woman. Nor, disregarding their being engaged upon the same assignment as members of the United States Secret Service, was he averse to being seen in her company. In fact, it was flattering to his ego to have noticed the way a number of the male guests were looking at him in an envious fashion.
Five feet seven in height and at the start of her late twenties, beneath what appeared to be blond hair coiffured in the latest style, the Rebel Spy had a beautiful face that its makeup could not entirely conceal with intelligence and strength of will in its lines. Supplemented by the amount of expensive-looking jewelry suitable for the occasion, the equally a la mode ball gown she was wearing showed to advantage that, while undeniably slender, she was far from being either bony or flat-chested. In fact, the moderately extreme décolleté of the garment established that her bosom was firm and quite full, but not to the point of being disproportionate for her build.
Not that Darren was without physical attraction where members of the opposite sex were concerned. S
ix feet tall, broad-shouldered, and trimming down at the waist, as was shown by the formal evening attire he had on, he had the build of an athlete who kept in good condition. Hard experience in his line of work, at which he had grown proficient since the first less-than-amiable meeting with Belle, his face had become more handsome now that it had acquired lines indicative of maturity.
Although neither of them was a snob or a social climber, the reception that the Rebel Spy and her fellow agent were attending was of interest to them for only one reason. Having as its host a colonel in the United States Ordnance Department, with the exception of one person present, none of the guests would have been highly rated in the society of Washington, D.C. No officers of higher rank than his were attending, and even majors were scarce. Only a few of these had on the yellow, blue, or red collar facings indicative of belonging to the Cavalry, Infantry, or Artillery branches of the service, respectively. Of course, unless the wearer had achieved distinction in action, such men were considered of less importance in the capital city than those who wore the buff of the staff; even the black of the Medical Department were held as being higher on the scale of acceptance.
Mingled among the military men were a few minor politicians of the kind who were always on the lookout for encounters with somebody who might help forward their careers. The other civilians were either involved in the sale of weapons and hoped to benefit from showing friendship to a man who might be willing to bring favorable attention their way and lead to sales of their products, or were the owners of small businesses who were never asked to go anywhere higher up the social level.
Being a member of the Secret Service, Darren did not fall into any of those categories. He was there on the pretense of being an escort for Belle. Her presence had been arranged by the head of their Bureau under the pretense that she was Elizabeth “Betty” Hardin, granddaughter of General Jackson Baines “Ole Devil” Hardin—who had served with distinction in the Army of the Confederate States and, despite having been left confined to a wheel-chair by a” riding accident, iv was now a major force in the affairs of Texas—visiting the capital for a vacation. v Colonel Henri Fantin had been willing to offer the invitation in the hope that doing so might cause the General to exert influence with politicians from the Lone Star State in Congress to give backing for a project upon the successful conclusion of which would provide him with an avenue to promotion. In addition to knowing what motivated her husband, Mrs. Fantin was pleased by the prospect of having a second guest under her roof who was of a higher social status than was usually the case at their functions.
The exception to the general run of the guests was Countess Olga Simonouski, and she stood out from the others—with the exception of Belle Boyd—as being the best-dressed, most voluptuous woman present. Possibly aided by the rather more than acceptable makeup she had on, as many of the other women whispered cattily among themselves, her almost classically beautiful face gave no suggestion that she was over thirty years old. Of just over middle height, the style of her piled-up raven-black hair and the high heels of the footwear that occasionally showed from beneath the flaring hem of her gown tended to make her appear taller. She was close to buxom in build, but her would-be detractors among the guests of her sex were of the opinion that her wasp-waisted hourglass contours were at least in part acquired by artificial aids. They had also been disappointed when she came in wearing only a small portion of the collection of jewelry she was reported to have brought from Russia and the pieces were of modest dimensions. The Rebel Spy had concluded that, as was the case with her own choice, the selection had been made to avoid offering a further cause for animosity among the other female guests.
From the moment the Countess arrived, to be greeted with an effusiveness equaled only by that accorded to “Betty Hardin,” her behavior had been beyond reproach. Her English was good, but with a strong accent frequently punctuated by waves of a dainty brocade reticule much like the one Belle was holding. She had been, if not over-friendly, at least pleasant to all the other women before allowing herself to be approached by the men. During their brief conversation on being introduced, Belle had formed the opinion that she was being studied with the same care she herself was employing. However, after having passed a few commonplace remarks and the Countess saying she would like the opportunity to visit a ranch in Texas, but without attempting to get an invitation to go to General Hardin’s OD Connected, they had parted company.
“I wouldn’t like to say,” the Rebel Spy admitted, in response to the question put by her companion. “If she is, there doesn’t seem to be anybody or anything here she’d expect to be worth cultivating.”
“That Captain Whitehead we were introduced to might be,” Darren asserted, nodding to a tall young officer who walked with a slight limp, and explaining without the clarification being requested, which had been caused by a fall from a horse and resulted in his being compelled to serve with the Ordnance Department instead of remaining in the Cavalry. “He’s involved with testing that new modification for the Galling gun that the Army are taking considerable interest in.”
“From what I know about the Colt Company,” Belle said dryly, “they’d be only too willing to sell some of even the new improved Gatling guns to the Russian government, and there wouldn’t be any need for her to attempt to find out what’s happening, or try to get hold of the plans for whatever the modification might be.”
“Probably you won’t have heard,” Darren answered, realizing his companion had just returned from an assignment in Texas and would be unlikely to have had time yet to catch up with all that was going on of interest to their organization. vi “The British, French, and Turkish governments haven’t forgotten the Crimean War yet and are putting pressure on Congress not to allow sales of arms or ammunition to Russia. And you know how wary Our Masters get when it’s anything the Limeys might be able to turn into revenge for the ‘Alabama Arbitration.’“
“I should,” the Rebel Spy admitted, but her voice held neither bitterness nor malice as she continued. “That’s what caused us to meet for the first time.”
“Lord, was I raw in those days,” Darren said, smiling wryly. Then he became serious and went on. “Anyway, she seemed to have taken quite a shine to the good captain, although I would have thought her aims would be higher if she is after the gun. We both know something of that sort has happened before now.”
“She might consider he’s sufficient for her needs,” Belle pointed out, giving no sign of having heard her companion’s last sentence, although she was aware of what was implied by it. vii
“She might at that. He will have access to all the reports and other information about the trials,” Darren conceded. “But even if she should get hold of plans, or even an example of the modified gun, would the Russians have the skill and facilities to make some?”
“If they don’t have, they could easily find some country willing to accommodate them,” Belle replied. “The Belgians, for one, are always willing to make money doing things like that.”
“Then you think it is worth our keeping up with the watch on her?”
“I don’t see any reason to stop.”
“That wouldn’t be because you like being ‘Betty Hardin’ and living high off the hog in the Grand Republic at the taxpayers’ expense, would it?” Darren inquired.
“Would a good if reconstructed Johnny Reb like me enjoy living somewhere called the Republic?” the Rebel Spy countered. “And you’re starting to think like your dear uncle Alden.”
“Good Lord, am I?” Darren cried with well-simulated horror. It had been the man to whom Belle referred who—despite being prissy and self-important along with other less-than-desirable qualities—was the not unsuccessful senior coordinator for the Secret Service along the middle reaches of the Mississippi River until retirement, and responsible for his enrollment as an agent. “I really must watch out against that”
“WELL, good night, my dears,” Countess Olga Simonouski said, favoring the y
oung couple—with whom she had ridden from the reception to the Grand Republic Hotel in Colonel Fantin’s coach from the reception, although they had not traveled out together—with a glance that implied she guessed why “Betty Hardin” had really wanted an answer in the affirmative when inviting her to join Horatio A. Darren for a nightcap. “But I have a most busy day in the morning.”
Although the Rebel Spy had contrived to have their host offer transportation for the Countess, Darren, and herself when the affair at his home came to an end, she had to admit she was no nearer to finding anything to confirm or deny whether the other woman was a spy for the Russian government. Their conversation had been on a light level, with the Countess remarking at the beginning—in a manner implying she was treating somebody who did not qualify for the category by her standards as one fully conversant with such matters—how dreary she felt the couple must have regarded the whole evening. Having noticed that their reticules were somewhat similar in size, shape, and decorations, by a coincidence such as no writer of fiction would dare allow to happen in one of his works rather than deliberate selection, she had hoped to find some excuse that would allow her to “accidentally” examine the other one. No opportunity had presented itself by the time they had reached the floor upon which they had adjacent suites, and she had reconciled herself to trying to find some other means of settling the point.
Restraining an impulse to deliver a kick to the provocatively swaying derriere of the Russian woman as she went, in a manner suggestive of relief at having finally been able to leave company she considered as beneath her, toward the door of her suite, and took its key from her reticule, Belle walked onward accompanied by Darren. Before they had reached the entrance to the accommodation rented by the Rebel Spy, they heard an annoyed exclamation in Russian. Halting and looking around, they saw the Countess trying to insert the key into the hole.
