by R. J. Koreto
“The next question is: what do you want to buy with all that money? The Roths wouldn’t let you have money unless they were sure you were going to give it back. What would be buying with the money to make sure you’d be in a position to pay it back? Factories, ships—”
“Guns, for a war,” I said. That got a wide smile from Okada.
“Very good, Mr. St. Clair. Do I assume correctly that you have been a soldier?”
“Mr. St. Clair is a war hero, a sergeant who fought with my father in Cuba,” said Alice. “Do I take it, then, that you want Roth’s money to finance expansion plans, even war, in the East?”
“It’s a pity women are not eligible to serve as president. You’d be a worthy successor to your esteemed father.”
I could’ve told him that Alice didn’t need any additional compliments. She was hard enough to control as it was.
“Thank you very much,” she said, preening. “So, if I understand you, the Roth syndicate is making a long-term bet on the future of Japan.” Okada didn’t speak, but his face said everything. “Has Abraham Roth, that is, the younger Mr. Roth, been the representative of the Roth family here?”
“Miss Roosevelt, I want to help you in your quest but cannot fully satisfy your curiosity.”
“Fair enough,” she said, nodding. I could see the wheels turning in her head. “Baron Okada, I would like to compliment you on your excellent English.”
“Thank you. I learned at one of the mission schools established after your Commodore Perry visited us.” He was heavy on the “visited.” It was before I was born, when the Americans forced Japan open at gunpoint, and although I knew almost nothing about Japan, I imagined they were still a little sore about it. Like the Georgia boys and General Sherman.
“A Christian mission? Do you know that the Roths are not Christian? They’re Jewish. I find that interesting,” said Alice.
“I’m sure you do. The distinction was made clear to me. Followers of the Jewish faith, even when they are very wealthy like the Roths, are to a large extent outsiders in America. And so are citizens of the Far East. Perhaps that is why we do business together so well.”
Alice nodded thoughtfully. “You have been very fair, Baron. I will ask you one more question and then leave you in peace. Have you heard of a group called the XVII?”
“The seventeen? Like the numerals? The name is not familiar.” He paused. “Are they the group threatening us?”
“I’m afraid I cannot satisfy your curiosity,” said Alice. Although the baron might’ve been annoyed that this girl was throwing his words back in his face, he just laughed, and I liked him for it.
We stood to leave, and after some more bowing, Alice and I said our goodbyes. Jefferson was waiting downstairs for us.
“Did you two get what you came for?” he asked.
“I rather think we did,” Alice said. “Thank you.” He held the door open, and we heard it close behind us as we walked down to the sidewalk. The two other Pinkertons were still on duty and gave us wary looks.
“Come on, guys, no hard feelings. We’re all working men here.” I took out my flask. “The best bourbon.” They looked to see if Jefferson was watching, then they each took a quick slug. With good fellowship restored, Alice and I headed back to the car.
“I’m glad that at least Abraham isn’t doing something sordid like keeping a mistress.”
“I know he’d be devastated if he thought he had earned your poor opinion.”
“I know he would, as well. So where are we? I think we have a sense of what is happening here,” said Alice as we headed back into the car. “The XVII have something against foreigners, against anyone who isn’t one of the ruling class in this city. Roth was targeted by them because he was powerful but not one of them. Not only are the Roths outsiders themselves, but they are dealing with outsiders, financing an Asian country. I don’t see the XVII liking that. Meanwhile, Simon Rutledge is working with Roth for financial reasons, which is why Philly and Abraham have been meeting secretly. Victoria Brackton found out about this—maybe mentioned to Simon that he was betraying the cause. He therefore had her killed. And continues to threaten her, although she’s too frightened to admit this.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“What do you mean ‘maybe’?” she said, irritated. “It makes perfect sense.”
“Do you see Victoria Brackton challenging Simon Rutledge like that? I see you doing that, Miss Alice, but I doubt if she had the backbone.”
“Oh, all right. Maybe she didn’t realize what she was saying. She mentioned seeing, or hearing gossip about, what Simon was doing. He heard her and panicked and killed her.”
“That’s better. But again, I don’t see Simon Rutledge doing that, either. He’d have to be a cool hand, faking a break-in and poisoning Mrs. Brackton in his own home at his daughter’s debutante ball with a Secret Service agent in his kitchen. Daring and lucky.”
“But he succeeded—that’s the point. He’s a rich and powerful man. He could’ve manipulated his servants to be in the right place as he planned the poisoning.” She waved her hand to indicate she wasn’t interested in any more disagreements. “This is a work in progress, Mr. St. Clair. Tomorrow is Thursday, when Mr. Roth and Philly meet. We’re going to corner them and pull the information out of them. We have the evidence, even if it’s circumstantial. That’s evidence—”
“Thanks, Miss Alice. I was a deputy sheriff. I know what circumstantial evidence is,” I said.
“It was my understanding that your job was mostly settling fights in the local bordello.”
“That wasn’t my job. All right, it was part of it, but I was a sworn lawman who testified in court.”
“Oh, very well. My apologies. But it’s your fault for pretending to be a dim cowboy when you’re really quite bright and accomplished. We’ll have to work on that. Anyway, tomorrow we’re going to take the next steps. Meanwhile, I wish we could get Japanese food in New York.”
“What do they eat in Japan, anyway?” I asked. “It’s an island, so I’m guessing lots of fish.”
“Yes. Apparently, they don’t always cook it. They roll it with seaweed and rice and sauces and eat it raw.”
“I’ll be looking forward to New York’s first Japanese restaurant with great excitement,” I said dryly. “But I wouldn’t mind more of that sake.”
Alice agreed and then said there wasn’t anything to do until the next day, so we might as well go home. “We’ll buy a couple of beers and play cards until dinner.”
“Actually, something else is on. In fact—” I consulted my watch. “We need to be going.”
“What do you mean, ‘we need to be going’? What’s happening?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” I said.
“Did my aunt tell you something? Why didn’t she tell me? If there’s a dinner I need to be there for, she usually tells me directly.”
I laughed, and Alice sulked as we drove, trying to figure out why she had to be home and why I knew but she didn’t.
“I know!” she finally said. She leaned back in her seat and put her feet up the dashboard. “My father is coming to New York.”
“Very good, Miss Alice.”
“How come you get to know and I don’t? And don’t you dare make that joke about that’s why they call it the Secret Service.”
I just laughed.
CHAPTER 28
We saw the cops guarding all the entrances at the Caledonia and agents in the lobby, so it was clear the president had already arrived. Alice ran out of the car and into the building. A maid let us into the apartment, and Mr. Roosevelt was right inside waiting for us. Alice ran to him, and he picked her up and spun her around.
“Good to see you again, Baby Lee,” he said. He always used her middle name. She was named Alice after his first wife, who died two days after baby Alice was born, and the story was that Mr. Roosevelt couldn’t bear to use the name “Alice” ever again. I had never met Alice’s mother, but I heard she was a
great beauty like her only child. She was only a few years older than Alice was presently when she died, and everyone said Alice took after her, except that Mrs. Roosevelt was cheerful and always well behaved.
“St. Clair, come here and say hello,” he said.
“Good to see you again, Mr. President.” He gave me a strong handshake and slapped me on the back. “How about this—when we’re out of the White House and unofficial, you can call me ‘Colonel,’ and I’ll call you ‘Sergeant.’”
“Those were good times—Colonel. That suits me fine.” He laughed again.
“Alice, your aunt will be back a little later, and we’ll have a family dinner, just the three of us. I have some meetings around the city tomorrow. So tell me, are you and Sergeant St. Clair back in your New York routine?”
“Yes, Father. We’ve been keeping very busy, meeting all sorts of people. You’d be proud.”
“I am. Glad to hear you’re keeping busy. I hate few things more than being idle. Meanwhile, I was sorry to hear about the tragedy at the Rutledge ball.”
“Mr. St. Clair saved the day, Father. He took a quick look around and called in Captain O’Hara to make sure everything was handled properly—and quietly.”
“Good man,” said the president.
“And you would have been proud of your daughter, sir. She was the one who saw I was summoned. She kept a cool head. I guess it runs in the family.”
Sitting on the couch next to his daughter, the president gave her a squeeze. “That’s my girl, not falling to pieces at the first sign of trouble.” Alice looked incredibly pleased at that and gave me a look of gratitude. The girl was difficult, but I felt I should give her credit when it was due.
But then Alice, taking advantage of all the good feeling in the room, took us in a new direction.
“Father. I’ve heard of a group here called the XVII. No one seems to know anything about it. I wondered if you did.”
Dear God. It wasn’t going to be easy to ask the president about the XVII without going into the details. But as I said, Alice was a Roosevelt, and the Roosevelts didn’t fall apart at the first sign of trouble.
The president seemed surprised for a moment. “The XVII? Where did you hear about them?”
“Members seem to wear these signet rings. Rather vulgar, I think, but I noticed and asked, and no one seems to want to discuss it. I’m wondering if it’s some sort of secret boys’ club, no girls allowed—which isn’t very sporting of them.”
“Who was wearing one of these rings?” asked Mr. Roosevelt. He was looking at her hard. On the surface, Mr. Roosevelt was an outgoing sporting figure, so some made the serious mistake of thinking that he was one of those dim country gentlemen who did nothing but hunt and drink at their clubs. But he had one of the sharpest minds I’d ever come across, and Alice should have known better than anyone that fooling him was going to be a little harder than playing games with most other members of City Society.
“Oh, Simon Rutledge, if I remember right. I noticed it at the party.”
Mr. Roosevelt considered that. “You always did have sharp eyes, my girl. Yes, the XVII. So they’ve taken to having rings made up? Rather silly.”
“But who are they?” persisted Alice.
“As you said, Baby Lee, just a boys’ club.”
“Surely you know more than that, Father,” said Alice.
The president turned to me. “Sergeant St. Clair, New York certainly seems to bring out the curiosity in my daughter.”
“If you know a way to curb it, Colonel, I wish you’d share it with me.”
“No, properly channeled curiosity is important, a key to knowledge and self-improvement. Oh, very well … Simon Rutledge and a few others had some concerns about the considerable growth of New York and a fear, which I think was unfounded, about how the essential character of the city is changing, and not for the better. You know my feeling on immigrants. They have to become one of us, learn the language, and give their new country their full loyalty. But if they do that, they’re no less a citizen than I am. From talking to Rutledge and those like him, I gather they disagreed.”
“I asked around, and someone said the name references the seventeenth century,” said Alice. “That your family has to have been here since then to belong. I think that’s ridiculous. What exactly do they do?”
“I suppose they campaign for legal changes, which is their right, even if I do disagree with them.”
“Is that all? They haven’t been engaging in violence that you know of?” asked Alice. Now that got the president’s attention.
“I wouldn’t have thought so.” His eyes narrowed. “Baby Lee, what is this about? Does this have to do with the Brackton murder? That’s been the talk of the city, I understand, and I know you were there. I’ve also had a report that it may be related to the death of Delilah Linde. Of course, I know all of them, at least slightly.” Naturally he would, being part of the same class. Also, the president had scores of people—not the least of whom was his sister—giving him the details of what was going on.
“I admit that it did pique my interest,” said Alice coolly. “I was there, after all. There seems to be some question about Mr. Brackton’s death, and with enormous pressure on the police to arrest someone—anyone—I thought it would only be right to see if there are any clues among the people the police can’t question. Mr. Brackton was in the XVII. So are Simon Rutledge, Marcus Linde, and Miles van Dijk, brother of the late Delilah Linde.”
I thought Alice may have overplayed her hand and showed too much interest, more than just idle curiosity. I watched the president lean back and consider what Alice had just said. It could go either way with him, and I could see him considering the seemingly sensible statement his eldest child had made about the police going too far to arrest someone and just how far she might go in involving herself.
“Is this still about your curiosity?” asked the president.
“It’s about Booker T. Washington,” said Alice. “You had him over for dinner no matter what anyone else thought. And I can be no less brave than you. Do you know who Peter Carlyle is?”
“Should I?” asked the president.
“He’s the mechanic who keeps our motorcar in repair, a Negro mechanic. The police have suspected him because he had an argument with Lynley Brackton, but who didn’t? And wait until they find out that he recently married a Rutledge housemaid, which supposedly gave him access to the house. It’s nonsense, of course, but arrests happen anyway. With Mr. St. Clair’s help, we will clear him and anyone else the police arrest may falsely arrest.”
“That’s quite a speech,” said Mr. Roosevelt. He thought. “The Rutledges employ Negro maids?”
“Not to my knowledge. The new Mrs. Carlyle is white—Irish, in fact.”
The president nodded. “That could be a problem for them. A mixed-race marriage—that’s not even legal in some states. The Carlyles would be easy to convict on murder and conspiracy with only the flimsiest evidence.”
“There’s more, Father. What about the Jews in this city? We’ve heard the XVII has been threatening them.”
“The Jews? I’m sorry to hear about that. I went with my parents to Jerusalem as a boy and was deeply affected by my visit. St. Clair, you remember we had some Jewish troopers in the regiment. Fine men.”
“Yes, sir.” I had wondered why so many enlisted. They told me they were still mad at Spain, which had thrown them out of the country some four hundred years ago. Holding a grudge for centuries—now that’s impressive.
“Any Jews in particular?”
“We heard about threats against the Roths.”
“Reuben Roth? I could see he’d have enemies. He’s a good man, and I respect him, but Wall Street is even more rough and tumble than the Dakotas when St. Clair here helped me run the ranch. But I can’t imagine why the XVII would be out for him.”
“Maybe they don’t want Jews pushing into their business?” asked Alice.
“As I said, it’s ro
ugh and tumble, but financial battles are usually settled in the stock markets, occasionally in courts, but not with threats from mysterious societies. The Roths are powerful, and I’ve always had the sense they can take care of themselves.” He gave his daughter a speculative look. “Are you sure you’re not seeing something that isn’t there? Letting your imagination get away from you?”
“I’m just trying to help my friend,” said Alice, sticking her chin out.
He sighed and turned to me. “I don’t imagine I can dissuade my daughter, but you’ll keep her safe, Sergeant St. Clair?”
“As well as can be expected, Colonel.”
He frowned at that. “It’s not like you to not give a straight answer,” he said. I saw Alice was watching me closely.
“Colonel, when I picked Miss Alice up at the White House, she was firing a revolver into a mattress in the basement. Despite all the guards and agents in the building, she got herself a revolver and ammunition and had set up a shooting range. Begging your pardon, sir, but safety is always relative with your daughter.”
He nodded in agreement. “I hear what you’re saying. What was she shooting?”
“One of those old Smith & Wesson single-action revolvers they made after the war.”
He turned to his daughter. “Where did you even get something like that?” Alice just shrugged and looked away. “I suppose we could turn her over to Captain O’Hara and have him keep her in the Tombs,” said the president.
“She’d probably find a way to break out and take some felons with her,” I said, and the president nodded. I could see Alice getting more and more annoyed at the way her father and I were talking about her, but realizing how great the stakes were, she kept quiet.
“Be a good girl, and be guided by Sergeant St. Clair,” the president said. “And if you run afoul of my sister, you’re both on your own.”
At that, we heard someone at the door, and a moment later, Mrs. Cowles entered.
