Fraternity of the Gun

by J. R. Roberts

  “I can’t say,” the inspector said. “But I did want to come and ask you, sir, about your whereabouts last night.”

  “I went for a walk, and then I was in my room,” Irving said.

  “What time did you go for a walk?”

  “Oh, it was quite late,” Irving said. “It was after Clint came by my room to check on me.”

  “What time was that?” Lester looked at both men.

  “After ten,” Clint said.

  “And did you go for a walk immediately after that, sir?” Lester asked.

  “Not immediately, no,” Irving said. “I think it was about an hour later.”

  “So . . . around eleven p.m.?”

  “After eleven p.m.,” Irving said.

  “Uh-huh . . .”

  “What did your witness say?” Clint asked.

  “I told you,” Lester said, “he didn’t see much—”

  “No, I mean the witness who told you about Mr. Irving’s walk,” Clint said. “It must have been either the desk clerk or the doorman, right?”

  Lester looked into his coffee cup.

  Clint looked at Irving and said, “Probably the doorman.”

  “I did exchange pleasantries with the man on the way out and on the way in.”

  “And when he heard about the murder, and the witness’s description, he sent for the police right away.”

  “And the inspector appeared,” Irving said.

  “So,” Inspector Lester said, “am I to understand you didn’t see or hear anything while you were . . . out walking?”

  “I did not.”

  “And need I ask,” the inspector said, “did you kill the woman?”

  “I did not.”

  The inspector looked at Clint.

  “I know who you are.”

  “Do you?”

  “Oh, yes,” Lester said. “You’re a very famous man, Mr. Adams. Everybody knows who you are, but the legend of the Gunsmith lives in the West, not here in the East.”

  Clint didn’t respond.

  Lester looked at Henry Irving.

  “When will you be leaving?” he asked.

  “This afternoon.”

  “I hope,” Lester said, standing, “no other girls get killed before you leave.”

  “Actually,” Irving said, “I hope one does after I leave.”

  “Sir?” Lester seemed taken aback.

  “If a woman is killed after I leave, that will prove I had nothing to do with the first one, wouldn’t it?” Irving asked.

  “Yes, I suppose it would,” Lester said. “Where will you go from here?”

  “Many cities and towns across the West,” Irving said. “We have quite a long schedule ahead of us.”

  “Well,” Inspector Lester said, “I’ll be watching your progress.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find other more important things to occupy your time, Inspector.”

  Lester looked at them both, said, “Gentlemen,” and left.

  “So,” Irving said.

  “So what?”

  “Do you also suspect me of killing these women?” the actor asked.

  “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  “And now?”

  “I don’t know,” Clint said. “I guess we’ll just have to see.”

  Irving reached out and picked up the newspaper again, looked at the story.

  “Women in Philadelphia and Boston as well?”

  “Yes.”

  “New York?”

  “Yes.”

  Irving put down the newspaper.

  “Only one in each city?”

  “Yes.”

  Irving helped himself to more coffee, then poured more maple syrup on the remainder of his flapjacks.

  “I suppose, given the evidence, I might suspect me as well.”

  “It would be helpful,” Clint said, “if no other women turned up murdered during our travels.”

  Irving speared a huge chunk of syrupy flapjack and, prior to stuffing it into his mouth, said, “I will keep that in mind.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  While Irving went to his room to pack, Clint knocked on Ellen Terry’s door. She opened it, wearing the same silk robe as the night before.

  “You bastard,” she said. “My legs are like rubber.”

  “Is that why you didn’t come down for breakfast?” he asked.

  “I have packing to do,” she said.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  “I’ll have something brought up,” Clint said. “What would you like?”

  “Surprise me.”

  “I thought I did that last night.”

  She smiled and said, “No, none of that was a surprise.”

  “I’ll see to your breakfast,” he said. “You better finish your packing. We won’t want to miss our train this afternoon.”

  “We won’t miss it,” she said.

  He nodded, went back downstairs to see to her breakfast.

  * * *

  Across the street, Mr. Green watched as the policeman entered the hotel then left later on. He knew the inspector because he had been to Washington D.C. before.

  “What’s going on?” Mr. Gray asked, coming up alongside his colleague.

  “The police have been here.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “See that man getting into the carriage? Inspector Lester.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “I’ve been here before.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Mr. Gray said. “Why was he here?”

  “I’m guessing it has something to do with the woman who was killed last night.”

  “What woman?”

  “A whore, probably,” Mr. Green said. “She was stabbed on the street.”

  “What’s that got to do with us?”

  “I went into the lobby and took a peek. The inspector was sitting with Adams and the actor.”

  “Why question them?”

  “He must have suspected one of them,” Mr. Green said. “Maybe the actor.”

  “Why?”

  “There was a girl killed in New York as well,” Mr. Green said. “It was in the newspaper.”

  “What about Boston, and Philadelphia?”

  “We can check.”

  “So you think the actor is a killer of women?”

  “You said he went for a walk.”

  “That doesn’t mean he killed anybody.”

  “I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Mr. Green said. “If he has a taste for it, it will happen again. And again.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “They’re leaving this afternoon,” Mr. Gray said. “You can go, but meet me at the train station at one.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  They exchanged places in the doorway.

  “Are we going west with them?” Mr. Green asked.

  “We’re going west.”

  “I’ve never been west,” Mr. Green said. “This will be interesting.”

  THIRTY

  Ellen Terry had her breakfast and got dressed. Clint had a bellman go to each room and bring the luggage downstairs, where the bags were loaded on a wagon and taken to the train station.

  Clint, Irving, and Terry rode there in a different carriage.

  “I am sensing a change in the weather,” Henry Irving said.

  “What kind of change?” Terry asked. “The weather seems the same to me.”

  “It was a metaphor, my lady,” Irving said, giving them both a knowing look.

  “Oh, shut up, Henry,” Terry said.

  “Far be it from me t
o pass judgment,” he said. “Not when I myself am suspected of murder.”

  “What are you babbling about?” she asked. “What part are you playing now?”

  “I’ll explain it to you,” Clint said, “when we get on the train.”

  * * *

  True to his word, Clint explained everything about the dead girls to Ellen Terry when they were on the train. They were sitting in the passenger car, even though they had compartments reserved for the trek west. The first stop would be Chicago, Illinois.

  Clint didn’t know how fast the train was going to go. He knew that trains could run at 20 miles an hour a lot cheaper than at 30, and to railway companies, saving money was paramount. It was going to take them at least 30 hours, plus the time for stops. He figured 36 hours for the whole trip. A lot could happen in 36 hours.

  “That’s horrible,” Ellen Terry said when he was done.

  “The poor girls,” Irving said.

  “No,” she said, “I mean it’s terrible that the policeman in Washington actually suspected Henry of those murders. That’s preposterous.”

  “The man was doing his job,” Irving said.

  “So was the doorman,” Clint said, “when he sent for a policeman.”

  Terry looked at Clint.

  “You’re supporting what that policeman did?” she asked.

  “I’m supporting what he did,” Clint said, “but not what he thought.”

  “Then you don’t believe that Henry is a killer?” she asked.

  Clint looked at Irving, who was waiting for the answer.

  “No,” Clint said, “I don’t believe it.”

  “Well,” Terry said, “that’s good.”

  “I think we ought to move you to your compartments,” Clint said. “Get settled, and then we’ll go to the dining car for something to eat. All right?”

  “Whatever you say, Clint,” Terry said. “You are the boss, right?”

  Clint looked at Irving, who shrugged.

  “That’s right,” Clint said. “I’m the boss.”

  * * *

  He walked Irving to his compartment, and then Terry to hers. She stepped inside, then grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him soundly. He returned the kiss, but then broke away.

  “Ellen, we can’t do this now,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “I have to check out the entire train,” Clint said, “before we go and get something to eat. Now you lock this door and keep it locked unless it’s Henry or me. Understand?”

  “Of course I understand,” she said. “I am an educated woman, not one of those backwoods females you are used to dealing with.”

  “Okay, then,” he said. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

  “Return quickly,” she said. “I’ll be hungry in that little while.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “So will I.”

  He stepped out into the all, slid the door closed, and waited until he heard it lock.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Clint went in search of the conductor, found him in one of the passenger cars.

  “Mind if I talk to you a minute?”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said.

  “Outside?”

  They stepped out between two passenger cars. The conductor was an old-timer, sixty if he was a day, white-haired and pale-skinned.

  Clint told the man who he was and what he was doing on the train.

  “You’re serious?” the conductor asked. “We got two famous people on board?”

  “Very famous,” Clint said. “And it’s my job to keep them safe.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Maybe,” Clint said. “What’s your name?”

  “Al Sykes.”

  “Well, Al,” Clint said, “I’m going to walk the train and take a look at all the passengers.”

  “Lookin’ for somebody suspicious?” the conductor asked, lowering his voice.

  “That’s right,” Clint said. “What I need to know from you is, are there any other people on the train that aren’t in the passenger cars and compartments?”

  “Well,” Sykes said, taking off his hat and scratching his head, “other than the other conductor, Ben, the cooks and waiters in the dining car, and the engineer and fireman, nope.”

  “Nobody in the stock car?”

  “Well, yeah, we got one man in there watching the animals.”

  “See, that’s what I mean, Al. Anybody else?”

  The man thought a minute, then said, “No. Nobody else.”

  “Good. Then I’m going to start walking. If I need your help, I’ll let you know, okay?”

  “Sure thing, mister . . .”

  “Just call me Clint.”

  “Okay, Clint.”

  “Then let’s both go back to work.” Clint shook the man’s hand, and they both returned to the forward passenger car.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Clint walked the passenger cars one at a time, studying the people. Nobody immediately jumped out at him as suspicious, but there were plenty of men traveling alone, or by twos, that he’d keep an eye on. He discounted the people who were traveling with women and children as being possible problems.

  When he was done, he found Sykes and had him introduce him to all the people who worked on the train. Sykes took him and introduced him to the engine crew, and then the kitchen and dining car crew. After that, he met the other conductor—a younger man named Henry—and finally the man in the stock car, Teddy, who was a wrangler of sorts.

  Finally convinced he’d seen everybody on the train in under two hours, he went back to get Henry Irving and Ellen Terry and take them to the dining car.

  He knocked on Irving’s door first, and then when Ellen Terry opened hers and saw both of them, she seemed disappointed. She had probably been hoping Clint would return alone.

  “Two gentlemen to escort you to the dining car, madam,” Henry Irving said.

  “Well, aren’t I the lucky girl?” she said sweetly.

  They walked to the dining car and were seated, Irving and Terry on one side, Clint on the other. A black waiter wearing a white jacket and white gloves came and took their order.

  “See any murderers on board?” Terry asked.

  “No obvious ones,” Clint said. “But they could be all around us.”

  “That is not funny,” she said.

  “It wasn’t meant to be,” Clint said. “I just want you to be aware that we have to be careful at all times.”

  “Well then,” she said, “maybe you should keep a very close eye on me.”

  “And me as well,” Irving offered, not getting what Ellen Terry was referring to.

  “I’ll keep a close eye on both of you. Don’t worry.” Clint looked at Irving. “Henry, I don’t think you should go for any more late-night walks. Especially not in a city like Chicago.”

  “They help me sleep,” Irving said, “but all right, Clint. I’ll do as you wish.”

  “And you,” Clint said to Terry.

  “What about me?”

  “You’re going to have to stay in your room.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” she said, “that’s what I have been doing. The only time I leave is to perform, or eat with you.”

  “Fine,” Clint said. “We’ll keep it that way.”

  The waiter came with their food and they ate while staring out the window and talking about what was going by. In some stretches, Ellen Terry said she could almost think they were riding a British railway.

  “It looks the same,” she said, “in some places. But all in all, I can’t wait to go home.”

  “We have a lot of time left on this tour, my dear,” Irving said.

  “I know that,�
�� she said. “And I’ll fulfill my part of the bargain.” She looked at Clint. “Have you ever been to England?”

  He nodded. “I was in London, for a gun expo, years ago. Nice city.”

  “Nice?” she asked. “It is the greatest city in the world. Restaurants, museums, theater—oh, the theater. You should come again so I can show you around.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Clint said.

  * * *

  They finished eating and Clint walked them back to their compartments. He wanted to drop Terry off first, but they passed Irving’s door before hers, and it would have looked suspicious, like he was trying to avoid being at her door without Irving.

  “I’m right down the hall,” he told Irving. “If you want anything at all, ask me, nobody else. Not even the conductor.”

  “I understand.”

  They closed his door, and walked to Terry’s. She stepped inside, then turned to face him.

  “Are you coming in?”

  “Not yet,” he said. “I’ve still got some work to do. And if Henry looks for me, I want him to be able to find me.”

  “And tonight?” she asked. “When everyone else is asleep?”

  He stepped in long enough to take her in his arms and kiss her, then he released her and backed out again.

  With a smile, he said, “Well, that’s another story, isn’t it?”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Chicago went perfectly.

  They played the Globe Theater and, as with the other performances, commanded standing ovations. Unlike the other locations, Irving and Terry were given a party afterward, a party that was supposed to include the mayor on its guest list. Instead, they sent a representative of the mayor’s office, a low-level assistant.

  By the time they got to their hotel—The Lasalle—it was later than usual.

  Irving went right to his room to turn in.

  “No late-night walks,” Clint reminded him.

  “I remember,” Irving said, and closed the door.

  Clint walked Terry to her room, and she pulled him in, not taking no for an answer. He spent the night with her, then went to his own room to dress for breakfast.

  He had breakfast in the dining room with Irving and Terry, and they left for the train station, sending their luggage ahead.