

At Harper's Ferry

by Paul Westwood

Additional Text by Ann Robinson

Copyright 2011 Paul Westwood

Published at Smashwords

Book cover source is from a

November 1, 1862 Harper's Weekly illustration

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Prologue

Lawrence Hanson gently closed the back door to the office building and craned his neck to look both ways. The flame of the gas streetlights reflected on the puddles of the lifeless street. His pulse quickened with the fear of what he had just done. He held a satchel tightly in his hands and felt the dampness of his palms slide against the leather. Anxiety sent the blood rushing to his cheeks, and he felt sick to his stomach as his eyes continued to dart across the gloomy shadows.

Out of nowhere, a sudden shaft of light struck Lawrence squarely in the face. He froze in panic from the voice that came from the darkness.

"Hold it right there! What are you doing here?"

Lawrence's heart beat so quickly that he could hear the blood rush through his ears. He uneasily turned to the direction of the voice and saw it was a watchman holding his lantern. They patrolled the grounds of the War Office Building at night, keeping it safe from intruders. Lawrence had the bad luck of meeting one making his rounds. "I-I-I work here," he finally stammered.

This watchman was a pudgy man with a sloppy cap hiding a bushy mess of gray hair. His voice was hard and doubtful when he asked, "Do you now? And who exactly do you work for, my lad?"

"Mister Forsythe."

"I see," the watchmen's voice softened. "Why are you out so late? The office was closed hours ago."

"I was asked to work late," Lawrence lied easily as his pulse began to return to normal.

"Well then, be on your way. And make sure to be careful out there since you never know who is prowling around this time of night." He touched the brim of his cap in respect and returned to walking his rounds. His footsteps receded into the night, the shaft of light bouncing along the wooden boardwalk.

Lawrence let out a pent up breath and wiped his sweaty brow. Fighting the urge to run, he forced himself to slowly continue along his chosen path. "In another hour," he thought to himself, "I will finally be free."

He turned onto the main road. As the sound of his footsteps died away, a tall man in a ranger coat stepped out of a shadowy doorway. He silently followed in the same direction as his quarry. The man's steps were quiet and sure as he stayed in the shadows, far enough behind to remain undetected. A smile crossed his thin lips.

*

Lawrence arrived at the Gay Lady Saloon a little later than he had hoped. The normal crowd of workmen was only just beginning to thin as they began to stagger home for the night. However the air was still thick with smoke and the smell of spilled beer. He pushed past the crowded bar and looked in the back corner toward a row of high-backed booths. There sat the man that he was supposed to meet.

The man was impatiently drumming his fingers against the table. Lawrence made his way to the back corner and remained standing. The tall man, who had been following him, came through the door and quickly caught up.

As Lawrence stood there, the man in the booth finally stopped drumming his fingers. He looked up and slowly smiled. He nodded at the tall, dark-haired man coming from behind. "You can go now, Stevenson,' he murmured with the same lazy smile.

"Yes, Mister Abbott" the man called Stevenson replied. Before turning away, he quickly looked Lawrence over again with cold, dead eyes.

"So you came after all," Abbott said to the young man with a smirk. "Now go ahead - sit down and join me in a drink." He poured out a shot of whiskey for the young man and one for himself.

Lawrence sighed, shrugged his shoulders in resignation and sat down across from Abbott. "I didn't mean to be late," he started. "It just took a little longer than I expected. My office is staying busy late into the night with the news of Fort Sumter. I just had to wait until everyone else left."

Abbot waved his hand, dismissing the tardiness. "It doesn't matter. I'm just not used to meeting in such an establishment as this, but places like this do have their uses. Who's going to remember seeing us here out of this crowd?" His hand loosely held the whiskey glass, and the bottle next to it was none too clean and nearly half empty. "Your lateness didn't bother me much, though I was beginning to doubt your courage in this matter. I just hope you brought what I requested. Otherwise, you won't be receiving your – ahem – payment." His smile widened and his voice was thick with innuendo as he continued.

Lawrence's eyes shot daggers at Abbott, his brow lowered. _"_ My courage should never be doubted. And I assume that you would get money out of her if you could, unfortunate woman."

Abbott grinned. "Men in your position should be more careful before they fall in love with a married woman. And especially if it's a woman who sold those letters to me." He gestured lightly to himself, his hand resting on his chest.

Lawrence's face flushed. "It's none of your business who I fell in love with," he said. "If you had any decency, you would have left me well alone."

"Yes, but it became my business. Perhaps you shouldn't have written all of those letters to her in the first place," his face cracked into a nasty grin. "It was only a matter of time before they were in my possession. Little did I know how useful they would end up being."

The young man's face was red with anger and his voice trembled as he spoke. "I've paid for those letters once before, and I've got what you requested here as well. This had better put an end to it all," he said loudly. He corrected himself and lowered his voice, hoping they hadn't been overheard.

Abbot leaned closer towards him and spoke almost gently, "I think not, Mister Hanson. There are several other small matters you can help me with."

"I'm not certain that I know what you mean." Lawrence replied. His anger was rising while the cool words escaped Abbott's mouth.

"Let's not continue to play games. We will need even more secrets from your office. The Secessionists will come to rely on plans such as this, and how better to get them than from the War Department?"

Lawrence's hand slipped off of his glass in surprise. He jerked to his feet and his voice once again rose in anger. "I'm in enough danger as it is. You just can't expect anything more from me. I have taken more than enough risks already. What I have done is traitorous. If I am discovered, it will be the end of me. I will be sure to take you along on the ride to the gallows."

"Be quiet you fool!" Abbott warned him before looking over the saloon, checking to see that the young man's words had not been overheard. No one appeared to be paying them any attention. He continued, "Now sit down and listen to me. This business of selling documents could be quite profitable for all of us. I don't intend to let all that money be had by someone else, and your frail conscience will not stop me. If you don't do what is suggested, it may be a mistake you will live to regret."

Lawrence sat back down, looking miserable. "The only mistake I made was hoping that you could be reasoned with like a gentleman. I will not give you these papers, and by my honor, I shall give you nothing else. I will report this to the Under-Secretary in the morning and will take whatever punishment they mete out."

"Let's think a bit more carefully before we do anything rash," Abbot protested. "Now give me those plans right now, and we can talk about this at a later time." He filled the glasses again and watched him intently.

He looked at the glass for a moment and then slid it away. "No, I've made my mind up." His voice still trembled slightly but had a determined tone. He slammed the table with his palms, stood up and walked away. He was quickly out of the saloon with the satchel and its contents still in his possession.

As the young man departed, Abbott shook his head and then found the eyes of his man Stevenson. He gave him a quick wave of his hand. With a nod in return, the man walked out through the mass of revelers and made his way to the front door to follow Lawrence into the night.
Chapter 1

Jack Blackwood lit a cigarette and leaned back heavily in his old office chair. He had just finished reading the morning paper which lay on the desk before him. It had detailed the latest on the continuing Secessionist crisis. With the election of Abraham Lincoln, several Southern states had already voted to leave the Union. Federal troops were moving to Washington to protect the capitol from the Rebel States. The crisis in South Carolina had resulted in the bombardment of Fort Sumter, which had fanned the flames of war. Virginia, which was directly across the Potomac, was voting soon to determine if they would secede, and their decision was the current concern of the fracturing nation. Already Secessionist sympathizers in Baltimore had cut telegraph lines and destroyed bridges leading to Washington. While reporting to Washington, the 6th Massachusetts Regiment had been attacked by an angry mob. The soldiers were then forced to open fire on the crowd.

He touched his fingers together and blew smoke up at the ceiling, studying the patterns against the morning light flooding through the windows. He wasn't much bothered by the coming war but was more interested in the possibilities it could bring. With the clouds of uncertainty over the city, there was money to be made.

Jack then stood up and walked over to the window, looking over the low-rent district where he lived. His office was in a corner building, above a tailor shop and it gave him an excellent view of the surroundings. The street below was still wet with mud from a light morning rain and the wagon wheels had cut deep tracks in the muddy road. Along the wooden boardwalk, the bustle of foot traffic around the stores could be seen. He could hear the newsboys, the cries of street vendors, and the slow rhythmic sound of horses pulling heavy wagons.

Off in the distance, Jack could see smoke in the air from the many campfires of the large encampment stationed outside the city. The increased presence of the Army had brought in packs of camp followers - ladies of the night, whiskey peddlers, pawn brokers, and traveling salesmen. There was a sense of fretfulness and excitement which hung heavily over the entire city.

Jack turned away from the window, looking over his office; at his desk with his familiar office chair, a coat tree, the chair for the rare customer, the old banker safe in the corner, and a gun rack with several well-polished pieces. He took a turn around the room, continuing to smoke and ponder the future. His head was hurting badly from the night before, but it helped if he didn't stay still for too long.

He rubbed his grizzled chin and swallowed hard, feeling his dry tongue clinging to the roof of his mouth. Last night he had gone out drinking and could still feel the effects in his veins from the almost continual flow of whiskey. The saloon he had visited was busy with activity as people threw caution to the wind and had played their card games like Judgment Day was just around the corner. He himself had little money to spend playing cards, but enjoyed watching the rush of worried humanity act in their foolish ways.

There was a creak of the floorboards as the side door leading into the living area opened. His partner Ezra stepped in. He was a lean ex-slave who had worked with Jack these past many years. His dark face was scarred on one cheek from an old knife fight, but a sharp intelligence could be seen beneath the brown eyes. Self-taught in reading and writing, he had escaped from Mississippi when he was younger and made his way up north. The detective had met him while working on another case, and they had been inseparable ever since. Over the years, his partner had developed a deep knowledge of Washington by knowing the various servants of this well-to-do of the City. He also had several paid informants within the underworld of prostitution and gambling.

Jack smiled at his old friend, and then threw a dollar coin on the desk. He said, "If you don't mind, Ezra, do me a favor and pick me up a pint of whiskey and some more cigars. A little drink is in order right now – you understand, just to get my wits in order."

His partner shook his head and leaned against the door frame to study his friend. "You should be more careful the way you spend your money on liquor. We only have a few dollars left and it's been weeks since we were able to find any kind of work."

"Don't worry, I always manage to find us work. With all these recent troubles, I can feel something good coming. This year is going to bring both of us plenty of money."

Ezra looked at him in disbelief. He said stiffly, "I'm not worried about this year; I'm worried about next week."

"I'm certain we have enough to last us until I can scrounge something up."

"I hope you are right," Ezra said with little confidence.

"Now do me a favor and get that drink for me."

His partner shrugged, took the dollar and then turned to leave, whistling under his breath as he went down the side stairs.

Jack continued to slowly pace the floor, a cloud of smoke following him as he went. The floorboards squeaked lightly as his heavy boots shuffled along. He rubbed the side of his graying temples, and wished his headache away.

A few minutes passed by, and then the silence was broken by a hesitant knock at the front office door. Jack stopped in surprise. He then went to the door. Looking through the thick leaded glass, he saw a young woman standing in the hallway. He slowly opened the door.

A sweet feminine voice said, "Excuse me, I wasn't sure if I had the right place. I'm looking for a Mister Jack Blackwood, the detective."

"Well, missy, you seem to have come to the right place. I am Jack Blackwood at your service." He gave a little bow and motioned her towards the chair across from his desk. "Now what can I do for you? Go ahead, let me hear you out."

He held the chair for her as she sat down and then walked over to the other side of the desk. He stood behind it, waiting for her to begin.

Not looking at him, she instead gave the room a careful scrutiny. Jack, inwardly wondering at her thoughts and hesitation, decided to take his own seat while he waited for to start her story. As he waited for her to begin, Jack looked her over with appreciation – she was in her mid-twenties, with no wedding band on her hand, a pale face, and was wearing an expensive brown dress with burgundy trim. Long blond hair hung down beyond her shoulders where a small matching brown bonnet hung around her neck. She was obviously rich and well-groomed – the product of wealth and proper schooling. He decided that she was quite beautiful, but with that slightly pouty mouth that indicates a woman who was used to getting her way. Her eyes appeared tired, with circles underneath and redness at the corners. She fidgeted and continued to look over the dusty office. She then took off her gloves and nervously twisted them in her hands.

Jack could tell that she was worried. She was also obviously not used to visiting the poorer side of town. He decided it would take some doing to get the story out of her. "Please, what can I do for you?" he said smoothly. "You must not worry since everything discussed in this office is quite confidential."

She licked her lips, revealing a dainty tongue, and began to talk in a high timorous voice. "Dear sir, my name is Faith Hanson. I was sent by my father, the Honorable Daniel Hanson, to ask for your help. You once did a small service for my dear uncle, James Dawson, when he was in a most delicate situation. We are hoping you can do the same for us."

"Yes, I remember that case. It was a violent rather than a delicate situation. I ended up with a knife wound from that blackmailer. But please, do continue."

She gave him a small shy smile before continuing with her story. "My brother has been most mysterious lately. And now he is gone. We need someone to help us." She then shook her head with confusion and sighed.

"What exactly are you asking from me, miss?" he asked.

"Please, I made a bad start of it. Let me start again from the beginning."

"Go ahead."

She cleared her throat. "Last year, my brother Lawrence started working for the War Department as a clerk. My father got him the job and it seemed to suit Lawrence rather well. He spoke highly of his superior and seemed at ease at his new workplace. But the past month he has become most agitated. My brother has been out late nearly every night and rarely comes home anymore after work." Her hand grabbed an embroidered lace handkerchief she'd placed in her sleeve, and she dabbed her eyes, and paused to regain her composure.

As she spoke, Jack imagined he knew the type of person. They would try to lead a secret life, which would eventually catch up to them. The drinking would begin to take over and, after a while, they would feel unable to return home from the shame. They would end up stuck in some cheap room with a bottle in hand, drinking their life away. Jack had seen what could happen to a man when the bottle became his life. He smiled reassuringly at Faith, dropped a little of his formal demeanor, and became more frank. "Perhaps he has met a woman, got drunk, or wants to play a few cards after work. Young men are always out and about these days."

Faith blushed lightly and looked away from Jack's searching gaze. "My brother isn't quite that kind of person," she said shyly. "He has always been most kind to my father and me. We are a good family and are sympathetic towards each other."

"Well, what is your problem then? I could make the rounds and see what business is keeping him up after hours." he said.

"That's not the problem," she sniffed. "You see, he has disappeared. On Tuesday morning, he told me he had to go see a man that evening. He said not to worry, but he looked most troubled. He did not come home that night or even on Wednesday. After making inquiries at his work, we found that he had not been there since Tuesday. That's when we decided to find someone to help us."

"Have you contacted the City Ward?" Jack asked coolly. He was almost ready to dismiss the case since he was not interested in spending his time tracking down a wayward young man who was probably trying to drink his problems away. "They're pretty good at finding out where people are hiding. Your brother could be in jail and is too embarrassed to send word to your father."

"The City Ward?" she replied with a hint of sarcasm. "They are undermanned and are too busy rounding up drunken soldiers to help us. We need someone who is exclusively dedicated to helping our family."

"I see," he said slowly. The thought of dismissing the case faded into the past as he thought of the cash possibilities. He was currently short of money - it would only take a few inquiries and then he could get the payoff from the Hanson family. "Do you have any idea where your brother could have gone?" he finally asked.

She played with the fingers of her gloves and said, "I'm afraid it's not that simple, Mister Blackwood. You see, the War Department is now investigating Lawrence. His supervisor, a Mister Forsythe, came to our house to inquire of his whereabouts."

"What did they want from you?" Jack sat up straighter, now growing more interested.

"Some important papers are missing, and they say they have proof that my brother was involved in their theft," she sighed. "This man Forsythe has accused my brother Lawrence of stealing these documents to sell them to the Secessionist States."

"Do you know what information the papers contain?"

"I do not know. We know my brother cannot have done this. He would never do anything so terrible as to betray the trust given to him. It would be totally against his character."

"You might be surprised what a man can do who is caught in the wrong situation." He leaned back into his chair and frowned at the ceiling, wondering where Ezra was with the pint of whiskey. He then cleared his dry throat and continued on. "This man your brother was going to see, do you know his name?"

"Not quite a name, but a clue to where he could have gone. Early this morning, with my father's permission, I took the liberty of going through my brother's room. I found this message in his dresser drawer." She handed a small slip of wrinkled paper over for Jack to read.

Meet me at the Gay Lady Saloon at Eight O' Clock tonight – A.

He looked the paper over before placing it on the desk. "This indeed may be a clue to where he has gone. Do you know anyone with a name beginning with A?"

"My brother did meet with a man named Abbott on occasion."

"What do you know of this man?"

"There's not much that I can remember, but perhaps my father may be able to answer your questions in more detail."

"I would be more than happy to talk to your father," Jack replied.

"Please stop by to give us a moment of your time." Smiling, she jotted her address down on a slip of paper and then rose to leave.

He looked at her and paused as if remembering something important before he spoke. "I have a few early business appointments this morning, but I will come over as soon as I can spare the time. If your father agrees to my bill of ten dollars a day, then I will be willing to look into this matter."

"We shall agree to pay anything if you can find my brother," she said.

Jack followed her as she walked to the door. "Please make your mind at ease," he said soothingly. "I will be by with my partner as soon as I can. If anyone can find your brother, it will be us."

She turned to smile at him and nodded. She then left, taking the stairs in haste. Jack watched her with interest before shutting the door and returning to his desk.

Some moments later, Ezra stepped in through the side door holding a small pint of whiskey and a packet of wrapped cigars. He saw Jack sitting behind his desk, methodically cleaning his old Starr revolver. Jack looked up and grinned at him with his eyes twinkling. He set the bottle on the desk. "By that look on your face, there is something going on. You only look that way when money is jingling in your pockets."

Jack picked up the bottle and pulled open the cork stopper. "I told you something would come along. We have a missing person case on our hands." He took a long grateful pull from the bottle and sighed with contentment.

"That doesn't sound like much of a job," Ezra said, grumbling.

"Hold on and let me finish. There are some missing papers involved. The War Department is also looking for this Lawrence Hanson. If we can get him back to the family before he is caught by the government then they are sure to reward us rather well."

"That sounds a little more profitable," his partner said with renewed interest.

"Now what do you know about the Hanson family? One father named Daniel Hanson, a son called Lawrence, and a pretty little creature called Faith."

Ezra thought a moment before answering. "They are an old Washington family that has been involved in politics since the Revolutionary War. Until a few years ago, the old man was a Congressman. Before his recent retirement, he was quite popular in the Whig Party. The mother passed on a few years ago. The son was always on the wild side, and his daughter is almost considered an old maid – she's had several suitors but nothing definite."

Jack looked at him slyly. "She didn't look anything like an old maid to me."

He laughed. "That may be so, but you are hardly respectable company. I will have to ask a few of the local servants if you want to hear any more stories about them."

"I'm always surprised what you do know about this town." Jack knew that his partner could always be counted on to know something about every important family in Washington. Jack took another swig from the bottle and put the cork back in. "Do you know anything about a man called Abbott? He was mentioned, but I'm not sure where he fits in this business yet."

Ezra shook his head. "Abbott is a fairly common name. There are a few unsavory characters in the immediate area with that surname. But there is one that really stands out in Washington - Lewis Abbott is a villain of the worst sort and has been involved in several nefarious schemes. I'm not sure if he would have anything to do with this, but he is the only obvious person I can think of. Perhaps your friend Garrett would know more about this disappearance."

"I like that idea. Let's head on over to see Garrett and then pay a visit to the Hanson house. Then we can see if the family can tell us anything else about their wayward son and this mysterious Abbott."

Jack slid the pint of whiskey into his coat pocket. After locking up, the two of them headed towards the livery where their horses were kept.
Chapter 2

Narrative of the Washington gentleman

I can't imagine how such a respected family as the Hansons became involved in a scandal. The Hansons have been established in Washington so long that the whole family seems as much a part of the city as the cherry blossoms in the spring and the frozen mud in the winter. The eldest child, Faith, has grown into quite a lovely creature. She was precocious as a young woman and awkward at times. Her mother, Patricia, had an influence that helped her to become more modest and a shade more retiring. Indeed Patricia's ability to entertain and act the part of the gracious hostess is, in part, responsible for her husband's successful holding office for so long. If only common people really knew how politics were played in Washington. For quite a few years, the people holding invitations to the Hanson's house were envied by the less fortunate.

But I am digressing here, as I had been thinking of the newspaper reports regarding the disappearance of Lawrence Hanson. Lawrence is the older child of Daniel and Patricia. He has seemed content to be unaccomplished in life. While his father was a senator, his mother among the most gracious hostesses in the City, and his sister intelligent and attractive, Lawrence has remained unnoticed. Missus Hanson's final illness and passing seemed to have affected him more than I would have expected. It was possible that he was favored and sheltered by her. At any rate, his father has in recent years felt the need to forward the boy's career. Lawrence had all the access to money for his hobbies previous to his mother's death - which had alarmingly started to include gambling, horses, women, and drinking.

After a rumored scandal, Mister Hanson had issued an ultimatum: no further excesses would be tolerated, and in what was seen as a suggested penance for his offenses, Lawrence was placed in a position in government offices to give him more to do with his idle hours. To all appearances this action has worked, but according to my acquaintances, (and the knowledge of that particular social circle) Lawrence merely became more cautious in his habits, frequenting other drinking establishments and keeping his hours at home more regular so as not to raise his family's suspicions. I myself would refrain from gaining this information first hand, but I can trust the thoroughness of my acquaintances regarding it. A man of my social standing cannot be seen to be seeking idle gossip regarding such establishments nor their patrons. One would wonder whether Lawrence might be better off to leave the City altogether, but perhaps he was afraid to be too far away from his father and his money, or perhaps the city held another attraction for him.

The news of Lawrence Hanson's disappearance staggers me. Perhaps Mister Forsythe has more information about this mystery than he admitted to in the newspaper reports. A number of missing documents was hinted at also in the article but would not be verified by government sources. In fact, it was a typical newspaper account for these times. Since publishers are afraid of being accused of slander and personally feel the possibility of dueling upon someone's honor, they seldom publish all the facts. Readers need to use their deductive faculties at times. Indeed, when the previous scandal involving Lawrence was printed, it merely stated that "A certain Mister H of the Georgetown area had been seen too often in someone's company than was good for his health." Unless one knew the parties concerned it could be difficult to read between the lines of that social page entry.

With the approaching Southern conflict, newspapers are even worse. While every soul is eager to buy each issue, and it is read voraciously, not much actual news can be gained. Rumored assassination plots to prevent Mister Lincoln from arriving in Washington were all over the front page for weeks after his election. His entry into Washington was kept secret in case the plots were true, and it seemed too many people that he entered office more of a coward than a leader for that behavior. Newspapers insinuate that anyone with a Southern background seems to be entertaining suspicion, regardless of the fact that Washington is so very close to Southern states, and also regardless of where their actual loyalties may lie. I personally have felt that the federal government ought not to interfere so much in the way business is done in the South, but I might shy from openly stating this in public. A state ought to be able to decide for itself how a person can do business there.

There also seems to be a feeling recently that so many secretly Secesh persons exist in Washington and that something should be done to ferret these people out. In view of my own long establishment in the city I had assumed certain gentlemen and ladies of the area would be definitely pro-Union, yet I have been mistaken before, and I expect to be mistaken again regarding this. Presently I am preoccupied with this Secessionist business, mostly because I have been reading another account of the actions at Fort Sumter. The rebels are organized enough to be able to fight instead of merely fomenting for their cause.

*

Ezra and Jack rode up to the decrepit building that housed the City Watch. It was a brown brick affair that was in need of repair - several windows were broken and covered since it was a popular sport to throw rocks at the police department. They dismounted and hitched their horses to the post outside. At this time in the morning, a few people were there since it was a popular time to pick up a friend or relative who had been pulled in the night before for drunkenness.

The main job of the City Watch was to round up drunks and keep the peace. Henry Garrett was the current Captain of the Watch and an old friend of Jack's. They knew each other from their days in the Army. They had both seen plenty of fighting in the western prairies and afterwards came separately to Washington to start different careers. Garrett had gone into the police force, eventually promoted to the top position for his hard work. It had been a pleasant surprise when Jack and Garrett had met again in the course of business.

Jack and Ezra brushed past a bleary-eyed man leaving though the front doors. They entered and nodded to the front clerk. The clerk raised his eyes momentarily at them and nodded in recognition, allowing them past. Jack pushed the swinging door open and they went into Garrett's office.

The office was a small affair, cramped with books and in need of a good dusting. The windows were open, letting in a damp cool breeze. The gentle hum of a trapped fly could be heard tapping against the glass. Jack saw Garrett sitting at his desk, studying some reports.

"Good morning, Garrett, it's good to see you," Jack hailed his old friend.

Garrett looked up from his paper-strewn desk and briefly smiled at them. "Well, if it isn't Jack," he boomed with a hearty voice. He was a compact man with a long beard and sparkling blue eyes. His face was lined and tanned from years of living out West. The captain was rough in his language and manners, but he was a good man to work with. "Ezra, I see you are still wasting your time with this old devil. After I spent my time in the army with Jack, I was hoping I would never see him again. Ten years later and he's still showing up like a bad penny."

Ezra smiled back. "It's good to see you again, Captain."

"It's been awhile since I've seen you two. Are you stopping by only to see me? Or is this business?" Garrett asked them. He pushed some papers away, leaning back in his chair to give them a listen.

"I'm sorry to say that this is a business call," Jack replied. "Someone is missing and his family is getting sick with worry. We are trying to track down where he may have gone. We thought we would get some further information from you before visiting the family."

"You always like being prepared. But why are they asking you for help? This sounds more like a job for my men."

"They think you are too busy rounding up pickpockets and inebriated soldiers to be of any use to them," Jack replied with a wink. He knew that Garrett held himself rigidly to the law and didn't always approve of Jack's methods.

"If that is the case, then I'm not sure why you would even come to ask me for my help."

"Of course we would have to stop by to see you," Jack laughed. "You always know what is going on in this town."

Henry shook his head. "I wish I could help you some, but we've been busy ever since President Lincoln has come to Washington. There have been several Secessionist conspiracies against his person. The government is running around making everyone sign silly oaths and trying to get rid of anyone they deem disloyal. This whole situation has made our job even more difficult, and it's bound to get worse before it gets better."

"Always the optimist," Jack said dryly.

"How bad are things?" Ezra asked Garrett.

"There have been several desertions and even cases of sabotage. Ever since Fort Sumter was shelled, this town has been overrun with soldiers. If you haven't noticed, the town is filled with raw recruits from every backwater town and farm village. They are getting their first taste of city life and have brought a whole army of whores and thieves with them. I just don't have enough men to police the entire city."

"We will come to the point then," Jack said. He sat himself in front of Garrett's desk and Ezra joined him sitting in the other chair. "We are looking for someone named Lawrence Hanson. We think he kept an appointment with someone at the Gay Lady Saloon on Tuesday and then disappeared afterwards."

"I know the place," Garrett said. "It's not a pleasant part of town for anyone to visit even during the day. We have to break up fights often and haul away some of the heavier drinkers. I'm not sure why someone of Hanson's background would even be there."

"You know of the Hanson family?" Jack asked, looking incredulous.

"I read the papers like anyone else. But I know everyone in this town, or at least the people worth knowing. Lawrence was here in this very office just over a year ago now. I wanted to throw him in jail for a while to teach him lesson, but his father convinced the accuser to let the matter drop."

"What was he charged with?" Jack asked. He was surprised that he would let Lawrence walk away a free man since Garrett normally followed the law to the very last letter.

"I don't wish to speak poorly of the lad, but he was accused of adultery. It's an old story - the wife was with Lawrence and got caught by the husband while engaging in a less-than-moral activity. There are laws against adultery in this town, but they are hard to enforce and even harder to prove. The husband wanted to press charges, but enough money was passed around to make sure everyone who was involved stayed quiet."

"I see," Jack said. He pulled out three cigars and offered one to Ezra and then one to Garrett. "What ever happened to the woman Lawrence was seeing?"

The captain took the cigar, bit off the end, and took the match offered by Jack. He lit his cigar and pulled deeply on it, letting the smoke roll slowly out of his mouth. "I'm not sure. She just disappeared afterwards. Rumor has it that her husband didn't want her back anymore." A smirk flitted across his face. "I'm not too surprised."

Jack pondered that for a moment and then said, "The night Lawrence disappeared he may have met a gentleman with the name of Abbott. Do you know anyone with that name?"

Garrett gave them a dark look. "I can tell you plenty. If Lawrence has gotten into trouble with the Abbott I'm thinking of, then the poor lad has bitten off more than he can chew."

"What can you tell me?" Jack asked, impressed again at the encyclopedic knowledge of Garrett. "My partner here knew of him as well – I've never had the pleasure of running into him."

"His full name is Lewis Abbott. He's a villain to be sure. We've never had any legal reasons to charge him with anything, but it would make me happy to do so. He is a keeper of whores, and the rumor is that he is less than kind to them. He also does some bill collections for gambling dens. On more than one occasion blackmail has also been mentioned in connection with his name, but no one ever steps forward to ask for our help."

"I can imagine why someone might not want to prosecute a blackmail case," Jack said. "They'd be thinking of the publicity and prefer to let the matter drop; though someone like you would be more inclined to see it through."

"Why haven't you locked him away?" Ezra asked impatiently. "There are a few girls I know who have run afoul of him. He's a bastard."

Garrett smiled thinly at him. "Prostitutes who are beaten or robbed rarely press charges since they are working illegally. We take the regular ladies and make them leave town. A week or so later they are back in town, playing the same old game under a new name. Abbott never has to worry about being attacked either - there is a man called Stevenson who helps keep the tougher customers in line. The pair of them is a dangerous combination. Abbott does all the heavy thinking while Stevenson does the dirty work."

"Stevenson? What's he like?" Jack asked, pressing his friend for more information.

"Well, he's just the sort of man you would want – if you needed a killer. You know the type - born mean. He wasn't given the good graces of society and church, if you know what I mean."

Jack chuckled. "I can't say I've had any such graces. I turned out alright."

Garrett laughed in agreement. "That's true, but Stevenson is not the type of company that a gentleman of Lawrence's background would be seen with. This Stevenson is bad news through and through. A few years ago he had a fair number of troubles with the law, but then he suddenly started receiving help by a few well-paid lawyers. No one knows where this money came from."

This additional information turned out to be quite interesting to Jack. Someone with money was behind all of this. If Faith's brother was being blackmailed, then the Hanson family would be more than willing to pay extra for Jack's services. These old Washington families recoiled at any sense of dishonor. "Is there anything else you can tell me about Lawrence?"

"He struck me as a weak lad who thought too highly of himself. He was the type of rich, spoiled bastard who doesn't think of the consequences of his own actions." Garrett's voice dripped with disdain. "He would be easy enough to influence and even easier to trick. He is a witless boy who has had the good fortune of being rich, but not knowing how to use it to his advantage."

"This is all good to know, Henry," Jack said. "It might interest you to know that some government papers are missing as well. One can't be certain that he is the one who left with them, but the War Department seems to have made that inference, and are now questioning the Hanson family.

"My goodness, that is interesting. I'd not have thought the Lawrence Hanson could have come up with such a plan on his own. Perhaps there is more to him than I thought." Garrett paused, his face turning stern. "I don't like it, Jack," he said with sudden decision. "The two of you get on the wrong side of the government, and it will be bad news for you. Maybe it would be better for you to let the law handle this, that is, the City Watch and the War Department."

"Nothing doing, Henry, I can look out for myself. This case may be delicate in some respects, but I am capable enough to deal with a missing man and a packet of documents."

Garrett shrugged. "If you say so. I've been busy, but I'm also a worried man. Rumor is that soon even more soldiers are going to be pouring into Washington. The army is going to turn this city into a fort. There won't be enough men in the Watch to keep down crime, and I'm afraid we will all be replaced sometime soon." Garrett threw the cigar down on the floor and ground it out with the heel of his boot. "When a man worries like me, he has a hard time sleeping. Thoughts of losing your job can keep you up at night."

"Don't worry, Garrett, an old War hero like you, they can't get rid of so easily," Jack said. He pulled the bottle of whiskey from his coat pocket and stood it on the desk. He knew that his friend liked to drink. It was nothing to give him the bottle that Ezra had just bought. "Here you go. This will help some."

Garrett picked up the bottle and looked at it appraisingly. "It won't cure my troubles, but it can't hurt. Thanks." He pulled the cork and took a long pull from the bottle. "If you run into any trouble with this case of yours, let me know. I'll see what I can do to help."

"Thanks, Henry," Jack said. "If you ever need a job, be sure to come and see me."

The captain stood up and said grimly, "I hope it won't ever come to that." He then shook hands with Ezra. "I want you to make sure to keep this old man here out of trouble. Wherever he goes, trouble is sure to find him."

"Will do, Captain," Ezra said easily. "I've seen my fair share of trouble with Jack, but he always seems to end up on top."

Garrett laughed again. "That's more luck than anything else."

Jack then shook hands with Garrett and clasped him on the shoulder. "If we hear anything you need to know, I'll pass it along."

"I would be much obliged if you did."

"So long, Henry. Don't drink too much, and don't work too hard."

"I would rather drink than work," Garrett replied as he uncorked the bottle again and watched them leave.
Chapter 3

The Hanson home was in the Georgetown district, which was on the outskirts of Washington. It took almost an hour for Jack and Ezra to find it since they had to ask for directions several times before finding the correct road. The lane leading up to the house was sheltered by several cherry trees with early spring blossoms. Jack smelled the thickly scented air which was sweet compared to the filthy stench of the city. The home itself was a large, painted white, Georgian-style surrounded by vast and well-groomed grounds.

Jack shook his head, impressed by the obvious wealth that would be involved in building such a house. "Care to guess what this place would cost?" he asked.

"I couldn't even imagine," Ezra replied sourly.

"Neither could I," Jack said. He knew his partner had a strong dislike for a man who wouldn't dirty his own hands for a living.

They rode past the front garden which was tidy and prepared for springtime. When they got to the entrance, a smartly dressed little boy took the reins of the horses and waited while Jack and Ezra dismounted. The boy then tied the horses to the post and gave a well-practiced little bow with his hand open. Jack handed him a penny. He then carefully brushed the dust off of his coat before walking to the entrance of the house. As the large front door opened, an old butler stood inside waiting for their approach. He was a thin man, with thick whiskers and graying hair cropped close to his temples. He gave both of them a slightly disapproving look. Jack could tell that the butler was not used to letting people of their class through the front door. Someone like him would be happier it they had used the back door like a servant or tradesman.

Jack strode confidently to the entrance. He said to the butler, "I'm Jack Blackwood and this is my partner Mister Miller. I do believe that Miss Hanson is expecting us."

The butler looked Ezra over and frowned. "Will your servant be coming inside with you or staying here?" he asked with barely hidden contempt.

Jack was used to the attitudes of most people towards his partner, but he was never accepting of it. "Mister Miller here is not my servant, and he will most definitely be coming inside with me," he replied coldly.

The butler's jaw tightened and he spoke with his lips tightly pursed together. "Yes, sir, if you would please come this way," he said harshly. He reluctantly held the door open and let them into the entrance hall.

At one time, Jack would not have been bothered by the butler's comments. But over the years, he had grown to appreciate his partner more. He was not only a friend but a trusted business partner. Witnessing the daily hardship Ezra experienced due to his skin color, he marveled at the man's self-control, and wondered what it cost him in self-worth to bite his tongue facing these attitudes.

Brushing those thoughts aside, Jack found himself rather impressed by the interior of the house. It was spotless and well-furnished, but not tastelessly overdone. The floors were laid with thick, plush rugs while the walls were covered with stylish wallpaper and well-done family portraits. They followed the butler through the large hall and into the side parlor.

He gestured towards a low sofa in the well-appointed room. "If you would, you can wait for Miss Hanson here. I will announce your arrival, sir." He nearly spat out the last words. He turned on his heel and then left without even looking back.

Ezra made a face as they both sat down and looked the room over. It was an airy room with large open glass windows that went from floor to ceiling. Darkly stained wood floors were swept clean and covered with a flowered rug. The chairs were formal, but not gaudy. A large portrait of middle-aged, sandy-haired man hung over the small fireplace.

Jack stretched his legs out and crossed his feet. "Well, they are obviously rolling in the money," he said. "I must have gotten into the wrong business."

Ezra chuckled. "Politics apparently pays better than I expected. But you wouldn't be happy here anyways. You couldn't handle the status that comes with a place like this."

He smiled benignly before answering. "I guess not, but I wouldn't mind trying it out for a spell. If someone wanted to do a bit of blackmailing, the Hanson family would certainly make a good target. A son who has been in trouble before will certainly be in trouble again." He was thinking back to his own past, but stopped talking as he heard footsteps approach the room.

Faith came in and they rose in unison as she made her entrance. She was followed by a well-dressed man. Jack could tell they were both trying to hide their shock upon seeing Ezra in the house, sitting comfortably on the sofa as if he belonged there.

"Mister Blackwood, may I introduce you to Mister Ethan Davis," she said uncertainly. "Ethan is a dear friend of mine who came over to see if he could help in any way." She smiled at her friend, apparently glad to have someone else to look at besides these two strangers.

Jack looked Davis over. He was wearing a fine European-cut suit and carried a silver-tipped cane. He was tall, with longish blond hair and a patrician nose. His clothes were obviously tailor-made and he carried himself rather arrogantly. This was the type of man who had never worked an honest day in his life, but lived off the wealth of his ancestors. Davis was glancing at the black man distastefully and kept himself close to Faith as if to protect her from any sudden move.

Davis gave a little bow. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mister Blackwood," he said with a half-hidden southern drawl. "I'm sure you will be of great service to Faith in finding her lost brother."

"I will do my best," Jack replied with disdain. He didn't expect anything of worth to come from the mouth of such a dandy.

"As I said, I hope you can bring him home. She is most worried about her brother and fears for his safety."

"She has the right to be," Jack said. "But I've been rude. May I introduce you both to my partner, Mister Miller?" Jack said this with some relish, expecting the usual social awkwardness that came when he presented his friend to strangers.

They turned to look at the ex-slave with puzzled looks on their faces. Faith blushed slightly while Davis just scowled.

Ezra gave a little bow with a smirk on his face. "It's a pleasure, Miss Hanson. Mister Davis," he said.

"He is your partner?" Faith asked, her voice climbing with amazement.

"We have been working together for quite a few years" Jack replied. "I was in a tight situation with a noose, and he came to my rescue without waiting for me to ask."

"I don't like to see a man being beaten and hung by a mob," Ezra said simply. "Some villains that Jack was trailing took it upon themselves to hang him by the neck. It seemed just a little unfair to me."

Jack relaxed a little since he enjoyed retelling one of his old cases. "I had been on the trail of some horse thieves. I didn't realize that one of my informants had been waiting for the chance to double-cross me. He let the criminals know what hotel I was staying at. I woke up in the middle-of-the-night to find a crowd in my room hauling me out to hang me. Luckily, Mister Miller here came to the rescue most efficiently. We've worked together ever since," he said proudly. "I trust him fully and if you hire me, you also hire Ezra. He has important contacts within Washington and is an invaluable source of information for me."

"I see," Faith replied uncertainly. "But what kind of information could he possibly get?"

"Ezra knows the servants of just about every important family in Washington. Every rumor, scandal, or just interesting bit of gossip eventually comes his way. You would be amazed what servants hear through the course of a day."

Faith said wanly, "I can only imagine what our servants could say about our family."

"Maybe it's something my partner already knows," Jack replied dryly. "You mentioned earlier your father wanted to talk to us. Is he ready to receive us?"

"You must understand that father can only see one person at a time. He has not been healthy of late and can only handle so much strain," Faith explained.

"That will not be a problem," he said while giving his friend a wink. "Mister Miller can wait here while I go see your father." He could tell that Faith was uncomfortable with the idea of taking Ezra to see her father, but did not want to press the issue at this time.

Davis turned once again to Faith. He kissed her hand and pressed it to his. "I must be going now. If you need anything, you know where to reach me."

Faith blushed like a rose and replied, "Thank you, Mister Davis. I am always grateful for your assistance."

"I will do anything to help find your brother," Davis said with sickly sweet tones. He then looked at Jack. "I hope you are good enough to work for the Hanson family. Few men are." With those final words, he left.

Jack watched him leave with distaste, reconsidering his original impression of Davis as a mere dandy. This was someone not to be trusted.

She continued speaking to him, not noticing the expression on his face. "Please, let's go and see my father."

"Very well," Jack replied solemnly. He motioned for Ezra to stay seated as he followed Faith out of the room

"Father hasn't been quite the same since mother died," Faith explained as they walked. "He's quite lonely in this old house. I wish I could spend more time with him, but he always asks me to leave after a while. He doesn't feel it is right for someone young, like myself, to waste my time taking care of him. But what can I do?" Her lips settled into a small frown. "Please don't get him too agitated with the wrong type of questions. His doctor says it is best if he remains calm at all times."

"He doesn't sound like the sort of man who would be easy excited - especially after all the years he spent in Congress."

"Well, yes, but he isn't a young man anymore. I have to spend a lot of my time making sure he gets the help he needs. Lawrence never has any time to help me, and you know how servants are." Her eyes rolled a little as she spoke.

"Not really, I never had one since I've had to make my own way through this world." He stretched out his hands, motioning towards the rich furnishings. "I've never had anything quite like this. Best thing I got for free were the meals I got when I was in the army."

Faith gave a gentle laugh. "I'm sorry," she hesitated "I just assumed Mister Miller would be looking after your wants."

"He does to a certain degree. I'm apparently a difficult man to get along with, but we try to share in the housework. He's a good man and always carries his own weight. I know some people will look down on a freeman, but he's been the most loyal friend any man could ask for."

Faith looked embarrassed. She led him on and began speaking quickly as if to change the subject. "Father is in the garden, enjoying the spring weather. Please follow me out."

They had now walked to the back of the house, having passed through the living room and kitchen. Through the back door, they entered a well-tended garden. A brick pathway led across a manicured lawn which stretched to the fence in the distance. Young leaves on a row of oak trees created a light shade.

Mister Hanson was resting on a wooden chair, using a large overcoat as a lap blanket. He held a cane tightly against the side of his leg. As they drew closer towards him, he looked up and smiled.

"Good morning, Faith" his frail voice said. Jack had the sense of a man almost apologetic for his age and failing health. He began appraising the detective with shrewd eyes jaded by years of service. He had a strong face, wrinkled by time and experience. His hands were liver-spotted and waxy.

"Father, this is Mister Blackwood," Faith introduced them. "He is willing to help us locate Lawrence."

"Good day, sir." He bent forward to shake the old man's hand. The hand was cold and damp. The handshake itself was weak, but Daniel Hanson kept his eyes locked on Jack's.

The old man's voice suddenly became business-like and only trembled slightly with age. "After Lawrence disappeared, I telegraphed my dear sister for advice. She was once in need, and I have word from her that you once helped her husband out of a particularly delicate situation."

This was a man who was used to being listened to, and it was evident that he did not like to ask anyone for help. Jack said, "Yes, I remember that case. It concerned a young lady. With the kind of money that was being asked, the villain was going to make your brother-in-law go bankrupt within weeks. There wasn't much time left when I was called in, but I was persuasive enough to get the photographs back from the would-be blackmailer."

"My niece was such a fool to trust a man like that claiming to be an artist. But I'm hoping that you will have the power to help us in our hour of need. As my daughter has already told you, my son Lawrence has gone missing." He began coughing and afterwards wiped his lips on a handkerchief dug up from his breast pocket. "I want you to understand that whatever I tell you is strictly confidential. If any of this gets out, my family name will surely be ruined."

"We always keep the information of our clients confidential," Jack said. "We are expected to be discreet in all of our doings."

"What about the police? If it were necessary to turn the matter over to them, how would the publicity be handled?"

"I involve the police if the only recourse left is to use the law, or if the situation has gotten beyond my control. If the police have information I need, I will try to maintain my client's anonymity." Jack knew that he was telling a lie, since he had already asked for Garrett's help. But the Hanson family need never know of this since his friend could be trusted to remain quiet.

"Good, I am glad to hear that," Daniel Hanson wheezed.

"Please tell me what you know of your son's disappearance?"

The old man shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked embarrassed as he began telling his story. "Lawrence has always been an impulsive child. He was born shortly after Faith here was. Perhaps I was too old to have children and spoiled the both of them. When his mother Patricia was still alive, she had some control over him. But ever since her death, I have had little time to keep the discipline required for youngsters. You see, the Congress was my home for many years, so he was rarely punished by my hand. Perhaps I was too lenient with the boy, but he was so loved by his mother, I couldn't find it in my heart to hurt him. Faith here has always done her best at helping to raise him, but she was just a girl at the time. She's tried to fill the role of mother, but he rarely listened to her."

"Go on," Jack said quietly. It surprised him how much Daniel Hanson was willing to open up to a stranger and tell the family secrets. Most of the time, he had to cajole and wheedle information out of men. Perhaps Mister Hanson was lonely enough to be happy to have someone new to talk to.

"Lawrence had a few brushes with the law, but nothing too terrible, mind you. He just had some impulsive behavior that had been taken too far. Even the City Ward came looking for him on more than one occasion, but I managed to keep Lawrence out of trouble. A man in my position can usually find the right ear or the right amount of money to change hands. After a while, he seemed to have straightened out. He began going to more social functions and spending his time amongst the sons and daughters of several well-placed friends of mine."

Daniel Hanson cleared his throat and dabbed his mouth before continuing. "That's when the real trouble began. Last year, he met and began to see another woman. For good reasons, he kept it quite secret from Faith and me. She was a beautiful young woman who had the decided misfortune of already being married."

Faith turned away from the both of them, apparently embarrassed by her brother's adultery.

The old man looked at her and shook his head. "Faith doesn't like to hear these kinds of things about her brother. Perhaps she has spent too much time here, taking care of me. She should have married a good man by now and have left this house."

Faith blushed and said, "Please, father, Mister Blackwood doesn't want to hear about our troubles outside of Lawrence."

Daniel Hanson shook his head stubbornly and continued. "This woman that my son was seeing - she was a good looking woman, married to an older fool of a man. Lawrence would have done anything for her, not realizing that he could never have her, at least not the way he wanted to. But he was making a fool out of himself, and when I found out what he was doing, I decided to step in and stop it all."

"And how did you do that?" Jack asked. "It's hard to get a man to stop loving a woman, even if she breaks his heart."

"I shortened the amount of his allowance and made him work for the balance. I also had a friend who helped him get a job with the War Department. I thought the work would do him some good and keep his mind off of her."

"Was that enough?" Jack asked.

"The threat of losing his money and the daily work seems to have cleared out the infatuation in his heart. For the past year, he worked hard at the office. Sure, he may have gone out at night and gambled a few times a month – but he seems to have finally forgotten the woman.

"Just as the Secession broke out, he started to spend less time at home. At first I thought it was just because of the extra hours at the office that would be needed during these uncertain times. But there was word from his supervisor that Lawrence's work was poor and he was showing up late, if at all."

"In what way was his work poor?" Jack asked.

"Apparently Lawrence would often complain of being sick and seek time away from work. Now he has been gone for two days now. The War Department claims he stole some valuable papers and they are busily searching the town for him."

"What do you know about this man, Abbott? Your daughter showed me a note that could have come from him."

He momentarily gazed at the trees as if distracted. He then returned his attention back to Jack with a shake of his head. "As far as Mister Abbott goes, I can tell you very little. I'm not sure what their relationship was beyond occasionally meeting to play cards."

"I will go and ask this Abbott some questions."

"Please, find my son, and if possible, clear his name," Daniel pleaded, his voice wrought with emotion.

"I can only try," Jack replied solemnly. "But I promise that I will do my best. First, I will need you to agree to my daily fee and I will need some further information on his employer. A photo of Lawrence would also help in my search."

"My son worked for a man named William Forsythe. He is an Under-Secretary at the War Department. I will give you a note with an introduction if you need to see him."

"Yes, that will be fine," Jack said. "He will probably be less than pleased to see me, but I'm sure we can come to an understanding. Now about my fee, I will require another note that I am working on your behalf and a signed retainer of one hundred dollars. This retainer will be returned upon completion of the case. I will need to be paid ten dollars a day and I will also require payment of any expenses that come along in the course of my investigation."

"Your fee seems rather high," Daniel Hanson replied with his lips pursed. "Why do you require so much money?"

Jack grinned inwardly at the show of Mister Hanson's tight-fistedness. He said: "I can have many expenses – information costs money and only silver can start some tongues. But with my fee also comes confidentiality."

Daniel Hanson looked thoughtful before answering. "Very well, I will see that everything is arranged. I want you to know that Lawrence is still my son and I expect you to turn over Heaven and Earth trying to get him back to me."

"I will," Jack replied.

*

Faith led Jack back to the parlor. Ezra stood as they entered, clearly impatient to leave the house.

Jack nodded at him and then turned his attention back to Faith. "I will send you a message if we find anything soon. I will also be sure to stop by when I can so you will receive personal updates of our investigation."

"I will be looking forward to hearing from you," she said shyly. "If you need anything else from me, please let me know."

"I will," Jack replied with a grin. This girl was not only beautiful; she had a smile that warmed his heart. "C'mon, Ezra, let's go."

They left the house and pulled themselves onto their horses. Jack threw the boy another penny and gave him a word before riding away. "Don't spend that fortune all at once. Save some for your mother."

"Yes, sir," the boy answered meekly, looking intently at the penny before shoving it into his pocket.

Jack and Ezra rode down the bricked lane leading down to the main road below.

"I don't think that Davis character liked me all that much," his partner joked.

"Ezra, some people take a long time to learn. With his background, he may never learn." Jack gently patted the side of his horse's head. "I'm surprised you didn't beat some sense into him."

"If we didn't need the money, I would have," he replied coldly.

"Well, I don't think we will run into him again. Let's go and visit this Mister Abbott
Chapter 4

A Gentleman's Narrative Continued

I have just returned from a visit to the Hanson house. After reading that newspaper account of her brother's disappearance, I was pleased to be of some service to Miss Hanson, if only as a confidant. Also I must admit my curiosity was aroused as well. Miss Hanson related the facts to me much as they had been reported in the press. I held her hand as she sobbed out her troubles. It was a most touching sight.

Unfortunately our visit was interrupted by the arrival of a detective. Miss Hanson and her father seem to think the City police force needs the help of an outsider to locate their wayward relative. I must say I am not inclined to think much of this detective, Mister Blackwood. To begin with, his partner is a Negro, an ex-slave I assume, with a scarred face. I'm not sure of the wisdom of trusting a delicate affair such as this to a man who befriends a Negro. Secondly this detective's appearance was nowhere near gentlemanly. He looks to be a few years younger than me, perhaps in his mid-thirties at the oldest, has a weathered face, dark eyebrows, hair longer on top, with a pronounced widow's peak. His coat was definitely frayed at the shoulders, and his shirt looked as if it had been slept in.

I cut my visit to Miss Hanson short, shorter than I had intended. I kept most of my reservations to myself about this detective and hoped to convey some of my meaning to him by a glance. Alas, the look was lost on Mister Blackwood, affirming his inability to deduce things, at least to me. He does appear to have some rugged good looks, so perhaps there one can find the explanation as to why Miss Hanson agreed to employ him. I kissed her hand in parting, conscious in the knowledge that her damp handkerchief had pressed a circle into my best suede overcoat. At least I had done my duty.

Perhaps this Mister Blackwood deliberately hides his ability behind this façade of shabbiness to deceive people from the truth. As if in underestimating him, they will then become unguarded and reveal certain facts. Or perhaps he is just slovenly and inept and scrapes for a meager living and these are the only clothes he can afford. I must confess that I am entirely preoccupied with appearances, especially clothing. From the upbringing of my family, it seemed that the most important thing that one might do in a day was dress to prepare for it. Perhaps this blinds me to the value of other men since at times I cannot see past what they are wearing.

At any rate Miss Hanson may need further assistance in this matter, and I will make a point to make myself available to her should I be called upon.

But once again I am letting my mind wander. I had been thinking about the Southern conflict, and how businesses are affected by it. I feel no need to take a loyalty oath to the Union or to declare where my interests lie and how my profits from whatever business which I may be interested in at the time will be invested. I was happy to take business over from my uncle when he passed on. He had launched it on his own, and, on his visits to us at home, imparted to me how satisfying it could be. This business –importing dry goods – kept me traveling from time to time, which came to be a hassle. I sold the business when a reasonable offer came along, but I have kept up with some of my old business contacts in other cities. Most of my time now is spent in leisure pursuits, although I manage to find other work occasionally.

*

They traveled back to the central part of Washington, passing several loaded Army wagons along the way. Lewis Abbot's apartment was on the top floor of a large brick, four-story building on North Capitol Street. It was a highly respectable part of town known to house Senators and Congressmen. The sidewalk up to the front entrance was bricked and swept clean. After they tied their horses to a nearby post, Jack looked grimly up at the building.

"Not exactly the home of a villain," Ezra commented.

"In my experience, some of the richest of men have gotten their gain through unscrupulous means."

Jack presented his calling card to the bored-looking doorman. The doorman raised an eyebrow after reading the card and told them to wait until he returned. He was gone for a few minutes and then smugly answered their query, "You will find Mister Abbott's apartment on the fourth floor." He continued to eye Ezra warily after pointing them towards the stairway.

They went through the exquisite marble entrance, past a sleepy desk clerk and then climbed the dark-carpeted flight of stairs to the top floor. They then went through a richly decorated hallway and stopped at a door with a gold-plated placard indicating that this is where Abbott resided.

"Let's see what kind of man we are dealing with," Jack said to his partner in a low voice. He knocked and waited.

The door opened and before them stood a middle-aged butler with a long nose and dark eyes. "Ah yes, Mister Abbot will see you. If you could come this way," he said. He motioned them into the apartment.

The apartment was well-appointed with new furniture and thick plush rugs. The shades over the windows were drawn and the gas fixtures were turned low, giving an eerie glow to the room. They followed the butler into a large living room, where two men were waiting. One was tall and dark-haired, sitting silently in a low chair with a large Colt Navy pistol resting in his lap. The other man was sitting on the sofa, smoking a cigarette. He was hunched over, studying the large tumbler he held before him. Upon hearing then arrive, he looked up and purposefully dropped the cigarette into his drink.

Jack studied him and saw a middle-aged man who was obviously still proud of his looks. The thinning hair was carefully cut and combed over in feeble attempt to hide a bald spot. He was wearing a fine suit of clothes that looked if they had been pressed just that day. Although fit, he looked like he led a hard life with an excess of drinking. He was also just beginning to grow thick in the middle.

The man nodded to his butler. "Good, good – that will be all, Thomas."

The butler gave a bow and left.

Jack looked around the room and saw several fine paintings and a large rug before an unlit fireplace. He then turned his attention back to face the man at the sofa. "Lewis Abbott, I presume. This is a nice place you have here. My name is Jack Blackwood, and this is my associate, Mister Miller. We were hired by the Hanson family."

"I am Abbott. I've heard of you before. A detective."

"I'm not surprised. Then you know what to expect from me."

Abbott smirked, lifted his hand up toward Jack as if to stop his talking, and said: "Before you even start, I want you to know that I don't deny knowing Lawrence. We met over a year ago at a gentleman's club. We both share a passion for playing cards. You must understand that our relationship is quite casual, and I bear the lad no ill-will."

The man with the pistol shifted in his chair, his cool eyes watching the conversation disinterestedly.

"I'm happy to hear that," Jack said. "Do you know where Lawrence could be at this time? His family is most concerned to know of his whereabouts."

"I really don't know where he could be," Abbott replied quickly. "But I hope he is found alive and well soon."

"You don't seem overly concerned," Jack said plainly. He did not like Abbott's indifference and found the man with the Colt a bit unnerving.

"Stevenson," Abbot said, his voice matter-of-fact. "I want you to remember these two."

The man named Stevenson then stood up and studied Jack and Ezra impassively. He was quite tall and held the gun on his side with the barrel pointed towards the floor. He had the eyes of an experienced killer and his face remained lifeless as he looked them over. "Yes, sir," he replied flatly. "I'll remember them, and take care of them if they make any kind of trouble for you." His voice was the same as his expression - cold. Stevenson then sat back down and continued to watch them impassively with the pistol cradled in his lap.

Ezra sensed the silent challenge from him and stood with his arms crossed and his jaw tensed.

"Don't think that your trained puppy scares me all," Jack said mockingly. "I came here to ask you some questions about Lawrence."

"Then get on with it," Abbot yawned, raised an eyebrow at them and shifted his weight further back into the couch. "You must understand, I had a long night and don't understand why you are even asking me these questions in the first place."

"Lawrence Hanson has disappeared and several sources tell us you were there at the Gay Lady Saloon the night he went missing."

"Who are these sources?" Abbott asked, his face slowly reddening with anger.

"Never mind, just tell us why you met Lawrence there." It was obvious to Jack that Abbot was hiding something. He was also beginning to get impatient with the evasive answers. It was a tiresome business.

"In all the years I've spent in Washington. I've never even heard of such a saloon."

"It's a rundown place over on French Street," Jack replied shortly.

Abbott lazily reached into a wooden box on the table and pulled out a cigarette. Striking a match, he lit the cigarette and looked over the flame. "A man of my means wouldn't be spending his time in a place like that. I'll tell you right here and now that I did not see or meet Lawrence that night."

Ezra took a step towards Abbott. "We happen to know otherwise," he spoke sharply. "We have a note telling Lawrence to meet you there," he bluffed.

Jack motioned his partner back. "What he says is true, Abbott."

Lewis Abbott quickly stood up and pointed with the cigarette at them. "I said I wasn't there. I did not write any note for Lawrence. I may have met him on occasion – he was such a good partner in cards - but I have no idea where he is now. Why would I have a reason to lie to you?"

Jack handed the note over that he received from Faith Hanson. "This isn't your handwriting?

Abbott studied the note, reading it with a frown. He handed the note back to Jack and gave him a smug smile. "Anyone could have written that note to him."

Jack didn't believe him and used another tactic to question him. "How did you know that we were coming to visit you?"

"Lawrence and I were seen together," Abbott replied slowly. "It's only natural that you would come to see me. His sister never liked me, so I'm not too surprised that she tried to hire someone to try to intimidate me. She puts too much stock in me if she can even consider that I am to blame in any way."

"How often did you meet with Lawrence?"

"We had certain common interests in cards and drink. We got along rather well at social events and our friendship grew from there. I'd say we met at least twice a month, maybe more often. His sister grew to hate me, since she considered me such a bad influence on her brother. Well, you know how those churchy women are. In her eyes, I am the devil incarnate."

"That may be so, but I still don't know what you are hiding from us," Jack quickly said. "We just want to discover where Lawrence is right now. If you won't tell us, we will be bound to find out somehow. Just make sure to watch yourself carefully, Mister Abbot, because we'll be watching you."

Abbott laughed. "Am I supposed to be afraid of you two? My man here can easily handle the both of you at the same time."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "You've managed to escape the law before, but I'm afraid this time it will be different. The government has taken an interest in this case. I'm not representing them, but if I find out where Lawrence or those papers are, I may have to tell them."

Lewis Abbott's jaw bulged with anger. "I suggest you leave before I have you thrown out. My man would be more than happy to do the job."

Suddenly, Stevenson was standing, his gun at the ready, his eyes moving between Jack and Ezra. His face was still flat and empty, but his eyes were ablaze with the anticipation of a fight.

Shaking his head with disbelief, Jack turned to his partner and gave him a lopsided grin. "He's quick with the threats."

"He sure is," Ezra replied through gritted teeth. "Maybe a little too quick."

Jack returned his attention back to Abbot. "You'll find me a hard man to get rid of. C'mon, Ezra, let's go and find some better company." With those last words, they turned to leave.

Lewis Abbot followed them. He said, "If you will not listen to reason, Mister Blackwood, perhaps you would listen to money. I have two hundred dollars here to keep you away from me. I do not intend to be implicated in any kind of scandal since I am innocent of any wrongdoing."

This offer, especially after the threats, surprised Jack. "My job is to serve the interest of the Hanson family. I shall not be bought off like a common constable on the street."

"You would be better off if you took my money. If you are waiting for a larger sum, you must understand I won't waste my time haggling with a poor detective like yourself."

Jack stared at him and finally said, "We'll find our own way out." They left, slamming the door shut. He strode down the stairs with his partner following close behind. Outside Abbot's apartment building, they saddled up and began slowly riding down the street where they joined the busy afternoon traffic of men, horses, and wagons.

"I guess we know a little more about Mister Abbott," Jack started. "Although he has a nice place, I don't like the company he keeps."

It took Ezra a moment to answer. Their meeting had left him a little tense, and he was sitting poker straight in the saddle. He spat out, "He makes a nicer gentleman to look at than to talk to. Perhaps he just wanted to get rid of us quickly, before we could find out anything important, and so he resorted to threats and rudeness. His manners won't win him any friends here."

"Makes me wonder - what else do you think he knows..." Jack said, his voice trailing off a little as he thought about what tack to follow next. He finally said, "Ezra, I will head down to the War Department to have a talk with Lawrence's employer. I want you to find out what you can about Abbot. He's the spider in the middle of this web and we need to know more about him. When you're done, let's meet back at the Gay Lady Saloon. It's time we take a look at the last place he was seen. Perhaps we can scare up some more information. There's bound to be someone there who saw Abbott or Lawrence that night."

"I'll ask a few of the servants I know," Ezra said nodding his head. "A man like Abbott will try to cover his tracks very carefully, but he must slip up eventually. Some of his past blackmail victims might have more information as well. If they are silent out of fear then perhaps their servants would be willing to talk."

"Be careful," Jack replied. "I'm sure Abbot would gladly kill either one of us given the chance. That Stevenson looked to be sick in the head."

His partner laughed and turned his horse towards the residential area. "He wouldn't be the first man who tried to kill me," he said. "And you be careful too. There are more than a few people who wouldn't shed a tear if you were found dead."

"I'll keep that in mind." Jack said. "I'll see you at the saloon soon." He slowly rode on in the dusty street towards the War Department, thinking of Faith Hanson and her long blonde hair.
Chapter 5

The War Office on 17th Avenue sat adjacent to the White House. It was a large, white marbled building, originally built before the turn of the century. Jack pulled himself off of his horse and then tied her to a hitching post on the street. He gently patted the mare's side while he watched a number of soldiers coming and going into the building. Guards were standing on each side of the front entrance, their weapons held nonchalantly. Seeing the army guards reminded him of the old days when his regiment was confined to a fort. These soldiers, like any other, would be tired of standing in one place for so long. Jack thought it would be best to be careful when approaching these men since they would be prone to suspicion just out of sheer boredom. Holding his hands out in the open, he made his approach.

One of the guards carefully looked Jack over. He returned the steady gaze and then carefully pulled a calling card from his jacket pocket. "My name is Blackwood. I'm here to talk to a Mister James Forsythe on behalf of the Hanson family," he said. "I have a note of introduction from Congressman Hanson." He handed the paper and the card over to the soldier.

"One minute, sir." The soldier nodded, took the papers, and entered the building. He returned a few minutes later with another man. "This is Forsythe's personal secretary, Mister Johnson."

"Pleased to meet you, Mister Blackwood," Johnson said politely. He had the quiet and inauspicious manner of a career clerk. "Now if you would come with me, I will take you to see Mister Forsythe."

Jack followed Johnson into the high-ceilinged hall. Their footsteps echoed on the tiled floor as they made their way to the large, curving stairway. They climbed laboriously up to the second floor where there were numerous offices opening to the hallway. The atmosphere was one of barely controlled chaos with several clerks scooting back and forth between the rooms, carrying correspondence.

"You're looking busy here," Jack commented.

"Yes, matters have become quite active lately. But please come this way," Johnson intoned solemnly.

He ushered Jack through a doorway, walked past an empty secretary's desk and then into an imposing dark-paneled office. Behind the desk was a middle-aged man with a thin moustache. As Jack entered, he paused from looking at a sheaf of papers. The man gave a minute nod to his secretary, who left, shutting the door. Gesturing to Jack, he pointed at an empty chair across from the desk.

"Mister Forsythe?" Jack asked.

"As you can see, I'm a very busy man. What exactly did you want to talk to me about?" Forsythe said with quick, sharp words. His appearance was haggard – obviously a man who worried too much.

Jack had considered how to approach this man on his ride to the office building. So he measured his words carefully before speaking. "My name is Blackwood. I've been asked by the Hanson family to inquire after Lawrence Hanson's disappearance. I was hoping you could give me some more information about those missing papers."

"Just exactly who are you Mister Blackwood?" Forsythe asked bluntly.

"I am a detective."

"A detective? So you make a living prying into the business of others." Forsythe's tone was one of distaste.

Jack decided at this point it was better to be polite. "I've been working as a detective in Washington for the past four years. I originally worked for Pinkerton's National Detective Agency. I made good money when I worked for him, but I tired of the constant travel. I don't earn as much with my own practice, but I don't have to answer to anyone but myself."

"Pinkerton, eh? They've been useful to us in the past."

"I can also be useful to you if you would let me. As I was saying, what can you tell me about Lawrence Hanson?"

Forsythe's eyes suddenly blazed with anger. "That's simple enough. He's a thief and a scoundrel. That is all you need to know about him." Forsythe looked harshly at him with bloodshot eyes, the lips curling in hatred.

"I'm afraid I'll need to know more than that," Jack said sharply. He kept his eyes level with Forsythe as he spoke. "His family is worried about Lawrence and I'm going to be representing them while this search for him takes place. Now what exactly did he take from here that is so important?"

"He stole some extremely sensitive documents from this very office. Our strategic situation could be dire if that information is leaked to the Secessionists. I have great respect for Daniel Hanson which was the only reason I employed the boy in the first place. Otherwise I had great misgivings about the matter. Rumor was that Lawrence was a ne'er do well, but I was still willing to give him a chance."

"What are you doing now to regain the papers?"

"I have several of my men combing the city to trace the whereabouts of Lawrence, and they will take him by force if necessary." Forsythe then stood up, gripping the edges of his desk and raised his voice. "We should have suspected Hanson of being a spy - he'd behaved less than honorably in the past. But with his father's credentials, it was hard to think that someone like that would be so traitorous." He then gave a short embarrassed sigh and looked out the window, evading Jack's eyes.

Jack was beginning not to care for this man at all, who seemed to have a hair-trigger temper. "I don't care about his guilt or innocence," he said. "My job is to find out where he is."

"I understand your position, but you must know that Lawrence is definitely guilty. When he is caught, he will be tried for treason and most likely hanged if I have anything to do with it."

"His family will attend to clearing his name, if that is possible. If some evidence comes to light proving his innocence, I will pass that on to them. My job is just to find him. I don't care about his innocence or guilt. Now he couldn't have gone far unless he managed to escape from the city. Right now, I know it is difficult to leave Washington through normal channels due to the war situation, but if someone really needed to get out of the city then there is always a way.

Forsythe said impatiently, "We haven't seen or heard anything of his whereabouts yet, but we have several leads that we are following."

"I see," Jack said noncommittally.

"You must understand that this is an extremely sensitive government issue. My suggestion to you, sir, is to leave this matter in our hands. We will find him no matter where he hides. And I personally don't like the interference of outsiders, be they journalists or hired detectives." His expression changed to an expression of forced formality.

Jack pulled a cigar from his pocket. "I am sorry to disappoint you, but I will have to do my job unless the family thinks otherwise. I came here hoping we could help each other out." He pulled out a match and lit the cigar, the ghost of a smile on his mouth.

Forsythe waved the cigar smoke away and looked at him with some distaste. But then the face suddenly softened. "Perhaps you may be of some assistance in this matter. Please remember that if you do find Lawrence, you will have to let me know immediately."

"If the family agrees, then I can do that. If I do find the papers, I will immediately return them to you. They are of no concern to me since I've only been hired to find Lawrence."

"You must understand that these are awkward times. Tell me, do you have any ties to the South?"

Jack laughed. "I'm Yankee through and through. You can also check my army record if you have any doubts to my loyalty."

"I will. Keep in mind those plans are more important than any man's life. We need the information held in those papers to remain secret."

"I know you cannot necessarily tell me, but what exactly were the papers about, and what makes them so important to you?" Jack asked. He looked about for an ash tray, found none, so instead tapped his cigar ash on the floor. "If I knew what they contained, perhaps I could figure out who might be after them, and why."

Forsythe cleared his throat, dropped his voice, and spoke in a secretive tone. "This is strictly confidential, even though those blasted newspapers will have the story printed soon enough. The Anaconda Plan was drafted just a few weeks ago. It is too sensitive to share any specifics with you, but they detail future Army and Navy movements. Part of our plan is to stop the South from getting materials to prosecute the war. General Winfield Scott wrote the Anaconda Plan to blockade the Southern ports and take control of the entire Mississippi. By isolating the South, we shall force it to capitulate since without the money from selling their cotton, they won't be able to fight for any length of time."

Jack thought about this before answering. If those plans fell into enemy hands, it would increase the length of the war and put more troops into harm's way. "I can understand how important this would be to the War Department." he said earnestly.

"Keep that in mind, or there may be trouble for you," Forsythe said, his blood-veined eyes narrowing.

Jack stood up to leave. He opened the door and turned to face Forsythe. "I've seen a lot of trouble in my time. I reckon some more won't hurt. I certainly don't expect any real trouble from the likes of you." He then left before he heard Forsythe's reaction.

Johnson, the clerk, was sitting at his desk when Jack passed him by. He smiled at Jack and gave him a nod as if pleased to see Forsythe had been talked to in such a forward manner.
Chapter 6

Jack rode down French Street trying to find the Gay Lady Saloon. The evening was beginning to settle upon Washington, casting long shadows along the streets. In this neighborhood the few decent people scurried indoors before the sun set. The rest tried to find solace in a cup of liquor or the fleeting pleasures that could be bought for a few coins. When he discovered the place, Jack saw that the saloon itself was a sad establishment - an old, graying, one-story building with rough, wooden steps leading up to the front door which had a stained window set inside the wood. He pushed himself off of his gray mare and tied the bridle to the hitching post amongst several other horses.

Ezra's horse could not be seen, so Jack concluded that his friend was still busy tracking down information. Instead of waiting, he walked up the creaking steps, pushed open the decrepit door to the saloon, and walked inside. The tavern was poorly lit, clouded with tobacco smoke, and smelled of sweat and beer. Some of the patrons paused momentarily to look at Jack, but he was mostly ignored by the press of men. The main room had a long bar where a few customers sat. A few tables were scattered on the floor, here card playing seemed to be the principal occupation.

Jack went to the stained bar and stuck his boot on the brass rail below. The bartender had long greasy hair that was unkempt and thinning, but he appeared stout enough to handle any trouble from his usual low-class drinkers. He watched Jack with uneasy eyes.

"What can I get ya?" the bartender grumbled.

"A shot of whiskey will do just fine, and have one for yourself." Jack said kindly. He thought if this bartender was working the night that Lawrence disappeared, he might have seen something of interest. It was best to ply this man with a little liquor first.

The bartender gave a raised an eyebrow, pulled a bottle from behind the bar, and poured two shots into a pair of dirty glasses. "Feeling generous, eh? What are you after?"

"Not much," Jack said taking the glass from the bar, and looking dubiously into it.

"I haven't seen you here before. Most of my customers don't have the time or money to buy me a drink. Well, here's to your health."

"And here's to yours," Jack replied, quickly downing the low quality whiskey with a short gulp. Afterwards he placed the small shot glass back on the bar. "Well, that wasn't too bad," he lied, holding back a grimace. "Let's have another drink, friend, now that you've got the bottle out."

"I'm no friend of yours," the bartender said with contempt. "You can call me Mister Tinen if you need to call me something. I own this place and don't take shit from anyone."

"Well, Mister Tinen, you will learn that I'm a good friend to have. I always buy the first round, and I usually buy the second."

"I'm not the kind to have many words with strangers, even if they are throwing money around." He began to look at Jack more closely in the gloom. "What do you want here?" he snarled.

"Now hold on. I'm just looking for someone. Take a look at this picture and tell me what you know about him." He pulled out the small photograph of Lawrence that he had gotten from the family and slid it towards the barkeep. "I'll be paying for good information, my friend. So last Tuesday night, did you see this gentleman here?"

The bartender squinted at the picture but stopped short of picking it up. He then quickly glanced around to see if anyone was overhearing the conversation. The volume of his voice dropped to a throaty whisper. "How much money are we talking about?"

"How much do you want?"

"For twenty dollars, I can tell you everything I know."

Jack shook his head. "Let's make it ten for now. If I like what I hear, I'll give you ten more."

Tinen shrugged his shoulders in resignation. "Okay, I'll talk," he whispered.

Jack gave him a ten dollar coin.

"That boy was here alright, but he didn't stay long. Now again, why exactly do you want to know?"

"All you need to know is that his family is looking for him. Keep in mind they can give even more money to the man who helps me find him. Now what do you remember about that night?"

Tinen again kept his voice low enough so the other customers could not hear his words over the din. "It was a busy night. I think he was here for just a short time to meet someone. I'm not completely sure since I was busy tending my customers."

Jack slid over another five dollars. "If you could think a little harder, then you'll get the other half."

In the low light of the bar oil lamps, a small man leaning against the rough wall could be seen trying to listen in to the conversation. After a moment, he stood up and walked towards Jack and Tinen. The bartender quickly glanced towards him and gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod. Jack did not notice this interaction.

"Let me see," the bartender suddenly smiled. "By the way, my friends call me Patrick, and they all know that I've never steered them wrong."

Jack was surprised by the sudden turn of friendliness. "Well, Patrick, exactly who did this man Lawrence see that night?"

"I saw that gentleman talking to a local money lender - a Mister Brinker. They had a most animated conversation, and then they both left in a hurry. Brinker appeared to be angry with Lawrence. I'm not sure what they were talking about since they were too far away for me to hear what they were arguing about."

"Brinker? Are you sure about that?" Jack asked in surprise. He had been certain he would hear Abbott's name mentioned and was wondering how this new character could be involved with Lawrence.

"I'm positive. He is rather well known around here since he has done business with just about everyone in this neighborhood. Go ahead and ask anyone." Tinen spread his arms wide and some of the customers scowled at him before returning to their drinks.

"What do you know about a man named Lewis Abbott? Was he here that night?" Jack asked impatiently. He had been sure that Abbott was lying and this information Tinen was so willing to give contradicted what he knew so far.

"Abbott? I don't think I've ever heard of anyone named Abbott coming around here," Tinen said with finality.

Jack changed his line of questioning. "Was this Mister Brinker a regular customer here? What more can you tell me about him?"

"He's been in a few times. Drinks a little, talks a lot, and usually leaves before we close. He lives in a rooming house just near the river. I can even tell you the address."

Jack frowned and gave him the other five dollars. "Go ahead."

Tinen smiled as he picked up the coin. "As I said, everyone in this neighborhood has done business with him. It's 171 Ninth Street, just a few blocks from here. " He pointed eastward, in the general direction of the street. "He has a room on the upper floor."

Jack got ready to leave. "Thanks again for your help tonight. If your information is any good, I'll see that you get a few more dollars for your trouble."

"That would be much appreciated," Tinen said with a grin on. "Now make sure you are careful out there. This neighborhood can be a little rough this time of night."

"Will do," Jack replied as he turned to leave. He was pleased with his good luck. He now had a solid lead on one of the last people who had been seen with Lawrence the night of his disappearance. He pushed his way out of the saloon and stepped into the darkening street. Instead of riding over, he decided to walk the short distance to Brinker's apartment.

Along the street, dirty trash hid in shadows near the buildings. The tenements spilled forth the foul smell of poverty. Not wanting to draw attention, Jack kept his eyes forward as he made his way down the untidy road. Nearby, a local prostitute tried to drum up some business with a drunken soldier, while a gang of men looked on in amusement.

As he came to the street corner and turned onto Ninth Street, Jack tried to see the address numbers on the doors. The road was strangely quiet and he looked warily for trouble. From around the corner of a house, a small rat-faced man in a dirty jacket who was carrying an old battered leather case strode towards him.

"Evening," the man said, looked searchingly at Jack. Without warning, the little man suddenly swung the case and missed as Jack jumped back in surprise. He then whistled twice with his fingers and began stalking the detective again. This time his approach was more cautious. The sound of heavy footsteps could suddenly be heard coming from behind. Before Jack could tell what was happening, a sharp blow landed on his shoulder.

He turned to counter this new attack, his fist smashing into the face of a club-wielding, pug-nosed man. Jack then quickly stepped back to pull his Starr out, but the small man struck quickly with the case, hitting his gun arm. The pistol fell on the dirt of the street and disappeared into the shadows. Jack dodged towards where he had heard the gun fall, but the club lashed out again, forcing Jack back as he clutched his hand in pain. He stumbled into a broken fence.

The man with the club came toward him, a grim smile curling on his thick lips. He swung again, narrowly missing Jack, but striking the fence instead. The wood splintered. Jack kicked him as hard as he could, the blow hitting the man solidly in the stomach. His attacker dropped down to the dusty ground on all fours. Jack kicked again, driving his boot hard into the man's ribs. The man grunted and sprawled out on the dirt, clutching his side in agony.

The rat-faced smaller man then shouted, dropped his case and charged wildly at Jack. He grabbed Jack hard around the waist and tried to pull him over. Jack bent over, grabbed him and twisted hard. The small man fell and sprawled on top of the pug-nosed man who was trying to stand up. They both fell down in a heap, now both groaning in agony.

Jack stopped to get back his breath and looked down on the two men. "You're both damn fools if you think you can take me" he gasped. "I'm harder to roll than the gutter drunks you normally rob."

Both of the men on the ground slowly pushed themselves up, and smiled wickedly, their eyes looking past Jack. He quickly spun around, but before Jack could even see his assailant, a heavy blow landed on the side of his head, forcing him down to his hands and knees. The club lashed out again, hitting Jack squarely in the head. Jack fell down onto his stomach. He nearly passed out from the sudden, red flare of pain.

Jack's vision swam in front of him. He vainly tried to twist away as the new assailant stood over him with the club. The man took careful aim at Jack's bloodied skull and prepared to strike again with a single, killing blow. Jack could no longer focus and found his consciousness slipping away. A clatter of hooves and a distant shot was the last thing he heard.
Chapter 7

Jack opened his eyes and found himself in the bedroom. The room was bright with daylight. A sharp stab of pain throbbed through his temples, making his thoughts come to him in a dizzy spin. He groaned as he shifted his head on the pillow. He looked around and lifted his hand to rub his battered head. The door to his room stood half-open. He could hear the familiar sound of Ezra whistling a tune in the kitchen. The clatter of pans was normally welcome to his ears, but his headache magnified the sound to an uncomfortable volume.

His partner soon pushed open the door and smiled cheerily at him. "Glad to see you awake and still alive," he said. "That hard head of yours must have saved your life." He momentarily disappeared and then returned, carrying a tray with coffee, bacon and eggs. He set it on the bedside table.

"What time is it?" Jack asked, his voice thick and groggy.

"It's getting on in the afternoon. I was wondering if you would ever wake up."

Jack tried to raise himself on the bed and then gave up the struggle. "What happened? Last I remember I was about to be killed over a few dollars."

"I got done talking to my contacts. I then decided to get to the Gay Lady. I was a little late leaving. As I got closer to the saloon, I could see you in the distance. It looked as if someone was following you. I kept the horse at a slow walk and stayed behind to keep watch. When I finally caught up to you, I could see that you were in a bit of trouble."

"I was in trouble alright. What happened after that?"

"I fired my gun into the air. They ran away before they could finish the job on you. In the darkness, they must have thought I was the sheriff."

Jack rubbed his tender head and groaned again. "Did you get close enough to see any of them clearly?" he asked. "You know how I hate to be beaten in a fight. I wouldn't mind paying them back in kind."

Ezra laughed. "I didn't get a good look at them. The street was too dark and I was more worried about the state of your health than anything else. You were half conscious when I got over to you, but I managed to pull you onto my horse. I found your gun in the street and got you and your horse back home in one piece."

"I can imagine that must have been a difficult job. I don't remember anything of the trip back here."

"You were dazed and were mumbling at times. You nearly slid off the horse a few times, so it was slow going. When we got back here, I brought in Doctor Felix. He didn't find any skull fractures, so he suggested that you rest. I kept an eye on you and made sure you lived through the night."

"Well, I'm glad I did, but this headache almost makes me wish it ended there."

Ezra smiled and then stopped when he saw Jack wince once more. "Do you have any idea why they would try to roll you?" he asked. "You weren't staggering drunk and there must have been easier targets to find on the street."

"I'm not sure why anyone would try to rob me," he replied. "I don't exactly look rich," he chuckled, but found the laughter too painful. "They could have seen me spread the wealth with the bartender at the Gay Lady Saloon. I suppose if someone is thirsty enough, they will be willing to rob just about anyone for a drink."

Jack rubbed his head, pushed himself up higher on the bed and started to eat the breakfast that Ezra had prepared for him. He was hungrier than he thought and wolfed down the food.

Ezra quietly smoked a cigarette and waited until his partner had finished his breakfast. "For a man who nearly died, you certainly have a big appetite."

"Thanks for bringing me this food," Jack said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "And thanks again for saving my life."

The black man shrugged his shoulders. "Why were you going down that street? You could have waited for me before you went off by yourself."

"I'm afraid I lost my head. You see, I had a few drinks with the bartender at the Gay Lady and got him to answer a few questions. He told me who Hanson met with the night he went missing. It was a money lender called Brinker. The bartender even knew the address of his rooming house, so I was headed over there to have a talk with him."

Ezra rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I've heard the name Brinker before. He's in the loan business, if you know what I mean. He's the kind of man who preys on the poor, giving them a loan with a very high interest. Of course most of his customers can't pay him back in time and end up paying large fees. And when they don't pay, they get a visit by someone to collect the money."

Jack pulled a cigarette for himself from the tin on the bed stand and lit it. "Did you find out anything interesting yesterday?" he asked, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

"I went to talk to some people I know – butlers and parlor maids that have worked for the Hanson family in the past. No one has seen Lawrence lately, but I got some further inside information on the Hanson family. The father, Daniel Hanson, as we know, rarely leaves the home since his wife's death. The family is known to be quite wealthy, which was evident enough when we visited them. His daughter is his favorite child but he is also indulgent towards Lawrence."

"I'm not surprised by any of this, Ezra."

"I know, it sounds like what Garret already told us. I was hoping to find more dirt than this. But I did find out that Faith Hanson has had several suitors, but all have managed to lose interest, partly due to the devotion she has to her father. She spends more time taking care of his needs than spending time with the men knocking at her door."

"I don't know about that, that Davis fellow looked awfully friendly towards her," Jack said with a slight trace of jealousy. He knew that he should have known better than to feel that way about her. They had only just met, but he had found her beauty and manners intoxicating. Perhaps it was an air of naiveté that held his interest.

"There were a few rumors about those two, but nothing that isn't normally gossiped between people when discussing love. He appears to be just a friend of the family now and has been for quite a while."

"I see," Jack said, not really wanting to hear anything more about that strutting dandy.

"When Faith isn't busy at home, she is involved with several charities, church, and advocating temperance."

"Sounds like my kind of girl," Jack said sarcastically, wondering why he would find someone who was so clean-minded so attractive. Perhaps it reminded him of the more innocent days of his life.

Ezra smiled knowingly and continued. "From what I heard, Lawrence resents his father's success to some degree but is grateful to take advantage of the family's standing in the community. He does not appear to care if he succeeds because he is sure his father will bail him out if he runs into any trouble. He is known to frequent certain local clubs to gamble and has been involved in some hushed-up circumstances. Only through his father's good will has he been able to have any appearance of respectability."

Jack nodded his head slowly, feeling the dull pain in his head begin to recede. "Is there any information that could help us find out where he is now?"

"Well, he was seeing that married woman for quite a while. I found that her name is Elizabeth Mulholland. They were apparently quite in love with each other, but that scandal has mostly been swept under the rug. The two haven't been seen together since then. But he may have gone running back to her, and it's possible he was trying to sell those papers to scrape up enough money to leave town."

"That's a point to consider. See if you can find out where she is living now. But first we should track down this Mister Brinker and see what he has to say about Lawrence. If that doesn't pan out, we'll tackle Miss Mulholland next." Jack got up and walked over to the washbasin to splash some water on his face. "I'll change clothes and meet you at the livery."

Ezra nodded and left.

After changing, a small knock at the office door brought Jack out from his bedroom. Behind the leaded glass, he could see the small figure of Faith Hanson. He hastily brushed his hair carefully back with his hand, trying to look presentable. Jack then graciously opened the door for her and said, "Please come in."

"Good morning, Mister Blackwood."

Jack showed her to the chair and then sat at his desk, waiting for her to talk.

"Have you found out anything yet?" she asked nervously.

Jack pulled out his pouch of tobacco and began rolling a fresh cigarette. "Well, I haven't found Lawrence yet, but I'm starting to get some good leads. The government doesn't appear to be too happy about this situation, and I've managed to get one hell of a headache from some local robbers."

"What do you mean?" she asked with concern.

He took a match and lit the cigarette. "Now don't you worry about it," he replied. "I'm fine. I just had someone try to remove my head last night."

She looked down at the floor quickly, perhaps embarrassed by her show of feelings. She licked her lips before continuing to talk, a light blush on her cheeks. "Father is getting worried about Lawrence. We know he couldn't have stolen those papers, but why hasn't he come home yet?"

"Please, I know it is difficult, but try to be more patient. It's going to take some more time to find him. Miss Hanson, do you know anything about your brother's personal life? He was involved with that married woman, Missus Mulholland, at one time. Do you know anything more about this that your father may not have told me? We are wondering if he tried to meet up with her again, or if she may know anything about this."

She looked quite shocked by these words. "Heavens no, I don't know anything of any use. I met her on several occasions at parties and such, but we never developed any type of friendship. I'm sure Lawrence was quite done with her after father told him to leave her."

"I'm just trying to find out where he could be hiding," Jack said defensively. He tapped the cigarette ash onto the floor. "Do you know anything about a moneylender named Brinker? Lawrence may have been seen with him the night he disappeared."

"A moneylender? Why would my brother be seeing someone like that?"

Jack gestured with his palms up. "When men desperately need money, they will go to great lengths to get it. Did Lawrence have any kind of money problems that you know of?"

"If he ever needed money, he could have seen father."

"What if he needed large sums of money, or was too embarrassed to ask?"

"Lawrence may spend his money a little wildly at times, but he wasn't that big of a gambler or drinker. Father and I would have never allowed that kind of behavior at all."

He grinned wolfishly. "Just what kind of behavior do you allow?"

"Please, Mister Blackwood," she said, blushing.

"Don't mind me," said Jack with a smirk. "I'm not that much of a ladies' man. It appears that your brother may have kept some secrets from you – but I'll keep in mind what you said about him. Today we have some further information that we need to follow up on. We are going to visit a man named Brinker today and find out what he knows. If you hear anything about Lawrence that we need to know, send us a message. Once we find out something definite, I'll be sure to stop by."

"Thank you," she said faintly. She made her goodbyes and left with a worried expression.

*

By the light of day, Ninth Street looked even less appealing. Empty bottles and trash were strewn on the dirty road, along with several residents who merely stared at the passing horses. The rooming house where Brinker lived had a small, covered front porch and high windows. They rode up, got off the horses and tied them to the hitching post. Jack walked up the steps and knocked on the door. A landlady answered the door, glancing suspiciously at them. She opened the door only a crack.

"Does a Mister Brinker live here?" Jack asked politely.

"Yes, he does at that," she answered with a drunken slur. "His room is upstairs, the first on the right." The smell of whisky on her breath wafted towards them.

They pushed past her and made their way up the stairs. The glare of the mid-afternoon sun made it difficult for their eyes to adjust to the dusty gloom of the darkened hallway. Motioning to his partner, Jack pulled his gun out and gently tried the door handle to Brinker's room. It turned freely, so he quickly wrenched it open and rushed into the room with Ezra following close behind. In the corner, a large man stood up from a chair in surprise. His rough face had a nose that looked like it had been broken on several occasions. Sitting next to him at a table, an overweight man wearing glasses and a sour expression looked up from counting a pile of small bills. They both looked alarmed from the unexpected entrance.

"You can have your man sit down. We didn't come to rob you. I just wanted to ask you some questions, Brinker," Jack said sharply, waving his pistol at them.

Brinker motioned towards his man, and the bodyguard sat down. The other hand strayed to his chest as if to ward off an evil spell. "Oh, I really thought you were going to rob me." His reply was a little breathless.

Jack shook his head. "I'm not here to take your money. I just want to know what your dealings are with Lawrence Hanson." He stepped further into the room, allowing Ezra to stand next to him.

"Who are you talking about?" Brinker's fat fingers continued to automatically count the small piles of coins.

Jack slowly strode over to the table. There he stopped and leaned forward to make his point clear. His gun stayed pointed at Brinker. "I heard from someone that you were seen Tuesday night at the Gay Lady Saloon with Lawrence Hanson. You appeared to get in an argument with him and you were both seen leaving together." He put his left hand on the table, the barrel of his gun now resting on Brinker's chest. "Now Mister Hanson has disappeared and you are the last person seen with him. Maybe you can tell us where he is?"

Brinker's hands had stopped and were hovering over the money. He looked up at him, a lopsided grin crossing his face. "I assure you that I know nothing about this. I'm just a simple businessman."

Jack reached over and gently slapped Brinker in the face. The bodyguard stood up and reached into his belt to get his gun, but was too slow.

Ezra already had his Colt out and waved it at the large man. "Better watch it there, big guy," Ezra said through clenched teeth. "Put that gun on the floor, slowly now, and let my man here keep on talking." The bodyguard hesitated, but finally slid his pistol down. He sat down scowling, staring at him with hatred.

Jack continued to keep the Starr pointed at Brinker while all of this was going on.

Brinker rubbed the side of his cheek. "Why did you do that?" he asked with a childish whine.

"I expect to be heard. That's just a little lesson. Now let me ask you again – where is Lawrence Hanson? Did he borrow money from you?"

"Look, I do a lot of business around here, but I don't know anyone named Hanson. If I did, I would tell you. I wasn't in the Gay Lady that night anyway."

"The Hanson family would be just the type of people you would try to squeeze money out of," Jack insinuated.

Brinker licked his lips nervously. "Now hold on, I've heard of the Hanson family, and I must say I wouldn't have anything to do with them."

"And why is that?"

"People in their position would be asking for more money than I could even provide. I don't have the pull to provide the kind of cash a Hanson would need."

Ezra and Jack exchanged a look. Jack thought Brinker was perhaps telling the truth. What could such an insignificant opportunist be doing with Lawrence Hanson? Brinker dealt with small loans for small people. He wouldn't be dealing with hundreds or even thousands of dollars that someone rich would require.

"Why would someone place you at the Gay Lady Saloon?" Jack asked.

"I really don't know. But I'm afraid a man in my position can make many enemies."

"I'm sure you don't mind if I come and talk to you about this matter again, do you?"

"I don't mind," Brinker said amiably, rubbing his cheek absentmindedly as he spoke. "Just don't play so rough next time."

They slowly backed out of the room with Ezra keeping an eye on the bodyguard. With no pursuit, they hastily made their way down the stairs to their horses below. Outside, the afternoon sun was baking the street hot.

Jack spoke as they rode back towards the Gay Lady. "I don't think Brinker is our man. He seems a little too small time to me. Someone like Lawrence would go through cash very quickly – high class bars, gambling, and expensive women. If he wanted to leave town, he would need more money than Brinker could arrange."

Ezra nodded. "Brinker is a bastard, but he is still a small crook. He provides money alright, but it's for the poor that live in this neighborhood. If he did have anything to do with Lawrence, it wasn't in a professional capacity."

They stopped in front of the saloon, which was apparently still not open for business. It looked shuttered and desolate.

"I think we better have a talk with the owner again," Jack said. "Either he's hiding something, or he just gave us the wrong lead by accident." Jack then got down from his mare. He then hammered on the closed front door, but there wasn't any response. "Let's see if there is a rear entrance to this place. There has to be someplace where they load the swill in."

They walked to the small alley in the back of the bar and found a stout wooden door. He again knocked loudly and then listened. Nothing could be heard from the inside of the building.

Ezra shrugged. "It doesn't look like anyone's home, but it wouldn't hurt to take a look."

Jack reached down and turned the knob. The old door swung open freely. The sunlight streamed into a dark back office, making a yellow rectangle on the grubby rough wooden floor. It was a cramped room with empty barrels and a small, crowded desk in the corner. Jack pushed the old door open further and looked into the room. Next to the desk and suspended from the ceiling by a rope was Tinen. His neck was bent at an impossible angle. The tongue hung out of his dead, waxy face.

"Damn," hissed Jack. "It seems like someone else wanted to talk to him too, but they got here first. Find a lamp and we'll see if we can find anything. But let's be quick."

The black man looked up at the body and shook his head. "I hate to see anyone hanged," he murmured to himself.

Jack lit an oil lamp on top of the desk. The nicotine-stained walls shined weakly in the light of the lamp, framing the shadow of the dead body on the wall. "Shut that door Ezra, we don't want to be interrupted."

His partner closed and barred the door. With the door shut, the sour smell of death grew even stronger in the small room.

"Let's take a closer look at our friend here," Jack said. Both of them stood on the desktop while Jack held the lamp closer to the bartender's face. Several bruises could be seen on his face. He put his fingers on the back of the head and felt a bloody, dried-out scab. He said, "Tinen was beat up and then knocked out before they strung him up. If they wanted this to look like suicide, it was a clumsy job."

Ezra looked at the body with disgust. "It must have taken at least three men to do this – at least two to pull the body up while the other watched for unexpected visitors."

"Come on, Ezra, maybe we can find some clues in this dump."

He pulled his eyes away from the grisly scene and went to help. They began to go through the drawers, looking at receipts and a small ledger book. Ezra looked closely at the columns of numbers and said, "It appears this place wasn't too profitable. I wonder where he got the money to even open this joint."

Jack replied, "That's a good question. It wouldn't be too hard to rob a place like this. None of the desk drawers are locked, and I don't even see a safe. If this were my place, I would have a hiding place for money and valuable papers." He then got down on his knees and started knocking against the floorboards looking for a cache.

A row of barrels lined the inside wall. Ezra began shifting the barrels back and forth to see what was in them. "Looks like whiskey here and some beer." There was one lonely barrel in the corner. The lid was slightly askew and there was a ring of sawdust on the floor. He turned the barrel to get a better look at it. "Hmm, this one's got sawdust in it, probably for cleaning the floor at closing time."

Jack stood and joined Ezra in the examination of the barrel.

Ezra had the top of the barrel off and was feeling inside. "Wait a minute, there's a box in here." His hand came out holding a tin box with sawdust shavings clinging to the side. He set the box on the desk.

"Well, well," Jack said rising from the floor. "Good job. Let's have a look inside."

Ezra opened the box. Some coins lay inside along with a pile of receipts and a small brown leather book was underneath.

Jack looked nervously about. "Look, we've taken long enough here. I don't want to be found here with a dead body and a pile of money. Let's take this back to the office and see what it can tell us there."

"I'm with you, Jack. I am sure he will be found once his regular customers try to stop for a drink."

They replaced the top of the barrel, closed the desk drawers, and cautiously left the building. No one seemed to be paying them any attention as they rode away.

*

After returning to the office, Jack opened the cheap tin box at his desk and pulled out the money and paper. He counted the money quickly. He looked over at his partner and said, "There's just over two hundred dollars here," he said, surprised by the amount.

Ezra shook his head. "How could a two-bit operator save up this kind of money?" he asked.

"I don't know," Jack replied. "Let's look through these papers."

The receipts were for buying liquor and the other necessities of keeping a bar running. But the small book held some further interesting information. Several columns of numbers could be seen next to a list of written names. Some were for small amounts, while other entries were for larger amounts of money.

Jack studied the receipt book some more before speaking. "I can see our dead friend was making some kind of money on the side, but I'm not sure exactly what he was doing." He flipped to the end of the book and looked at the last page. "There is an entry here - it looks like he received one hundred dollars from Stevenson."

Ezra raised his eyebrows as he turned the book towards himself and looked at the entries. "Stevenson, he's that rough customer working for Abbott. What he would be doing with Tinen?"

Jack thought for a moment about Stevenson and the type of man he was rumored to be. "There has to be a connection between my attack, and Tinen's death. Since I couldn't be silenced, Stevenson must have returned to the bartender and stretched his neck. Tinen must have known something about the disappearance of Lawrence and they didn't trust him enough to keep it quiet."

The black man leaned back in his chair. "We don't have any proof yet, but it sounds plausible."

"Well, I'm afraid I'll have to turn in for the day. I still don't feel right."

"I don't blame you," Ezra said sympathetically. "Get some rest and we can look further into this tomorrow."
Chapter 8

Narrative continued'

Later

It seems that I have been busy pursuing people all over town today. After a brief message from Miss Hanson, I had a luncheon with James Forsythe of the War Department. Without tipping my hand, I hinted that some of my valuable investments could be diverted to the Union cause. I also suggested that he interest himself a little more in Lawrence Hanson's disappearance. My method was ingenious; I wish there had been others there to hear it.

" _So I hear young Hanson has bolted to sell some confidential documents from your office? How I sympathize with you, Forsythe. You must be in a devilish tricky situation!" I exclaimed after our first course had been served._

" _Not at all, not at all," he murmured hastily. "We expect to see him soon rather than hear from him."_

I grinned at his confidence. "Splendid. I am pleased to hear it. Did that detective Blackwood help you in locating Mister Hanson?"

Forsythe busied himself with his bread, turning the knife over in his hand as he buttered it. He looked up at me through his eyebrows and spoke "You do know everything that goes on in this city, don't you?"

He dabbed his mouth with the napkin before continuing again. He still spoke slowly but the quaver in his voice told me he was nervous and a little angry perhaps. "I am certain that Lawrence's loyalties will lead him back to Washington before long. In addition to the City Watch, the government has interested itself in this matter, and a few of my worthy gentlemen are out looking for him. Also the whereabouts of these documents is of interest. Although their being, shall we say, misplaced, looks suspicious. It is possible the papers left through the efforts of another War Office employee. If that is the case, then you, sir, are guilty of slandering the name of Hanson." He had relaxed while taking and smiled easily at me as he said this last part.

I was sure he was in jest. "If challenged I will withdraw and apologize." I grinned back at him. After all I had nothing to lose and was really only in search of a little amusement at this luncheon. I didn't really need to know anything about Mister Hanson; I was only satisfying my mild curiosity.

We parted on terms of mutual good will. My savings were still mine to invest and War Office information was still confidential to the best of my knowledge. I wandered around the city for a while, reflecting on the fact that it is nearly impossible in these times to have a conversation with an old acquaintance which does not focus, at some point, on the war. As much as one might wish to take refuge in discussing trivial subjects, the conversation will touch at least lightly on some political and therefore war-related topic.

As a result a lot of friendships have been severed, or irrevocably changed, since a person's emotions naturally run high discussing topics of such weighty importance. More than neighbors not talking to one another, now families and in some cases whole counties have moved to show where their loyalties lie. I recall reading, in the newspaper again, an account of the town in Southern Illinois that volunteered to move North!

Although the idea of secession has been around for a while, I believe that the threat of it was not taken seriously until the election of this Mister Lincoln. Then of course, late last year and earlier this year the states that first voted to secede, South Carolina and Mississippi, gave the rest of them something to join and be a part of. And of course in the South, the quality of indecisiveness in only a short step away from cowardice. It is another preoccupation of mine to wonder what will become of this country, or these two countries now that we have, and what was in the hearts and minds of the men who decided to go down this path.

As much as I wandered about the city, I could not shake that feeling and my moroseness stayed with me. I tried to distract myself by checking on the progress of a new suit at my tailor's but to no avail. I was preoccupied the rest of the afternoon. I had a quiet meal at home, and I was finishing an after-dinner whiskey when a business associate dropped in to see me. We talked awhile and then he let me know that a bartender had been murdered. This was the man who worked at the saloon where Lawrence Hanson had last been seen, according to Mister Forsythe. This was an interesting development. Perhaps the bartender knew too much, or too little. This matter seems deeper than at first I had imagined.

*

The next morning found Jack behind his desk, looking through Tinen's book. An empty plate sat near his elbow, scattered with the remnants from the breakfast that he had cooked for himself and Ezra. He was smoking a cigar, flicking the ashes into his half-eaten eggs. He looked up as he heard the sound of several pair of feet tromping up the stairs. They came to a stop at the front door. Without a knock, the door quickly opened and in stepped Forsythe with two men who had flat, official expressions. The two also had gun belts strapped around their waists. Forsythe stared at Jack, a blaze of indignation in his eyes.

Jack calmly opened a desk drawer and slipped the receipt book inside. He stood up and said, "The common practice for a gentleman is to knock before entering."

Forsythe scowled. "Don't you dare talk to me in that manner. You know I can have you thrown into jail and have the key lost for a long time. There's a war on, and no one is going to miss the likes of you. So you best listen to me carefully."

Jack sat down again and deliberately put his legs up on the corner of the desk. "Go ahead and tell me why you came here."

"Last night, there was a discovery at the Gay Lady Saloon. Opening time had passed and the place still appeared to be closed. Some of the more ambitious customers forced their way in to the back room and what do you think they found?"

"I don't know, why don't you tell me?"

"They found the owner, a Patrick Tinen, dead."

"Is that so?" he said without emotion.

"This Tinen appeared to have hung himself in the back of his saloon," Forsythe added.

Jack raised an eyebrow and then inhaled deeply on the cigar. "I'm sorry to hear that. He may have known something about the location of Lawrence."

Forsythe continued. "In case you didn't know, we had a man inside the bar watching the premises. Miss Hanson also told us about the note she found in her brother's room. I know you went there and talked to Tinen."

"I'm not going to deny that," Jack said. "He was an obvious person to talk to concerning Lawrence – I'm surprised you didn't take the same steps."

"We tried, but he didn't have anything to tell us. Apparently my men didn't try hard enough or bribe enough. What exactly did you two talk about?"

Jack stared at Forsythe directly in the eyes. He said slowly and precisely, "I am sure you understand that I am obliged to keep the confidential information I gain about my cases and I am under no pressure to tell you anything." He then paused, and saw that Forsythe was about to speak, but continued talking before he could be cut off. "We talked about Lawrence, of course. Tinen didn't have too much information to offer, other than the fact that Lawrence was there the night he disappeared. I gave him a few dollars for his trouble and then went on my way."

"Do you know why Tinen would have killed himself?"

"I can't imagine why, unless he was heartbroken over Lawrence," he replied sarcastically. Jack then leaned further back in his chair and affected a mood of boredom.

"Don't joke with me," Forsythe said, his face flushed with anger.

"I didn't ask you to come here, Mister Forsythe," Jack said, still leaning back in his chair. "I didn't ask you to bring your two henchmen to try and menace me, either. I suggest you leave before I throw you out."

Forsythe stepped closer, leaned forward and placed his palms on the desk. He stared hard into Jack's eyes. "Well, detective, I'm not leaving until I've finish talking. I came here to discuss the possibility that Tinen was murdered. It doesn't look like suicide when his face is bruised and someone struck him on the back of the head hard enough to crack his skull."

"That does sound like murder," Jack replied with a relaxed smile.

Forsythe raised one hand off the desk to point at the detective. "I think it was you who did this to him. You went back there yesterday to beat some information out of him. I know how you two-bit operators work."

Jack frowned for a moment and stubbed his cigar on the plate. The ash sizzled in the cold egg remains. "I may play rough from time to time, but I'm not going to waste my time or ruin my reputation killing someone like that."

"That may be, but I want you to come with us and answer some more questions," The Under-Secretary said grimly. "I know you are hiding something from me, and I don't want someone like you fooling around in government business anymore. Someone has to pay!" Forsythe stood back up and motioned to his two men. The two henchmen reached for their holstered guns, clearly ready to bring this arrogant detective in for questioning.

Without changing his expression, Jack said, "Hold it right there, Forsythe." A small click could be heard from behind the desk. The Secretary stopped in his tracks. "This old Starr pistol will shoot right through this desk if need be, so make sure your men don't come any closer."

Ezra then stepped through the door from the living quarters and leveled a shotgun at the two henchmen. "I've got these two covered, Jack," he growled.

"Have you ever seen a man ripped in two with a close range shotgun blast?" Jack asked. "It's not a pleasant sight and it makes such a mess." His voice was low and calm.

The men behind Forsythe dropped their hands to their side and stared at Ezra in disbelief. Forsythe was purple with rage, barely able to control his breathing.

Jack pulled the Starr up and put it on top of the desk. "Even in these troublesome days, you still need something to charge me with if you want me to come with you. If you don't have the power to arrest me, then I suggest you leave before I shoot you for trespassing."

"You wouldn't dare! My department can do whatever it pleases," Forsythe replied angrily. "I report to the Secretary of War and Mister Cameron wants these plans found!"

"You may work for the government, but you are not an even an officer of the law. I'm not going with you unless you have someone from the City Watch arrest me. The War Department is obviously putting some pressure on you to find those plans. You want to get me in just to buy some more time. I'm not going to be your scapegoat, because I still have a job to do for the Hanson family."

Forsythe took a moment to compose himself before speaking. "I also have a job to do, Mister Blackwood."

Jack shrugged his shoulders. "Then it's best that we both try to find Lawrence. Now I do believe you are trespassing, so if you could kindly remove yourself, I'm sure we would all be a little happier."

Forsythe gestured to dismiss his men, who reluctantly turned and left the room. Their footsteps could be heard trudging slowly down the stairs. He paused and listened to their retreating steps. "Be very careful, Mister Blackwood," he said, his voice a quiet hiss of a whisper. "I'm not a man to play games with – when we really want you, you will be coming with us. You won't always have your house boy here to protect you."

Ezra's finger tightened on the trigger.

Jack shook his head. "My partner is a better man than you will ever be. Now I suggest again that you leave before he shoots you. If I was him, I would have killed you by now."

Forsythe's face flushed a deeper shade red. He turned to leave in haste. His footsteps could be heard stampeding down the stairs, and then the front door was slammed shut.

Jack reached into the desk and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He filled up two glasses and handed one to his partner. His hands were steady as he passed Ezra the glass. He laughed. "They couldn't have wanted us that badly, or we would have ended up in a shooting match."

Ezra put the shotgun down and leaned it carefully against the closest corner of the room. "That was near enough for me," he said with a sigh of relief.

"Thanks for backing me up there. I would have hated to have shot through this old desk of mine. Now let's relax and have a drink." He drained the glass with one gulp.

"No problem," Ezra said. "After that, I would be a fool to turn down a drink, even this early in the day." He took a small sip of his whiskey. "Those papers must be even more important than they have been letting on. Forsythe is acting unpredictable, so we better be careful and make sure they can't get anything on us."

"Right now, we know a lot more than they do. So let's keep our cards close and make sure the government doesn't louse this all up. We have to find out what Abbott and Stevenson are up to. This book of Tinen's definitely ties them together. If anyone knows where Lawrence is hiding, it will have to be Stevenson. And where there is Stevenson, Abbott is there giving the orders."

"I'll see if I can dig up any more information on Abbott," Ezra said. "There is bound to be a lot considering all of things he has done. Someone out there has to know something we can use." He then picked up the shotgun and left Jack alone to his thoughts.

Those thoughts were interrupted by the sound of more footsteps on the stair. Jack picked up the Starr again to have handy in case it was Forsythe again.

A knock sounded at the door, and a polite voice said, "Mister Blackwood?"

"Come in," he said tersely, his hand hovering over his pistol.

A uniformed messenger opened the door. "I have a message for you," he said, approaching the desk. He handed it over, waiting for his tip.

"Thank you." Jack reached into his pocket for some change and handed over a dime. He then followed the messenger to the door and locked it after him. The message was from Faith Hanson.

Please come see me as soon as possible. I have just received some dreadful news about Lawrence.

Jack walked behind the desk and scribbled a quick note for Ezra. He then locked Tinen's book in the safe, reached for his jacket on the coat rack and left.
Chapter 9

Jack rode to the Hanson house in haste. There he left his horse with the same boy as before. He then hurried to the steps where he saw Ethan Davis leaving through the front door. The butler bowed graciously at the retreating figure and closed the door without even seeing the detective.

Davis came down the steps. He was wearing a jaunty grey jacket and swinging his cane with a confident step. He saw Jack, smiled at him ingratiatingly and stopped to give him a little bow. "Ah, the detective finally made it here," he drawled sarcastically. "Miss Hanson is most worried about her brother, and you were nowhere to be found. One might wonder if you are to be depended on at all."

Jack felt his face turn red with anger. "I regret, Mister Davis, that I'm not at my client's beck and call." It was annoying to deal with weak, ineffectual men such as this who have never seen the wrong end of a gun. Why did Faith even bother to spend her time with this strutting ass?

"Oh, I see. You are much too busy to answer the call of a lady. I'm not surprised, considering your background."

"No one speaks to me that way!" Jack's anger flared. He took a step and shoved Davis roughly backwards. The distinguished gentleman stumbled and fell, landing hard on the paved walkway.

Fuming, Davis looked up at him with a face contorted with rage. Pulling himself off the ground, he quickly swung his cane at Jack. The detective dodged to the right, the cane barely missing his shoulder. Without a word, he rushed forward and grappled with Davis. With a violent jerk, Jack ripped the cane away from him. The detective then took a step back with the cane, gave Davis a sneer, and then broke it over his knee. He threw the shattered cane at the man's feet.

Davis was in shock. "Damn you!" He tightly clenched his fists together and scowled.

"Now remember what I said, because I won't be so kind next time. Next time it will be your neck."

His voice uneven, Davis retorted, "Faith will never be in love with someone like you. Don't fool yourself about her, she is mine and always will be."

"I don't know where you get these ideas, Davis, since I only work for her. I suggest you run along now before I'm forced to break more than your cane."

"I'll remember this, Mister Blackwood. I never forget an insult, and I never forgive. The next time we meet, I swear this moment of dishonor will be restored." He then brushed the dust from his trousers, turned sharply on his heels and stormed away without looking back.

Jack sighed and shook his head in disbelief. He had more than enough to worry about with this case, why did he have to deal with such a fool like Davis? The idiot must be the jealous sort who could did not want Faith to have contact with any other man. Perhaps Davis could sense the woman's interest in him and was only reacting jealously to those feelings. He caught himself thinking about Faith and smiled at his own foolishness. Why should he jump to conclusions of where her romantic interests may lie?

Climbing the stairs, Jack knocked at the front door, and was greeted by the butler. He wondered if this man with such an inexpressive face had seen the encounter with Davis, and if so, what he truly thought of it. The butler said nothing, but only opened the door and motioned for Jack to follow him. He was then led to the same foyer as before. Jack sat on the familiar sofa, lit a cigar and waited earnestly for Faith to arrive. He found himself getting more nervous than he thought reasonable. He was spending more of his time thinking about Faith, and he was surprised at his own feelings. He wondered how she could spend any time with that dandy Davis. Thinking of that fool again made his blood boil. Men like that deserved a sound thrashing.

There was a small polite cough. Jack broke from his thoughts and saw Faith Hanson entering the room. He stood out of politeness and watched her graceful step. She was wearing a long, pearl-white gown and had her hair pulled back with a black ribbon. He was stunned by her beauty. He gulped nervously and looked around for a place to ash his cigar.

"If you could put that cigar out it would be much appreciated," Faith said waving away the smoke in the air. "Ever since his doctors advised him to quit, my father can't abide the smell of tobacco. It reminds him too much of better days."

"Well, it is your house, so I'll follow your rules." Jack stubbed the cigar out sole of his boot before placing the remnant in his pocket. He was happy to see her alone this time. He wondered if she had dressed this time to impress him or Davis, and hoped it was not for the latter's sake.

He took a few steps closer to her. It took some bravery when he took her hands as he spoke. "Now let's not talk any further about my bad habits. What is the terrible news that you have to tell me?"

She freed herself from his grasp, her face flushed with embarrassment. She pulled a piece of paper out of her sleeve. It was wadded up tightly as if someone had clenched it hard over and over. She handed it over. He unrolled it and read it carefully.

Your brother is in certain danger unless our demands are met. We require that you bring One Thousand Dollars to the Washington Monument at Eleven tonight. Failure to meet our demands will put your brother in grave peril – be warned!

He sat down and read the note carefully. The handwriting was sloppy and much different than the previous note that Abbott may have written. "When did you get this message?" he finally asked.

"I received it over an hour ago from a messenger. I immediately sent him off to get you."

"Did the messenger say who originally sent the message?"

Faith shook her head. "When I asked, he said that he did not know. He was merely instructed by his office to make the delivery."

"Do you recognize this handwriting at all?"

"I'm afraid not." Faith began to cry lightly and held a handkerchief to her eyes.

Hesitating, Jack nervously reached over and placed his hand on her shoulder. "I suggest you pay the ransom," he said. "If this message is real, you will get your brother back, and then Mister Miller and I can try to recover the money."

"The money isn't important. What will we do if they don't return him?" she asked quietly.

"I'll personally deliver the money for you. If they don't want to give him up, Ezra and I can convince them to change their minds."

"Do you think that they would hurt my brother? I mean, what happens if we don't pay on time? I'd hate to think that Lawrence was suffering somewhere and we can't help him." She sobbed a little more, looking at him with tears in her eyes.

Jack was always surprised how people dealt with kidnappers. It was his experience that they should be dealt with harshly. Many of them were cowards that were willing to save their own skin if threatened. If you keep giving in to kidnappers, they will continue with their demands. To placate her, he said, "It depends on the kidnapper – some panic and will kill their victim to keep them quiet. But again, some of them don't know what to do, and if they want the money bad enough, they will try to send another note. If I figure this right, we can get your money and Lawrence back."

"We'll have to ask my father," Faith said. "He still has control of the money."

"Have you told him about this note?" he asked.

"Yes, even though I was worried about telling him. But I couldn't see how to deal with this situation without asking for his advice. At least this message provides a glimmer of hope," she said looking at Jack with wide eyes, her face upturned. "At least we have proof that Lawrence is still alive and well."

"Good, let's see if your father will agree to give me the money required to free your brother."

Faith rang for the butler. Within moments he quietly arrived and gave a low bow.

"Mister Blackwood and I would like to speak with father," Faith told him. "Please tell him to expect visitors."

The butler left with another bow, trotting ahead.

Jack and Faith went up the long winding staircase to the second floor. Daniel Hanson's bed was in a large room, taking up half of the upstairs. The room was simply furnished with a large canopy bed and a few scattered dressers and chairs. It was the room of a sick man, devoted to care and not décor. The curtains were closed, except for a thin sliver that allowed a meager patch of light in. The elder Hanson was propped up against the backboard with pillows supporting his head, paging restlessly through a book. As they entered, he set the book down, and then adjusted his glasses to get a better look at them.

Jack leaned over and shook hands with Mister Hanson. "It's good to see you again, sir," he said.

Hanson shook Jack's hand and smiled faintly. "I haven't had many visitors in here lately – it's good to see you again too."

"I hope you are feeling well this morning," Jack looked at him with pity

"As well as can be expected," Mister Hanson replied with some melancholy. "Lately I stay in bed longer than expected. But my well-being is not important right now. You're here to help us find Lawrence. Did you have a chance to examine that note? "

"I think my partner and I can manage to get your son back. The ransom money will also be returned if you let me take the steps I think necessary."

"How can you manage that?" Daniel Hanson asked. "I would assume that once the money is paid, we will simply wait for Lawrence to come home."

"I can see why you would think that, but you must understand that kidnappers don't always play by the rules. They could easily kill Lawrence after they receive payment in an attempt to hide their identities. And of course there is a chance that your son may already be dead." Jack loathed discussing this possibility, but he thought that all eventualities should be covered. It would be unfair to let this family expect that any homecoming would be certain.

Faith gave a little gasp and Daniel Hanson merely looked angry for a moment. His waxy face tightened as the jaw clenched and unclenched.

Jack continued on. "You must understand, Mister Hanson, that I've already run into a gang that tried to kill me. And yesterday, someone died who saw Lawrence during the night of his disappearance."

"What is this? Who are you talking about?" Daniel Hanson asked, clearly taken aback by this fresh news.

"It's a long story, sir. Acting on a tip from the Gay Lady Saloon owner, Tinen, my partner and I went to question a local moneylender named Brinker. According to Tinen, your son had an argument with this man before they left together. We have so far determined that to be a false lead. We went back to question Tinen again and found him dead. It appears to have been murder. He obviously got in the way of someone who wants your son and those missing papers kept hidden."

"Are you sure this man was murdered in connection with Lawrence? If this is the case, then shouldn't the police be notified?"

"Mister Forsythe is already aware of this new development. I'm not one to believe in coincidences, so I will continue to investigate Tinen's involvement."

"I see," Daniel Hanson said plainly. "What do you suggest I do?"

"If you give me the ransom money," Jack said confidently, "I will go to the meeting place with my partner. We will act as your intermediates. We shall make the transaction on your behalf, and then we will make sure to get your son back home."

Hanson shook his head. "And exactly how do you plan to do that?"

"I can be persuasive, Mister Hanson. If we need to, we will use force to get your son back. If they try to cheat us on the deal then we will take the necessary steps."

"Well, my son's life is worth more than any amount of money I could ever pay."

"As long as I'm working for you, your son's well-being is of utmost importance. You hired me to get him back, and I shall do whatever I can to make that happen."

A look of relief crossed his careworn features. "Good, I can tell you're the kind of man I can trust. I will have a message sent to the bank asking for the money to be delivered to your office."

"I'll be sure to keep the cash safe."

"It will take some time to get the money delivered to your office, but it will get there before the evening."

Jack stood up and was making ready to leave when Faith took him by the arm.

"If you have the time, walk with me in the garden," she said. She squeezed his arm tightly before letting it go. Faith then walked over to her father and kissed him on the cheek. "Please get your rest, father."

Her father nodded and began to examine his book half-heartedly again.

Faith escorted Jack down the stairs and into the back garden. The plots were well laid out, but still nearly bare. It was too early in spring for anything to be planted. The garden itself was orderly with a pattern of bricked pathways with planting beds in-between. Several trees provided shade, and a line of bushes hid them from sight of the main house. He was pleased for this additional moment alone with this woman.

With an arm around his elbow, Faith pointed out some rose bushes without blossoms. "Do you enjoy gardening, Mister Blackwood?"

Jack had little time for such pursuits, but did not want to seem impolite. "Well, I really don't know."

"Oh, you must give it a try. I find it quite relaxing to escape the house and make something grow on my own. Father thinks it's silly that I like to spend time getting my hands dirty. But if I left it alone, the gardeners wouldn't do half of the work they should."

"You've done a beautiful job."

"Thank you," she replied softly. Faith leaned closer towards him as they walked arm-in-arm along the bricked pathway. "You must tell me more about yourself."

"What do you want to know?"

"Where are you from?"

"There's not much to say," Jack replied uneasily. "I'm originally from Michigan and I helped my father out on the farm until I joined the army. That seems like a long time ago."

"Why did you join the army?"

"There wasn't a lot of opportunity for me since I'm just a third son of a farmer. So I took one of the only routes available for a man of little money. The army wasn't pleasant at times, but at least they would recognize me for what I was."

Faith smiled and said, "And what exactly are you, Mister Blackwood?"

Jack stopped to face her, pulling his arm away from hers. "Right now I'm wondering why you are spending your time with me in the garden when Ethan Davis is available."

Her face went pale. "I would prefer not to talk about Mister Davis right now," she said stiffly.

Jack shrugged his shoulders and continued to walk along. Faith trailed behind just momentarily before catching up and slipping her arm into his once again.

He decided to tell her about his meeting with Davis. He said, "The only reason I asked is because your friend and I had a little shoving match outside your front door. He's under the illusion that I'm doing more than working for you."

"What do you mean?" She stopped, gave a little giggle and said, "Please understand that Mister Davis once wanted to marry me. Things have changed since then, but he's obviously still jealous if I spend my time with another man. Don't worry about him."

"I'm not worried about him. I just wanted to be sure that I wasn't getting in the way between you two."

Her voice was warm as she answered. "There's nothing between Davis and I except friendship. I'm hoping that you and I can become friends too."

"I would like that," Jack found himself replying.

They walked in silence and took a turn towards the rear wall of the grounds. He consciously adjusted his gait to match her slower pace.

She asked, "Do you have any other women in your life right now?" Her voice quavered with nervousness.

"I'm afraid not," Jack replied truthfully.

"And I have no man right now. What about your past? Surely a man of your temperament and age has experienced love before."

"I was married once," he said softly. He thought this conversation was getting a little personal. He remembered his Mary with a sharp stab of guilt. No one could ever replace her or make him feel the same way ever again. What would she have made of his dallying with such a young creature as Faith?

"Oh, what happened?" she asked, breaking into Jack's thoughts.

Jack started uncertainly, "It was a few years ago. Before I moved to Washington." His sentences became broken as he dredged up the memory. "We were living at Portsmouth. I was trying my hand at running a local grocery. Business wasn't going well at all. That's when we decided to move to Washington where I could take up detective work again. Before we even had a chance to pack, Yellow Fever struck the town."

Jack stopped and gazed out across the garden. He cleared his throat to cover the clenching feeling in the back of his mouth. "Mary decided it was best to stay and help. Family after family was infected. She went to the neighbors next door to take care of their four children. Well, two of them died and afterwards she came down sick." He turned and faced her again. "After she died, I had nothing left and came to Washington. It seemed to still be a good plan, and staying in Portsmouth was too..." He paused and looked away for a moment. "I've been here ever since."

"I'm so sorry," Faith said quietly. She reached out and took Jack's hand and led him out of the garden.

*

He returned to the office where he found Ezra waiting. He was sitting down at the desk, looking through the notebook they had discovered at the Gay Lady Saloon.

"Hello, I've just got back from seeing the Hanson family," Jack stated.

"I saw your note. What is going on?" his partner asked expectantly.

"Faith had to tell me about her brother. It looks as if he was kidnapped. They have gotten a ransom note for her brother's return." Jack sat down across from Ezra and pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket. "We are to deliver the money to the Washington Monument on behalf of the family and see to the return of Lawrence."

"How much money are they asking for his return?"

"An even thousand dollars. The old man Hanson will be sending the money our way to secure the release."

"That's a tall order," Ezra said. "But I really don't see how this would fit in with the missing plans. If someone has the papers, why would they expose themselves by trying to ransom Lawrence? Surely those government plans are more important than a mere thousand dollars, or even someone's life."

Jack lit the cigarette, took a large draw of smoke and looked at Ezra. He exhaled. "I was thinking the same thing. If someone had an interest in these papers, then they would try to remain in hiding until they could secure the money for them. Perhaps that part of the deal is already done and Lawrence can be freed. By the way, did you find out anything new about Stevenson or Abbott?"

The black man nodded and sighed. "We are running into big trouble here. I questioned a few people to get this information. It appears that Stevenson has been working for Abbott quite a while. As for Abbott, I heard a few choice words about him."

Jack looked up expectantly. "If there's anything I haven't heard yet, let me hear it."

"He may have been involved with the missing diamonds of the socialite Miss Emma Winston. No one could ever pin anything on him, so he managed to escape with his honor intact. He must have made quite a tidy sum in that venture. Then I also heard he was seen with a woman named Ann Taylor. She ended up running away from her husband with most of their life savings. She was later found dead and penniless in a hotel down in New Orleans. Of course the verdict of the court was suicide, and Lewis Abbott was never openly accused of any wrongdoing. There are other similar situations that he's been involved in, but he either bribed his way out or disappeared at just the right time."

"He must be a man with connections," Jack said with a whistle. "He and Stevenson just have to be involved in this situation in some way. Is it possible they could have been working with Lawrence to steal the papers and sell them?"

"But if it was Lawrence who took the papers for Abbott, then why are they trying to ransom him?" Ezra asked.

Jack shook his head. "You are right; something here just doesn't make sense. If they could get the thousand dollars, then that would be enough traveling money to get out of Washington safely. But Abbott doesn't look like he's short on money." He paused and thought for a minute. "Our best bet is to go out tonight and meet with the kidnappers. I'm sure they will be able to answer our questions with a little persuasion."

Ezra grinned. Usually Jack's idea of interrogation consisted of something violent. Eventually any man would break from that kind of treatment and would be happy to answer any questions.

"Do we have anything else on Stevenson?" Jack asked.

Ezra put his finger tips together and looked over them. "I found out where he is staying when he is not with Abbott. It took some asking around, but he lives over on Louse Alley in a little house that he uses for business. If the kidnapping business falls through, I know where we can find him."

"Good," Jack replied. "Before I forget, did you find out anything more about that woman, Elizabeth Mulholland? She may know something about Lawrence."

"She is still here in Washington, living in a run-down apartment on Maryland Avenue. Apparently she has taken to working the streets to earn her keep. If need be, she'll be easy to track down."

"You have been busy," Jack said with a smile. He knew that his partner had many connections, but was always surprised on the quality of information that he provided.

"You just have to know the right people in this town," Ezra replied proudly.

Jack laughed. "The right people, you say? I'm not sure if I would want to meet half the people you know."

A sound of footsteps echoed up the stairway. Then there was a timid knock.

"Come in," Jack shouted.

A small man with glasses and a tidy suit walked in, looking about nervously as he mopped his forehead with a small handkerchief. Behind him stood a man with a dark bowler hat and a shotgun held in his hands. The small man cleared his throat. "Are you Mister Jack Blackwood? I'm from the bank and need to make a delivery on the behalf of Mister Hanson."

"Yes, I'm Jack Blackwood – I'm glad to see you here."

The bank worker pulled out a thick paper-wrapped package from his breast pocket and put it on the desk. "If you could count the money and make sure it matches one thousand dollars and then sign this receipt, I will then be on my way."

Jack quickly counted ten one hundred dollar bank notes and signed the receipt. "Here's a dollar for your troubles." He handed back the receipt and a silver dollar to the bank clerk. The clerk looked surprised by the unexpected tip and slid the dollar into his waistcoat pocket. He turned and left with the guard following.

Ezra eyed the pile of money, his eyes gleaming. "That's a nice pile of cash there. We could probably take it and leave this city far behind. With the war going on, I don't see anyone following us very far."

"True, I've thought of it myself, Ezra. It would be nice to leave this town, but this case has me a little more interested than I thought. Anyways, stolen money is usually nothing but trouble so let's just take care of business."

"Yeah, we would probably blow through that stack of hundreds in a week anyways," he sighed.

"Yes, you'd spend the money on women, and I'd spend it on whiskey," he laughed. "Now let's get ready for the meeting tonight. We'll go out and get some dinner first. Then let's come back to collect some firepower. I want you to carry the shotgun, and fill both barrels with Double-00. Make sure to bring some extra powder and shot. I'll carry my Starr and bring my rifle."

"Seems like a lot of firepower for just Abbott and Stevenson."

"Remember, I got jumped by three men that night. We don't want to be outgunned. Let's also be sure we get there plenty early. It will give us time to set up an ambush."
Chapter 10

Narrative continued

I was having a quiet think and some afternoon refreshments when I had a most welcome visitor. Miss Hanson had come to ask my advice about something regarding her brother's situation. I knew that ransom note had been sent to her. Also I tried to impart to her that Mister Blackwood's advice should have been sought after mine. But a total reliance on my advice she seemed reluctant to give. Perhaps my former charm has failed me in the stronger and more recent influence of Mister Blackwood. My pride suffers in that case, a woman's heart lost, and so on. Or perhaps Faith has become more world-weary after this brush with the crime, and she has become more hesitant to trust where once she had confided all. At any rate, she looked at me in her most endearing way to ask: "Mister Davis do you think it possible that someone could be holding my brother prisoner?"

I had made sure my butler was well out of the room as I leaned nearer to her. "My dear woman, who could imagine such a man existed? I understand these might be desperate times, but..." I trailed off as I gazed into her soft feminine face and sparkling eyes. I might have a few more years behind me than Mister Blackwood, but I had to do the most with what a bounteous Nature had given me. Also my added age did not mean that I felt Miss Hanson's womanly graces any less.

Eventually I pieced together the story from her about the ransom note, the detective's promise to redeem the money or her brother and even some details about the meeting itself. I gather it is scheduled for this evening at some monument. I doubt the ability of Mister Blackwood to extract much information from kidnappers, but perhaps his experience is wider than mine. In the meantime I am sitting in a comfortable chair, a warm fire protecting me from the damp of an April night in Washington, and a lovely vintage wine in my glass. I have been reading a biography of Napoleon and wondering how all these new soldiers will put up with outdoor campaigns. As much as I enjoy my home I can appreciate what a man can do when the need arises. I simply hope the need, for me at least, does not arise.

*

It was ten o'clock in the evening, when they rode past the unfinished dome of the Capitol. The cranes and scaffolding were dark against the white building. The sparse gas streetlights had just started to come on. Only a few Federal troops were patrolling the street. In the distance, they could see the similarly unfinished Washington Monument standing alone in an unkempt field. Cattle were grazing around the monolith, where work had been halted since 1855 due to lack of building funds. Jack wondered to himself if they were ever going to finish the project, since every last scrap of money had been diverted towards the war effort.

As they neared the grounds of the monument, Jack and Ezra silently swung off their mounts. They took and tied the horses inside a copse of trees on the outskirts of the field. Jack looked cautiously around. With a wave of his hand, they quietly moved towards the unfinished granite obelisk. Above, the half-moon cast their shadows through the weeds and along the rutted ground around the abandoned building site. It was quiet, except for the sounds of the cattle and the distant noise of a city preparing for the coming night.

"Let's take it easy here," Jack said softly. "We have to make sure that there are no traps being set for us."

Ezra nodded. They moved stealthily, looking for any possible danger.

The moonlight glistened off the white stone, throwing strange shadows on the ground below. They approached the silent obelisk, stopping to listen for any unexpected noises. Jack paused and looked over his shoulder before they made a circle around the monument. Not seeing anyone, they stopped and waited at the back corner of the edifice.

In the darkness, his partner whispered "After all these precautions, I hope somebody comes."

The night was becoming darker, and the whine of mosquitoes could be heard buzzing past their ears. Jack slapped at a few as he stared out across the weed-ridden field. The street gaslights could be seen in the distance, along with the faint glow from the office windows of a few late night workers. He waited patiently, thinking of the soft face of Faith Hanson. He wondered why she wasn't married yet. She must have had many suitors, but none had yet stolen her heart. He laughed inwardly at his own foolishness and waited for the moon to cross further in the sky.

Sometime later, Jack pulled out his pocket watch from his waistcoat and peered at it intently in the low light of the moon. It was getting close to ten-thirty. "Ezra, I hope someone shows up or else we are on a fool's errand," he whispered.

He pointed into the gloom. "Take a look. I think I see someone coming."

Across the field came two men. Both were walking warily. Jack could tell by their shadows that they were carrying rifles over their shoulders. They stopped before the monument, looked up at it momentarily and then began conversing in low tones. The short man in the front pointed to the right, and the taller, hatless man scurried over to the other side of the monument to hide. It would have been a good hiding space if Jack hadn't been able to see their every move from his vantage point. The shorter man sat down on the low steps and shifted around, as if trying to find a comfortable position for a long wait.

Jack motioned to Ezra. They both slid cautiously out from their place of concealment. They slowly crept towards the man at the stairs who was staring out across the plaza. He pulled out his pistol and held it at the ready, while his partner aimed his shotgun towards the sitting man.

Pointing his pistol in the air, Jack pulled the trigger and let out a single shot. The sudden shot rang loudly, making a hole in the silence of the night. The shorter man at the stairs froze in terror.

Jack then shouted, "Hold it right there or my partner will shoot your head off. Tell your friend to stand up slowly and throw his rifle away."

The man laid his gun in front of him and turned to his right to speak. "Clem, get rid of your gun and come on out. They got us in a jam."

A rifle was thrown to the ground where it landed with a dull thud. The taller man, named Clem, stood up. He stepped out from the shadows with his hands at his side. At this distance, Jack could not make out him out, but he thought the build looked familiar.

Ezra sauntered over to Clem, covering him with the shotgun.

The shorter man stood up and nervously faced Jack. "Now look here, if you expect to ever see your friend Lawrence again, you better play by our rules. We aren't fooling around here. You better have the money on you, or he won't live to see the sunrise."

Jack said, "I have the money, but you aren't getting any of it unless we see some proof that he is still alive." He then slowly went towards the man, holding the Starr aimed towards the kidnapper.

He gulped nervously. "Don't you worry - he's alive and unhurt. We're just holding him somewhere safe until I give the word that we have the money. You must understand if I'm not back soon, they have been told to kill him."

Jack stood only a few feet away from the small man and looked him over. He wore a shabby coat, and his unshaven face was rough and wrinkled. His eyes darted like a trapped animal looking for a way to escape. Jack finally answered him. "You better answer my questions, or it will be you who will be killed." He then quickly lashed out with the Starr. The man fell to one knee, clutching the side of his wounded face.

"Keep your hands where I can see them." Jack said icily.

The man pulled his hands away from his face and looked up. The pistol sight had made a long, ragged cut on the side of his face. The wound slowly oozed blood. Jack took a step forward and then kicked him hard in the side. The man fell over with a groan.

Clem gave a start and started towards his rifle a few feet away.

He got a just a foot towards his gun when Ezra gave a shout. "Hold still! Or you will get a full load of buckshot in your backside." Clem stopped and turned to face the two of them. In surprise, Ezra lowered the shotgun a few inches. "Jack, check him out. This is the man who works for Brinker!"

Jack turned away from the man huddled on the ground and joined Ezra. "Well now we know who is holding our Mister Lawrence. Where is he?"

Clem just stood there and did not meet the gaze of either of them. He shifted nervously from foot to foot, apparently weighing his options.

The man on the ground groaned and rolled over on his stomach. "I think you busted my ribs," he whined.

Jack ignored him and said, "Now Clem, you're going to give us some answers, or you and your friend will get a belly full of lead. This old revolver will open up a big hole in you." He lifted his pistol and pointed it at the kidnapper.

Clem looked at Jack and shook his head. He answered in a panicky low whisper. "It's not worth my life to tell you anything. If Mister Brinker finds out that I sold him out, he'll have me killed."

"Then let's go visit your employer and see if he can add anything." Jack motioned with the pistol towards the distant street lights. "We'll leave your friend here, find your horse, and then we'll all take a ride."

*

Ezra held Clem's bridle as they rode down the dirt street leading to Brinker's boarding house. Jack rode next to them with his pistol held low and pointed at the kidnapper's back. When they reached the house, his partner dismounted first to cover the prisoner.

"Now Clem, you make sure to take it real easy and slow there. I have both barrels ready to fire if you try anything tricky," Ezra said sharply.

The big man nodded grimly and pulled himself off of the horse. Jack followed suit.

Ezra waited in the street while Jack used the butt of his pistol to knock on the door of the boarding house. "Brinker," he shouted up toward the windows. "We want to talk to you."

A window on the second floor squeaked upwards. The fat face of the money-lender could be seen looking down at them, the moonlight glinting off the circles of his spectacles.

"Clem told us everything and we are here to get Lawrence Hanson," Jack lied. "Now open this door before I break it down!"

"I didn't tell them anything," Clem said pleadingly, his eyes pointed up towards Brinker. "You must believe me, boss."

Ezra tapped him in the back with the barrel of the shotgun. "That's enough out of you."

"Keep it quiet! We don't need the whole neighborhood to know about this," Brinker hissed at them. "Just wait a second, I'll come down and let you in."

A few moments passed as they waited for the door to open. The street was nearly empty this time of the night, but their shouting was starting to attract some attention with a few lamps being lit from nearby windows.

The bolt slowly turned in the lock, but Jack had his hand resting on the doorknob. Before the money-lender even had a chance to open the door, Jack wrenched it open. There was the money-lender, his chubby hand shakily holding a pistol. Jack was too quick for him and struck the hand with a downward blow. The pistol clattered loudly down on the wooden floor.

"We'll have none of that," Jack said sharply. "Take us up to your room so we can discuss this in private, otherwise I'll be shouting your business to the rest of the street." He then motioned the fat man back with the Starr.

Brinker gasped and took a step backwards. His breath came in rasps as he massaged his bruised hand. "Fine," he sputtered. "I just hope you have brought the money with you." His thin tongue passed nervously over his lips. He then led the way up the stairs, looking over his shoulder fearfully as he went.

"No more tricks," Jack warned. "I don't know if my trigger finger can hold out much longer."

Brinker opened his door, and Jack pushed him roughly into the room. The others followed, making the cramped room seem even smaller. Ezra was closest to the door, and still held his shotgun on Clem, who had sunk into a nearby chair. The money-lender waddled over and sat behind the desk, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.

"I'll get right to the point, Brinker. I understand that Lawrence Hanson is still alive and you know where he is," Jack said. "Your bodyguard here told me that you had him safe."

A question came into his eyes. "What happened to Tiny?" he asked.

"He'll be fine in a day or two. Once we're done here, one of you can go get him, and put him to bed."

Brinker seemed to control himself once again. He said, "Why yes, I found out where Lawrence Hanson was after I talked to you the other day. I can get him out of hiding if you can part with that money I requested - all one thousand dollars of it."

Ezra leveled his shotgun at Brinker. "Two days ago you assured us that you had never met Hanson and now you tell us that you know where he is?" he asked, incredulous.

Brinker grinned, baring a set of yellow teeth. "Well, yes, I decided to interest myself in this affair. I thought maybe a man in my position could find things out." His scalp glowed with perspiration as he looked eagerly from Ezra to Jack.

"Go on," Jack growled impatiently.

"And so when I came across this information regarding his location, I wanted to offer it you, in exchange for a most reasonable amount of money."

Jack fixed his eyes upon Brinker with a cold stare and said, "I'm not here to offer you any money. I'm here to find out where Lawrence is. Either you have him, or you don't. Which is it?" He was tired of hearing Brinker talk and thought briefly about pushing that fat face into the desk. "Now no more games. Where is he?"

The money-lender played nervously with the ink blotter on his desk and looked away from the stare. He seemed unable to answer.

Jack slammed his fist against the desk. "I'll be more than happy to work you over. If you want to wake up in a hospital tomorrow, you can keep your mouth shut. If you start talking, then maybe tomorrow you'll be able to walk."

The sweat began to pour down Brinker's heavyset face. "Now let's not get hasty, Mister Blackwood. I'm sure we can make an arrangement that is satisfactory to the both of us."

"This is not about your needs. No deals. No more stories. Just tell us where Hanson is right now, or I'll jam this Starr into your face and pull the trigger."

Brinker licked his lips and continued to stare at the gun. After a tense moment, he started to talk, the words coming out quickly. "I thought I could get some money out of the Hanson family. When I saw you yesterday, you seemed extremely interested in trying to find out what happened to this Lawrence. I thought if I played this right, I could get his family to believe that it was I who had him kidnapped."

Jack rolled his eyes and sighed. "So you're just wasting our time then."

"I may not have him but I know who does."

"Who?"

"I asked some questions around town and spread the word that I was looking for Lawrence. If you give me some money, I'll tell you what I heard."

Brinker's insistence impressed Jack in spite of himself. He might be a weak man, but he would never call this money-lender a coward since he was still asking for money in the face of a gun. Jack spat out, "No money. Just tell me what you know and we'll be on our way. If you don't, then I can still put a bullet in your head."

Brinker's shoulders slumped in defeat. "It seems that your friend was involved in something dangerous. Too dangerous for my taste. He was seen with that man Abbott. I heard from some locals that they were both seen at the Gay Lady Saloon the night Lawrence disappeared. I had a hard time finding this out since no one wants to cross Mister Abbott. Anyone who messes with him usually winds up dead."

Jack and Ezra quickly glanced at each other. It was Tinen who had recently died and only for being suspected of being an informer.

Brinker continued. "If you want to find your Lawrence, then try talking to Abbott. Just make sure you don't mention my name to him."

Jack lowered his gun and stepped back from the desk. "Brinker, I suggest you stay far away from the Hanson family. And stay far away from my business as well, or next time I won't give you a second chance. You're a two-bit operator, so don't even try to get involved in this game."

Brinker spread his hands apart, his head slightly bowed, "Very well, detective," he said resignedly.

"C'mon, Ezra, let's go." Jack turned and walked out of the room.

His partner followed, walking backwards out of the room with the double barreled shotgun still covering the two men. He said, "Now you two be nice and don't give us any more trouble." With a friendly wave of his free hand, he shut the door and followed Jack down the stairs and out of the house.
Chapter 11

Smoking a cigarette, Jack was sitting up in bed. The blue smoke swirled to the ceiling as the weak morning light shone through the dirty window of his small bedroom. The ransom money was safely locked away in the safe, ready to return to the Hanson family. So far his investigation had given him plenty of clues, but not one sign that Lawrence was still in Washington. It was beginning to look more likely that he was dead or had slipped out of the city undetected.

"Ezra," he called out, "Come on in here if you're awake."

There was a sound of footsteps and his partner stumbled in, yawning and rubbing his stubbly chin. "What's going on, Jack? I was just about to fix some breakfast for us. Last night was a long one."

"I know it was. I can feel the years after a night like that. But tell me, after what we learned last night, what do you think of our case so far?"

His partner leaned against the doorway with his head furrowed in thought. "Well, Stevenson and Abbott are our main suspects now – everything I've seen and heard points to them being involved. If Brinker was telling us the truth, then I don't see who else it could be."

"You are right. First, Abbott tried to silence us by buying us out." Jack said.

"I almost forgot about that," Ezra interrupted. "He might want to be a high-class gentleman by where he lives and the way he talks, but his attempt to bribe us shows he's not who he pretends to be."

Jack nodded, eager to continue his train of thought. "Then after I talked to Tinen, I was waylaid by those thugs."

Ezra cleared his throat. "Most likely some of Abbott's or Stevenson's henchmen, sent to do the dirty work."

Jack nodded back a quick agreement. "But when that plan failed, they ended up killing Tinen to keep him quiet. And looking at his book, he was being paid off for his silence. They obviously didn't trust him, so they had to get rid of him in the fear that he would tell me what he knew."

"It's too bad we had to waste our time with Brinker," Ezra said with a frown. "He was trying to make a fast dollar off of our troubles."

"True, but at least we know that lead is really a dead one," Jack replied. "And we confirmed, thanks to Brinker, that Lewis Abbott was in fact seen with Lawrence at the saloon. With Abbott's past, that makes him the most likely person to know what happened to our missing man. If we can question Abbot further and get the truth, then we can put an end to this case."

Ezra turned and started to walk towards the kitchen. "I'll whip us up a quick meal, and then let's find out."

"Good, I'll come and help." Jack stood up, splashed his face with water from the basin on the dresser, and began to dress in his best suit. He then rubbed the dirt off his shoes and straightened his cravat. He looked in the mirror and pushed the longer dark hair over his graying temples.

Later, as they ate breakfast, Jack spoke to Ezra. "I had better go see Faith Hanson before we go any further. She's probably sick with worry, wondering what happened last night. Too bad we couldn't make good and deliver her brother."

Ezra looked up from his eggs and spoke quietly, "I think you're more worried about her than you are about her brother." He gave a faint laugh and continued concentrating on his plate.

He sat back on his chair and looked at his friend. Ezra could be dangerously insightful at times, and Jack really wasn't in the mood to discuss Faith right now. "Now where did you get that idea from?"

His partner looked up again and gave a small laugh. "I haven't seen you dress that nicely since I don't know when. You've been living in this apartment too long. You're getting lonely for a woman in your life. Every man does eventually."

Jack shook his head. "Ezra, you're imagining things. If I want to find a woman, I'll go out to the brothel and pay her for the night."

"That's not what I meant."

Jack tried in vain to convince his friend that his attention was elsewhere. "Well, I don't think Faith Hanson is going to be leaving her rich father for an old detective who can barely make ends meet." He gestured, his hand taking in the room around them. "I mean, you've been to their house with me. She's used to a rich life and what can I offer her - a room above a tailor's shop?"

Ezra looked at his friend with pity. "She does seem to be taken with you. She's been trapped in that house for a long time and I wouldn't be surprised if she would do almost anything to get out of there. You know when a woman gets to be her age, they are afraid of becoming old maids. Either you or Davis are her last chance."

"Ezra, you are incurable romantic. Why are you so worried about me?"

The black man merely shrugged his shoulders and continued to eat.

Jack had had enough of the conversation and stood up from the table. "I'll get the ransom money out of the safe," he said. "When you're finished, let's go."

*

They reined in their horses at the lane leading to the Hanson home. "Go on," Jack said. "I'll stop in and return the money to them. I'll tell them that kidnapping story was false, and the location of Lawrence is still unknown."

"What do you want me to do while you're in there?" Ezra asked.

"I want you to try to track down Stevenson's recent movements and see what he has been up to lately. I would like to take a look at that house of his too. Perhaps they are hiding Lawrence there. It would be good to check. But be careful - I'm sure we shook up Abbott enough for him to try to pull something else on the both of us. It would be better if we knew beforehand what it was."

Ezra grinned and said, "Don't be too long or you might end up living there." He touched the brim of his hat and gave his friend a sly wink.

*

He knocked at the door and was greeted by the butler who gave a quick bow and led him into the parlor less brusquely than before. "The missus will be with you presently, sir," he said with an unusually servile voice. The butler then left without another look at Jack, who sat down on the sofa and waited.

Only a minute passed by before Faith fluttered into the room. She was wearing a simpler gown this time, but it did not detract from her innate beauty. Her face was worn with worry, and the dark circles under her eyes told Jack that she spent a sleepless night thinking of her brother. However she still gave him an inviting look and stood before him, waiting to hear his story.

"I'm sorry we weren't able to get a hold of your brother," Jack told her. "The note was a fake. It was that moneylender Brinker trying to pull the wool over our eyes and make us pay a ransom for a man he didn't even have."

"Please, tell me in detail, what happened last night? I could barely sleep a wink not knowing if Lawrence was safe or not." She then sat down next to him on the sofa and waited impatiently for him to begin his story.

"Miss, it was a long night," he said. Jack threw the packet of ransom money down on the table before telling her what had transpired. He was careful to omit his more violent actions.

At the end of the story, Faith said, "I'm sorry to hear that you didn't get Lawrence back. But I am glad you came back safely."

Jack was heartened to hear that from her. "At least we now know that Abbott is certainly the man we are after."

"I always knew Abbott was a bad man for Lawrence to be with," Faith said in agreement. She reached for the packet of money on the table, her arm lightly brushing against his knee. "I'm glad you brought the money back, Father was worried that you were going to run off with it."

"That would have been foolish," Jack replied. "If I left with this money, I would have spent it in less than a year. If I was known as a thief, I would have a hard time finding a job as a detective."

"A year can be a long time if you are with the right person," she replied quietly, averting her eyes.

"I would be tracked down eventually," Jack said, oblivious to her suggestion. "No one can hide forever, even with all the money in the world." He stopped as he finally realized what she said.

She continued to look away and spoke in low sad tones. "Sometimes I wish I could hide away forever. This house can be so lonely. Now with Lawrence missing and my father's poor health - I just don't know what I am going to do anymore." Faith darted a shy look at Jack and leaned closer towards him.

Jack felt his throat tighten and felt awkward at her nearness. He thought that he must not be tempted to take advantage of a woman in her position. It could never work. "Well, I don't know what to say" he replied nervously. "Now don't you worry, I'm sure Lawrence can be found. Ezra and I are getting closer to finding him. We have several new leads to follow." He started to make his leave. "I should get going now. Give my regards to your father."

"Do you have to leave now?" Faith asked. She stood up and grabbed his hand. Her hand was cool as she lightly brushed her fingers back and forth against his wrist. "If you ever do have to run away, please take me with you. I don't know how much longer I can stand being here. Just think, we can take this money and go far away from here. Then we can get away from this city and away from this war."

Jack looked at her in disbelief. This girl really wanted to leave her father behind with his illness. The burden of her duty to her father, now a sick old man, must have finally broken her nerves. He looked at her and pulled her hand towards him. "Now, Faith, don't think such thoughts," he said quietly. "I'm not planning to go anywhere until I find out what happened to your brother and those plans."

She leaned closer to him and tilted her face towards him. Her eyelids fluttered and she then pulled herself hard towards his face.

Jack gave a little shrug and took her into his arms. "You're making it hard on me, missy," he whispered. He kissed her deeply on the mouth and brought his hand up to her cheek. "But you still can't expect a kiss to make me change my mind."

"You can at least let me try," she said. She kissed him back and darted her tongue lightly into Jack's mouth. She then took his hand, gently guiding it and letting it fall on her right breast. She whispered into his ear. "Please."

There was a polite cough from the door. They both quickly pulled apart in surprise and faced the butler. He looked at them sourly.

His voice was cold as he spoke. "Miss, your father wishes to see you. He wants to know if anything was found out last night about your brother." He gave Jack a vindictive look as he turned away.

Faith picked up the packet of money and then quickly walked towards the door. Her voice was high and nervous as she spoke. "I'm really sorry, Jack. I really must go see Father. Please, we'll have a chance to talk later."

Jack's voice was thick when he answered, "I would like that, Faith."

She smiled back at him. "Help me and I'll be good to you." Her cheeks were flushed as she left the detective alone in the room with his thoughts.

*

Jack took the long way back to the office. There he sat at his desk. He pulled a whiskey bottle from the desktop drawer and took a large swallow. He grinned and sighed as he took another hit off of the bottle. Now that he knew Lewis Abbott was one of the last people to see Lawrence, it would only be a matter of time before he was able to end the case. Once he did that, Faith would be deeply in his debt. Perhaps he could get to see her more often. She was a fine looking woman, he thought to himself. It was so surprising that she had not been married yet.

Ezra stepped in through the doorway and looked at Jack with an appraising eye. "Well, how was your visit to the Hanson family?" he asked with a slight trace of humor.

"It was very interesting, Ezra. It seems like Miss Hanson wanted to run away with me."

"What? That doesn't make any sense."

"I guess she is getting a little lonely living in that house with her father."

"I imagine so," Ezra said, his eyes twinkling. "Were they upset that we still haven't located Lawrence?"

"I think their patience is wearing a little thin. But before we go visit Abbott again, let's look at what we know." Jack lit a cigar before continuing. "The main mystery is the location of Lawrence. He is the key to this whole thing. If he still has the papers in his possession, then he must be hiding out somewhere. With Lewis Abbott involved, he could use his influence to help Lawrence disappear. But he would be sure to keep a close eye on the papers until payment was received. They must be meeting an agent from the Secessionist states who will come up to Washington and pay for the plans."

"Why didn't they just run south?" Ezra asked.

"That probably was their idea at first, but they weren't planning on the disappearance causing so much trouble here in Washington. Once Forsythe knew about the theft, they could be sure that if Lawrence tried to leave Washington, they would have been stopped. At that point, the best thing was to hole up until they could either safely get away or pass the papers on."

Ezra looked skeptical. "That could be. But why didn't Abbott just leave and take the papers himself?"

"That's a good question. I would guess that he didn't want to take the chance. He's been able to get out of bad situations before, but this is treason, which is making him more cautious than ever. Anyways, why should he leave Washington, when he can sit back and get someone else to come up here instead? As long as he remains in the city, he can continue to serve the Secessionists in his fashion."

"Let's go question Abbott again," Ezra suggested impatiently.

"We shall," Jack agreed. "But first, I want to see Elizabeth Mulholland."

"Why should we even bother seeing her? Abbott is our man."

"Call it a hunch. I want to know more about who Lawrence is before we question Abbott. I want to know if this young man would volunteer for such work or if he is being coerced by the idea that he can be with Mulholland. Lawrence Hanson is not quite the person his family makes him out to be. Who better to ask than the woman who slept with him?"

"There is no evidence that he ever started seeing her again."

Jack shrugged. "That may be so, but if he is away from his father – perhaps he would be willing to take that chance."

"That's a big risk to take if he knows the government is after him."

"You'll be surprised what a man will do for a woman."
Chapter 12

Narrative continued

My luncheon was interrupted today by a short note from Miss Hanson. It appears the ransom was merely a ruse to extort money from the Hanson family. An opportunist had learned of the family's misfortune and sought to make a tidy sum from his knowledge. He exploited their hopes that Lawrence may still be found alive. I know these are extraordinary times we live in, but I am not certain that a case of extortion will be prosecuted very zealously right now. Even though Lawrence Hanson is or was a government employee it appears he left of his own free will. If he had in fact been kidnapped, and then tortured to reveal government secrets, his kidnappers would, of course, have faced treason charges against the United States government. In wartime this would be a capital offense. Now I am afraid this event if it was reported (Miss Hanson's quaint note does not specify this in its rambling, feminine way) would be dealt with as a somewhat more criminal prank resulting in a fine.

I wonder if my old acquaintance James Forsythe has learned of the ransom note. He has a tendency to be quick tempered and at times overly judgmental. Perhaps I will keep this news to myself at present.

*

Maryland Avenue was a rundown street - home to the poor, prostitutes, and terminally drunk. The road was littered with trash and the smell of rotting waste hung oppressively in the afternoon air. Among the alleyways, several unused fire pits could be seen. This afternoon, only a few grubby children were playing in the mud-caked street. They paused from their games to watch the horses as the detectives rode by.

Jack looked over the dirty street and children with surprise. "She lives here, on this street?" he asked Ezra. "It doesn't seem like a fitting place for a person of her background."

"This is the right place," Ezra replied. "It's just a bit further up here. Things must be a little rough for her if she's living in the neighborhood. Don't forget that her husband left her penniless after he found out about her indiscretions."

They stopped in front of a dilapidated old house. The rotted porch leaned precariously and was cluttered with garbage. The paint had peeled long ago, leaving the gray boards exposed to the sun. The front door was open, perhaps to let the faint breeze inside.

Jack looked at the house with some distaste. "Why don't you wait here, Ezra?" he said. "There is no point in having both our horses stolen."

His friend nodded and took the reins as Jack dismounted. "Remember, she was once a lady," he said. "Don't forget that when you question her."

"Don't you worry, Ezra, I'll keep that in mind." Jack waved at his friend and walked up the short stairs to the porch. He entered through the front door, the rough boards squeaking loudly underneath his heavy boots. He read the placard of tenants on the hallway entrance, and found her apartment number on the ground floor. The detective entered the dark hall, listening to the sounds of life through the closed doors. A child could be heard crying, the sound muffled. In another room, he heard the sound of a couple arguing with a drunken slur to their raised voices. He stopped at the door at the end of the hallway and checked the number on the door. He then knocked loudly and listened intently with his ear at the door. He didn't hear anything at first so he knocked again even harder. "Miss Mulholland?" Jack called out.

The sound of footsteps could be barely heard and then the door creaked as a body leaned against it. "What do you want?" a woman's hoarse whisper answered. "I don't have any money, so go on and leave me alone."

"Don't worry, I'm not a bill collector - I'm just looking for Elizabeth Mulholland."

"Why?"

"It's important that I talk to her about Lawrence Hanson."

"Lawrence?" The door opened a foot and she cautiously poked her head out to look at him. "How do you know Lawrence?"

Her brown hair was dirty, and her still-beautiful face had begun to soften from drink. Her breath smelled of whiskey and faint wrinkles of age were forming around her once full mouth. When she saw Jack, she brushed her hair back from her face, trying to look as presentable as she could.

"You are Elizabeth Mulholland?" he asked, barely able to hide the incredulous tone of his voice. This was not the woman he was expecting to see. Although still pretty, her eyes had a dark, haunted look. She had obviously led a hard life the past year and had the air of disappointment of someone living a different life than expected.

"I am," she replied sullenly. "Or maybe I should say I was. Things have changed a lot since anyone called me by my proper name."

"It's important that I talk to you about Lawrence," Jack said, not wanting to hear about her past. "He's gone missing and can't be found."

"Why do you care where Lawrence is? Why should I care as well?"

"I was given a job to find him," he replied. "His family is sick with worry and they want to know where he could be."

"Sick with worry? Ha! More like afraid of getting their precious name dragged through the mud."

"That may be, but I still have to find him."

"Is there a reward?" she asked hopefully.

"No reward," Jack replied with a scowl.

She jerked her head back into the room and tried to shut the door. His boot slid in the crack of the doorway before the door could be closed. She continued to try to pull the door shut against his foot, but Jack pulled it open with a jerk and forced her back into the room.

"No reward," he said again. "But I can personally pay you for any information, ma'am. Provided it's good, that is."

He looked her over, and she returned his watch unabashedly. She was wearing a dress that had seen better days - it had been pulled loosely over her shoulders, and appeared to be unbuttoned in the back. Her shoes were worn and several light stains could be seen on her sleeves. The room was no better, a collection of piled up clothing, dishes, and broken down furniture. Jack looked sadly around at her room. "Why do you live in a place like this?" he asked her.

She laughed sourly and slumped down in a chair near her sagging bed. "I don't have much of a choice these days," she replied nastily. "When my husband found out his wife was a cheap whore, he threw me out. And of course, my very prim and proper father wouldn't take me back. They would rather have me disappear in this slum than risk the scandal of being associated with an adulteress."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "I can't make things any better for you, but I can give a few dollars if you answer my questions."

"Ask away," Mulholland said. "But first, you don't have a drink on you? I'm fresh out."

Pulling out a pint of whiskey from his jacket, he handed it over to her. "I never travel without a bottle."

"Good, I don't trust a man who won't take a drink." She opened the bottle and took a greedy pull from it. "That's a fine bit of whiskey you've got there." She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and leaned further back on the chair to take a deeper drink. "It's much better than the swill I can afford."

Jack grabbed the bottle back, took a small swig for himself, and then returned it. "How did you meet Lawrence?" he asked her.

"I met him through some acquaintances," she said. "It was back when I was married. There was a big gathering I went to with my husband. It was a large party for some of the social elite of Washington."

"Whose party was it?" Jack asked as he kept a careful watch on the bottle.

"Faith Hanson threw it. In the course of the evening I was introduced to Lawrence. I had a fair amount of drink and found him most interesting." She took another gulp of whiskey and sighed. "Oh, that feels better already." Her face began to flush from the alcohol and she studied him with a coy manner. "We spent some time alone in the garden, talking about everything under the sun."

"Why did you continue to see him?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation on track. He could tell that the drink was causing her to drift away already.

"Give me the money first," she replied bluntly, taking yet another pull from the pint. She rested the bottle on her lap, her dress pulled high against her well-formed legs. It was easy to tell she wasn't wearing a slip underneath.

Jack glanced and saw a fine pair of thighs. He then averted his eyes and pulled out a handful of silver dollars and threw a few into her lap. She pulled them from between her legs and squinted hard at the coins in her hand. She then grinned at him and hid them away in her front dress pocket.

"Davis was the man, damn him. I'll never forget that it was Davis who brought me to ruin. Ethan Davis destroyed my life." Her voice began to slur as the now near-empty bottle dangled in her hand. She glared at Jack, who then took the bottle away.

Jack was surprised by her answer. "Davis? Are you sure?" he asked.

"Of course it was Davis," Her voice was sharper now, but her eyelids drooped, and she watched the bottle in his hand.

He wondered why would that dandy would be involved with Mulholland. She must be mistaken in her drunkenness. "Never mind Davis, do you know a man named Abbott?"

"Abbott, I've never heard of him," she replied. She looked at the detective, fluttering her eyelashes. "Is he as nice as you are?"

"Not that much nicer," Jack said.

"Well, you should have brought him along, and then we all could have had a real party," she said with a laugh. Her eyes looked around her room listlessly, but her attention kept returning to the bottle in his hand.

"Back to Davis, why would he want you to see Lawrence?" Jack asked her.

"I don't know. He made me do it and never gave me a reason why. You see, I was not being faithful to my husband at all. I had been seeing Ethan Davis for a time, and he threatened to tell my own husband of my indiscretions if I did not do what he asked. If I agreed to make Lawrence fall in love with me, Davis promised to keep our little secret."

"Did he end up falling for you?"

"What else was he supposed to do? I never saw such a foolish young man. He believed what he wanted to believe and only heard what I let him hear. I am not ashamed to admit that Lawrence was pleasant enough company, even though he was too young and inexperienced." Her hands fumbled towards the bottle in Jack's hand. "Now give me another drink and let's have some fun."

He held the bottle up high, away from her. She looked at him and scowled in a wobbly fashion. "Just a few more questions," Jack said. "What did Davis ask you to do while you were seeing Lawrence?"

"You mean other than sleep with him?" she chuckled humorlessly. "He would write me long letters filled with poetry and his declarations of undying love. Davis wanted me to give him every letter I received, and I had no reason to do otherwise."

"Why did you stop seeing him?"

"My husband found out about my affair. I wasn't careful enough so he was bound to find out sooner or later. My husband then threatened Lawrence with being arrested for adultery. The poor child was cowardly enough to go running back to that old father of his and ask for help. He left me, and I haven't seen him since."

"Has he ever tried to contact you since then?"

"No, he was too scared of losing his father's money. My husband threw me out of the house with nothing but the clothes on my back. I've had to find my own way in the world ever since. Lawrence never helped me or even came to see me."

Jack gave her back the bottle with some disgust. She looked away from his expression and drank greedily from the remnants of the bottle. She finished it off, and let it slide to the floor. Her eyes, now glazed red with drink, lost focus as she stood up and stumbled towards him.

"What about Davis? What did he do afterwards?"

"Enough talk about him - why don't you stay for a while?" her voice slurred. "We can get to know each other even better." Her hands rested on his waist, attempting to draw him closer.

"I'm sorry, I don't have the time, missy. I have someone waiting for me right now, but maybe some other time," he replied.

"Now that's too bad. Are you sure there isn't anything I can do for you?" she asked.

Jack shook his head and made ready to leave.

She slid the dress off of her shoulders and stood in front of him with nothing on. Her body was still slender and her breasts high and firm. "I'm willing to do anything for the man who can get back at that snake Davis for me."

"That bastard will pay his dues, don't you worry."

"I'm not worried, now come here to me."

He smiled, shook his head, and took a step back towards the door. "I'm flattered, but I have my partner waiting for me. Maybe I'll collect on your promise later."

"Damn your partner. Come over here."

"Now look Elizabeth, you are a beautiful woman, but you are more than a little drunk right now. I like my women clean and sober, not falling over. I'll be back if I need anything else from you." He then tipped his hat and walked out the door. She ran and slammed it hard behind him. Jack could hear her begin to sob as he walked down the hallway.

*

They began riding back towards downtown Washington. Jack was deep in thought when Ezra interrupted him.

"Well, what did you find out?" his partner asked impatiently.

"Ezra, the women are throwing themselves at me today."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Oh, never mind. Abbott and Stevenson may not be the only players in this game. Miss Mulholland told me that it was Davis who made her seduce Lawrence."

"Davis? Ethan Davis?" Ezra was incredulous.

"Yes. I'm not sure what the connection is yet." He filled in his partner about the conversation with Mulholland, leaving out no details.

"I don't know what to make of this," Ezra said doubtfully. "Abbott could have learned of the affair through Davis, or maybe he got a hold of the letters between Lawrence and Mulholland, and used them for blackmail. Of course Davis could have been just trying to get rid of Mulholland if he was after Faith."

"There's one way to find out – let's go and ask Abbott what he knows."
Chapter 13

It was mid-afternoon when they came to Abbott's apartment building where they were ushered in. After climbing the stairs, Jack had to knock several times at the door before it was opened by the butler.

Avoiding Ezra's glance, he looked coldly at the detective and asked, "What can I do for you?"

"We're looking for Abbott."

"I'm afraid that he is out for the day," he said brusquely.

Jack looked hard at the butler and frowned. "I think we can sit right here and wait for him. I wasn't planning on doing anything else today." He grinned at his partner. "How about you, Mister Miller?"

"I'd have assumed that a gentleman such as Mister Abbott would not make his guests stand and wait outside for him," replied Ezra.

"You will be waiting for a long time," the butler said sharply. "I don't think you will find it worth your while, gentlemen. Now I suggest you leave." He began to shut the door, but Jack pushed his way past him.

"Now, sirs, I must protest. You can't come in here like this. I will have to get the doorman to remove you by force," he called after them as they walked past.

Abbot was there.

The butler followed, "I'm sorry, Mister Abbott," he apologized. "But they were most insistent."

Abbott, with a drink in one hand, waved away the butler's apology. He turned his attention back to Jack. "It's so good to see you again," he said sarcastically. "Now can't a man get any peace in his own home? Tell me why I shouldn't have you thrown out."

"I can tell you why," Jack replied. "We can tie you directly to the disappearance of Lawrence and also to a murder."

"Murder?" Abbott asked quizzically, but still calm. He finished his drink and walked lazily over to a decanter at a sideboard and poured another. "You had better tell me what you are talking about, so I can make some sense of it." He then returned to his position before the sofa, his movements slow and careful.

Jack said impatiently, "Tinen was the owner of the Gay Lady Saloon. He was found dead the other day. I have a source that places you there with Lawrence the night he left town. It strikes me as an odd coincidence that the man who owned the place where Lawrence disappeared ended up murdered."

Abbott cocked an eyebrow and frowned. "As I said before, I don't have anything to do with Lawrence or any missing papers."

Jack bounded over and shoved Abbot roughly backwards, forcing him down onto the sofa. The drink splattered on his coat. "Now just shut up for once, and listen to me," the detective said angrily. "And you'll only talk when I tell you to talk. You're going to tell me about Tinen. And then you're going to tell me about Davis."

Winston panicked and tried to quickly leave the room to get help, but Ezra grabbed him by the collar and pushed the butler hard against the wall. "I wouldn't want you to rush off and miss all of the fun," the black man said. "I suggest you just stand here and listen to this for a while."

Jack ignored this commotion and continued to speak to Abbott. "I'm not sure where Lawrence is right now, but I do know several things. He was blackmailed by you, but it was Davis who provided the letters. Hell, it was Davis who provided the girl Mulholland in the first place. She was convinced to seduce Lawrence since she was the victim of blackmail herself."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Abbott sputtered, his face red with anger. "Davis? I've never heard of the man."

Jack continued, "At first, the idea was to just drain the Hanson bank account. You and Davis could have milked it for a long time, but the girl Mulholland was foolish and her husband found her out. But after the affair was finished, you and Davis were left with the love letters that Lawrence sent to her. At first glance, this wouldn't seem like much to have, but then this war broke out. You had someone working for the War Department whose family couldn't stand to have a hint of scandal. Lawrence had access to sensitive material, and he was also the type who could be blackmailed. If those letters were sent to his employer, he would lose his job and any chance of redeeming himself."

"I tell you, Lawrence was a friend of mine," Abbott said indignantly, his finger pointing at the detective's chest. "I could never do anything to him like that."

"I'm being paid to find him and will do anything I need to do to get him back. The War Department wants Lawrence too, but I would prefer to get him first. Now are you going to tell me where he is?"

Abbott looked nervously up at Jack and tried to stand – looking like he wanted to run for it. "I already told you, I don't know anything about this."

"Enough of the lies!" Jack shouted. "You were the last person seen with him the night he disappeared. You tried to cover that up, but I found out anyways." He raised his hand as if to strike the quaking man.

Abbott slumped on the arm of the sofa and raised his hands to protect himself. "Please," he gasped. He suddenly leaned over, his hands moving towards his jacket pocket. Quickly, Abbott slid a small pistol out of his coat pocket. He tried to fire it, but his hand was raised awkwardly. The detective twisted it roughly from Abbott's hand. The small gun discharged, the bullet striking the ceiling above. There was a sickening crunch as the trigger-guard broke the man's finger. He screamed as he cradled his hand.

Jack loosened the pistol from Abbott's grip. "That was an expected move. Now don't do anything foolish like that again, or I'll make sure the remaining bullet is for you."

"I think you broke my finger," he whined, clutching his hands together in pain.

"Good. That will be a reminder for you as to the kind of man I am. I'm not some jealous husband or old man to be easily cowed with threats."

"Stevenson will get you," Abbott threatened childishly. "He's a bigger man than you are and even tougher."

Jack laughed hollowly. "We'll see about that soon enough. Now I want you to be honest with me. If not, I'll have to open the side of your face. The prostitutes won't like the ugly scar that I will leave. They will be charging double to service you."

"Please, give me a chance," Abbott pleaded, his voice trembling with worry. His face was pale with panic and pain.

"No more chances," Jack replied nastily.

"Please, I can pay you more than the Hanson family will be willing to give you. I have lots of money."

"If I wanted your money, I would have asked for it. No more games. Tell me, where is Lawrence?"

Abbott hesitated before speaking, the pain and fear etched in his face. His shoulders then slumped in surrender. "Lawrence is being held by Stevenson," he finally said.

"Where?" Jack demanded, his hand grabbing ahold of Abbott's lapels.

"He has an old house that he rents in the south side of town. He lives there at times and uses it to take care of any private business that comes up."

Jack looked at his partner, who nodded back. That was the location of Stevenson's house alright. "Good, you're beginning to learn. Now where are those plans being kept?"

"I don't know," Abbott said quietly. "I handed them over to Stevenson, those were the orders I was given from Mister Davis."

Jack gave him a light tap with the pistol on the side of the face. "Are you sure about that?" he asked.

Abbott flinched away from the pistol, swallowed and answered. "Yes. Stevenson was supposed to meet the courier sent by the Rebels. They were supposed to setup the meeting place to swap the plans. Davis is going to make the trade himself, but he wants to make sure everything is setup right first. He fears being double-crossed."

Jack stood back and smiled coldly. "I see. Now my partner and I will have to pay a visit to Stevenson. But first we are going to take you to meet a friend of ours so you don't have a chance to warn anyone. Now get up and let's go."

He stood up meekly, holding to his hand gingerly. "Where are you taking me?"

"A nice cozy jail cell," Jack said. "It will be a fitting place for a villain like you."

"You can't take me to jail," Abbott spat out. "You aren't a constable."

"No, I'm not, but my friend is," Jack said. His smile showed he relished Abbott's fear. "We'll take your butler too. I wouldn't want him to get any ideas and go tell on us. Now let's get going." Grabbing the scruff of the man's collar, he shoved him roughly towards the door.

*

Jack and Ezra pushed Abbott and his butler into Garret's office. The Captain of the Watch looked up from his desk, nodded at Jack, and grinned at Abbott. "What a pleasure it gives me to see you. I see that you met my friend Jack."

Abbott drew himself up proudly and stared angrily at Garret. "I must demand that you let me go now. I haven't committed any crime, and this miscreant here is arresting me illegally."

"Is that so?" Garrett asked. "I'll have to look into the matter for you." He turned his attention to Jack and demanded, "And just why is this bastard here?"

"I need you to hold the both of them here for a little while," Jack replied. "We have a good lead on where Lawrence Hanson has been taken."

Garrett leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. His open fingers rested on each other, making a steeple. He said, "Perhaps we could hold them for questioning? It will only be for the night though. I just don't have a lot of space right now, but I can always find a place for these two." He then called in two of his men to take Abbott and his butler away.

Abbott stared at Jack as he was being led away. "I'll be seeing you in Hell," he spat.

Jack shook his head. "If I don't see you first."

"What have you two been up to?" Garret asked after the prisoners had left. His face was creased with interest. He motioned for them to take a seat, pulled a bottle out of his drawer, and took out three glasses. "Let's have a quick drink and you can tell me." He poured out the whiskey and sat back to listen.

Ezra took the glass and swallowed half of it in a hurry. "Jack and I have been busy. We have found out who was behind the disappearance of the Anaconda Plans."

Jack nodded. "Yes, do you know someone called Ethan Davis?"

"I'm familiar with him."

"We've met him over at the Hanson house. He was a bit of a bore and I would never have suspected him as being involved in this mess."

Garrett filled up Ezra's glass again and took a drink for himself. "Davis - I probably can't tell you anything more than my partner already knows. He is quite popular with the society crowd. But he has never been in any trouble with the law."

"Is he a Secessionist sympathizer?" Jack asked.

"He is from down south, but he has never shown any pro-Rebel sympathies that I've ever heard. What connects him with up with Abbott?"

"I have talked to that woman who Lawrence was seeing – Miss Mulholland. She mentioned that Davis was the one who set her up with Lawrence. She in turn was being blackmailed by Davis who was using her to get the love letters passed between those two."

"So?"

"Well, if that was the case – how did Abbott get a hold of those letters? He had to have some hold over Lawrence to get him to steal those plans. The only way he had to get those letters was from Davis. I bluffed Abbott, and in the end he confirmed what I was guessing at."

"You do realize that Abbott will be a free man by the morning. Will that give you enough time to get Lawrence?" Garret asked.

"We will be heading over to Stevenson's house right now. If we don't come back, then we fell into a trap. You'll know who did it." Jack finished his glass with a swallow and motioned to Ezra that it was time to leave.

"Ezra?" Garret growled. "Take care of Jack, will you? He sometimes rushes into things too fast and won't watch his own back."

The ex-slave smiled at the Captain knowingly as Jack left the room. "I'm used to the job."
Chapter 14

It was evening when they made it to Stevenson's. Louse Alley, one of the poorer parts of town, was populated by the dregs of Washington. Crowded onto small dirt lots, the houses seemed to all be looking over each other's shoulders. A few houses were nearly touching, with small dingy footpaths in between, and walls blocking out the fading sunlight. Weeds surrounded Stevenson's small house and the unpainted side was weathered gray.

Leaving his horse behind, Jack walked by the house and took in the surroundings. His eyes looked down the street where several women and children vacantly watched him from their porches. An old man on a wagon tapped his donkey with a switch and ignored Jack as he passed by.

He walked back around the block and returned to a waiting Ezra. "I don't see anybody suspicious around."

"Everyone looks suspicious in this neighborhood," his partner replied flatly.

Jack laughed. "You're right about that. We had better take the horses away so they won't be stolen. Once we drop them off at the livery, we can wait for night to fall. Then we can take a walk around to the back of his house and see if we can find a way in."

"That sounds like a good idea as long as Stevenson isn't home." his partner replied.

"Don't worry. With Abbott safely away that won't be a problem."

"I hope you're right."

"Come on, let's take a little detour and then see if we can find anything inside."

*

After dropping off the horses at a livery in a better part of town, they hiked back to Stevenson's neighborhood. The street was now mostly empty, and only a few restless residents could be seen. Clouds were beginning to gather above the city, and the wind started to whip up as the darkness of night began to move in.

Ezra shivered and looked up at the sky. "Looks like we might get some rain," he commented.

"That can work in our favor," Jack said. "It's hard to hear a man breaking into a house if it's raining." He pointed to the house ahead as the rain began to come down heavy sheets. "We're almost there - let's go see if our friend is home."

They walked past the front of the house in the gloomy rain. No light could be seen through the windows, which were covered with boards. They stopped and looked around to see if any neighbor was watching them. Seeing no one, Jack motioned for Ezra to follow him behind the house.

The back of the house was also boarded up with rough-hewn wood slats over the doors and windows. A small dilapidated fence shielded the yard from any prying eyes. Jack looked for any unwanted observers and saw that the surrounding buildings were dark and silent.

Ezra stopped his friend: "What's that noise?" They stood still and then Jack pointed toward the fence. A scrawny orange cat held a dead rat in its mouth, and had knocked over some piled-up kindling wood. It looked at them, hesitated, and then noiselessly padded off. The detective sighed in relief. He then walked over to the back door and pulled on the handle. It wasn't just locked, but nailed tightly shut.

"Looks like these nails are on pretty tight," Jack said with a grunt. "Why don't you check the window over there while I keep a lookout?" He took a position at the corner of the house to keep an eye on the neighborhood as Ezra looked over the windows. Jack looked up at the rain-drenched sky and saw lightning flash in the distance. It was a good night for this kind of work.

Ezra went over to the ground floor window next to the door and pulled on the bottom wooden board. There was a loud groan as the nails on the bottom board separated from the rotted window frame. Jack waved his hands, motioning for his friend to stop. He looked carefully around the corner of the house to see if anyone had heard. No one was there, so he went back to help him. Using the freed board, they pried the next slat from the frame. Behind the boards, the window was still intact. They both pushed hard to open the window, but it was nailed shut on the inside.

"Since we've gotten this far, we might was well finish the job." Jack grinned as he smashed the bottom windowpane with the board. Even with the heavy rain coming down, the shattering glass crashed loudly in the night air. They stopped their work momentarily to listen for anyone raising the alarm, but again no one in that neighborhood seemed to care. Using the bottom of his coat to shield his hand from broken glass, Jack pushed the jagged remains of the window off of the bottom pane.

They crawled in, one at a time, through the narrow opening, being careful not to cut themselves on the remaining glass splinters. Inside, the wooden floor had a thick layer of dust, and the boards squeaked loudly as they crept forwards in the gloom. Jack lit a match and held it high in the air. It was a back bedroom which showed some signs of recent use; a newspaper and some matches were on the floor next to a dilapidated chair and a rumpled bed. A kerosene lamp stood on a small table in the corner, along with some dirty glasses and wadded newspaper. Through the arched doorway on the right, there was a hallway with a small kitchen which gave a faint odor of cooking. A closed door stood at the end of the hallway.

The match flared out. Jack walked further into the room to take a closer look. Ezra followed, looking behind them to see if they were being watched. The house appeared to be empty as the only sound to be heard was rain drumming against the roof. Sudden flashes of lightning dimly lit the rooms, causing shadows to momentarily appear on the walls.

They walked into the kitchen. Several dirty pans and dishes were strewn on the table. The old rusty wood oven still felt slightly warm against Jack's hand. They went into the hallway and cautiously opened the door at the end of the hall.

Both of them silently went into the main room that was located at the front of the house. The front door was shut, and everything was quiet. A ratty sofa and a pair of stuffed chairs were the only furniture. The fireplace held nothing but ashes from the previous fire. A single unlit lamp and key stood on the mantelpiece. Past the sofa, there was a door leading to another room.

Jack tried the door knob, but it was locked. Ezra picked up the key from the mantelpiece and fit it into the lock. His partner turned the key, while Jack stood ready with his Starr pistol cocked. The door slowly opened, revealing nothing but a dark room. The curtains inside were apparently drawn tight because neither of them could see anything in the gloom. A dark, sick odor wafted toward them, and they took a step back in recognition.

Jack coughed and held his nose tightly to stop himself from gagging. He knew that smell – it was death. "Let's get some light in here," he said through his hand which he had pressed tightly to his nose. He grabbed the lamp from the front room and lit it. He raised the flame enough to just give a faint glow and went back to the room where Ezra stood waiting.

Sitting on an old wood chair sat the body of a man stripped to the waist. He was tied to the arms and feet of the chair, with his head hanging over his chest. The shirt lay tattered around the man's waist. Not a breath or sound could be heard, only the final stillness that death brings. Jack to a step closer and pulled the man's head up. The youthful face was waxy with the mask of death and a trail of dried blood ran down his broken nose and into his mouth. The cheeks were battered with deep bruises, and the eyes were swollen shut.

Jack sighed and let the head drop. "Well, we found him," he said flatly. "Faith won't be happy, but we found him alright."

"Are you sure it's Lawrence?" his partner asked, nearly gagging.

"It's him - looks just like the photograph we were given." Jack felt sick to his stomach and was full of regrets that he had failed in finding Lawrence in time. He turned around and quickly walked out of the room pushing Ezra ahead. He shut the door and breathed heavily, trying to clear the stench of rotting flesh out of his nostrils.

Ezra was leaning against the wall looking sick. "Stevenson plays rough," he gasped. "He could have just killed him, but he decided to torture him for a few days first. He must have bled to death."

"The poor fool," Jack whispered in reply. "It's a sad way for any man to die."

"At least it's over for him now. I would like to get a piece of the bastard in return."

"I agree. Let's sit in the other bedroom and wait for Stevenson to return. We can beat the truth out of him and get to Davis in the end." His face was grim.

"I would like that," Ezra said coldly.

Jack and Ezra relocked the door and put the key back in its place. They extinguished the flame and put the lamp back above the fireplace.
Chapter 15

Jack sat on the moth-eaten bed, studying the rain as it splashed on the open windowsill. Ezra stood, listening for the return of Stevenson. The roof was old and started to leak small droplets of water on the dust-laden floor. Both were still feeling the effects of seeing Lawrence dead. After a few minutes of silence, they began to talk in low whispers.

"It's a damn shame that Miss Hanson will never see her brother again," Ezra sadly said.

"I feel bad about that. I never would have guessed this would be the outcome of our case. Faith may not want to talk to me after I tell her the news."

"It's not your fault, Jack. I'm sure she won't hold you responsible."

"You never know with women," the detective said stiffly.

"Did you ever think of getting married again?" his partner suddenly asked.

"Why are you asking me that?" Jack asked, taken aback.

"You seem to have more than a passing interest in her. From what you've told me, the feeling is mutual. Why don't you go ahead and take a chance?"

He shook his head. "Maybe she does have an interest in me, but there's not much I want to do about it."

"I don't think you've ever been the same since your wife died," Ezra said. "It would be good for you to find someone else."

Jack stared at his friend, any thoughts broken by the sudden mention of his dead wife. "Well, Ezra, my Mary was a special woman. She didn't try to make anything out of me that I wasn't. I'm not sure if there is anyone else like that in the whole damn world."

"You can't be alone your entire life."

"A woman like Miss Hanson will want to make something out of me. Someone she would be proud of, someone who she could walk in the street with. I don't think I'm that kind of man for her. Do you really think her father would let her marry someone like me?"

The storm was fading and the rain was diminishing its patter on the roof.

Ezra said, "Life is too short to worry about what people might think. She might try to change you, but you can also change her. It might work out for the both of you."

Jack shrugged. "I'm too old, too poor, and too set in my ways for Faith Hanson. There's no future in it."

"There's no future in the way you've been treating yourself." Ezra replied quietly.

"Ah, Ezra, are you my partner, or my mother? Let me be. I can take care of myself."

"Now wait..." his partner's voice trailed off as they both heard the front door open.

They both stopped and waited silently so they could listen. They heard a group of people entering the house. Two voices were raised in argument. Jack raised his finger to his lips and quietly walked over to the hallway door and looked through the open gap. He could just see into the front room and make out three figures.

Stevenson stood in front of the fireplace, lighting the lamp. A leather satchel was in his hand, which he placed on top of the mantelpiece. He then turned and faced a woman standing next to a shorter man. Jack recognized the rat-faced man as the same who had attacked him after the first visit to the Gay Lady Saloon.

The woman took off her hat, revealing graying hair. She was well-dressed, still pretty, and spoke with a slight southern drawl. At the moment she appeared to be angry over her reception from Stevenson.

"I don't know why we had to come here," she said. "A little rain shouldn't have stopped you from seeing me to Davis's house."

"Mister Davis wanted to do it this way," Stevenson replied with a matter-of-fact sneer.

"It's essential that I get the papers tonight so I can be on my way. This information will be invaluable to the cause."

"I'm not about to let you lead me into a trap, Miss Edmonds. Mister Davis doesn't care about the Rebels. He just wants to be paid for getting these plans into the right hands."

"What about his loyalty to the cause?"

"Jacob, go take a seat," Stevenson ordered. "I can see that this is going to take a while."

The little man meekly complied and sat down in a corner chair.

Returning his attention back to Edmonds, Stevenson then said, "We were promised payment for the papers."

Edmonds sighed and put her hands on her hips. "We have your money, but we want to be sure we're paying for real goods."

"They're real alright. It took some work, but these are the detailed Anaconda plans straight from the War Department."

"We know what kind of person your Mister Davis is, and we are well aware of the sort things he – and his associates – have done in the past. Before I part with any money I need to see the papers you have."

Stevenson leaned on the mantle-piece and studied Edmonds as if she was a pinned butterfly. He finally said, "You should trust Mister Davis - he'll do right by you."

"Our money is in short supply, and I'm not about to throw any of it away for a pile of worthless papers." Her expression hardened.

Stevenson shook his head. "It took a lot of hard work to get these plans, Miss Edmonds. The U.S. government may be onto us, and we've had some trouble keeping the papers in our possession. And there's a detective hired by the Hanson family who has been some trouble. We've managed to keep him busy chasing his own tail, but he may wise up soon."

"That's your concern, not mine. I just want to see what we are dealing with here. I can't afford to bring back worthless goods to my friends."

To Jack it was obvious that this man thought that this was mere business, but to Miss Edmonds it was a matter of life and death.

"The papers are real alright," Stevenson replied. He reached over and pulled the leather satchel off the mantel-piece and opened it. Removing some sheets, he handed them over to her. "This is just a small sample of what you will get. As you can see, this is good information we got for you- troop and ship movements – the whole layout of the Federal war plan."

Sarah Edmonds looked over the sheaf of papers slowly, turning her body so the light was behind her. After a minute of studying the few papers, she returned them. "These do look good, but without seeing them all, I can only offer you half of the agreed sum."

Stevenson laughed as he put the papers away. "It's all or nothing, Miss. You get your money together, and we'll meet at the arranged location tomorrow. You can bring one man to meet with Davis and me. No surprises and no extra guests. Anything out of the ordinary and I'll make sure you never leave this town alive."

"Don't threaten me," she said. "I'll have the agreed amount for the swap, just be sure not to double-cross me. There are plenty of sympathizers who would be more than willing to get revenge if you betray our cause."

Stevenson snapped, "That will be enough, Miss Edmonds. The plans will be delivered as promised."

Jack tugged on his partner's sleeve and pulled him deeper into the darkness of the backroom. He then whispered to him, "Now is our chance to get some revenge for Lawrence."

Ezra nodded and pulled out the Navy Colt from his belt. "I'm ready when you are."

"Good. Follow me in, and keep an eye on his friend Jacob in the corner. I'll take care of Stevenson. Any trouble, shoot 'em– these aren't the kind of people to go easy on."

"My pleasure," his friend replied through gritted teeth.

Jack opened the chamber on his Starr and checked the loads. He gently closed the chambers and crept towards the door.

Stevenson was still talking to Miss Edmonds. "You'll have a hard time leaving the city. Davis knows a few people that might be willing to help, but it will cost you a little extra."

"I can find my own way out of Washington," she answered stiffly. She turned and nearly ran into Jack as he entered the room. Her eyes widened with astonishment as he roughly shoved her aside.

Jack had his gun at the ready. Ezra stood next to him, his own pistol pointed at Jacob sitting in the chair. "Nice evening we're having tonight." the detective said with a small smile. He was glad to have this man at a disadvantage – the death of Lawrence needed to be avenged.

Stevenson frowned, his hand slowly inching for the gun sticking out of his waistband.

"Just give me an excuse," Jack said pointing his Starr at the man's stomach. "You grab that gun, and I'll blow a hole right through you." He then waved his gun at Edmonds. "Miss, I want you to hold very still – if you are carrying any weapons I'll just use it as an excuse to kill you. I'm not honorable enough to stop myself from plugging a woman if need be."

She shook her head. "I don't have anything."

"As for you, Stevenson, after what you did to Lawrence Hanson, it would be my pleasure to end your life. Now with two fingers on the butt, slowly put that gun of yours on the floor and kick it away."

With a scowl, he did as commanded.

Jack then said, "Now I want you and the woman to put your hands up and tell your friend to get out of that chair."

Edmonds raised her hands slowly and looked at Stevenson with disgust. He put his hands up and nodded to his friend to follow suit. Jacob stood up and slowly slid his hands up in the air with a curse.

"Was all of this a trap to get me arrested?" Edmonds asked angrily, her voice rising. She then stared at Stevenson. "I thought you had taken care of everything!"

Jack chuckled. "Now don't worry, he isn't as clever as he thinks he is."

Stevenson looked at him woodenly. He spat, "Enough of the jokes. You should know better than to speak to me that way. Get out of my house and stay out of my business."

"We aren't going to steal anything from your home, we're just trying to return some property back to their rightful owners. And what happens? We find a dead man, a Rebel spy, and two thieves."

Edmonds turned to look at the detective. "A dead man?" she gasped in surprise.

Stevenson shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about. Lawrence gave us the papers and took off to save his own neck. Just ask Jacob here."

The little man nodded nervously, sweat on his rat-like features as he eyed Ezra's gun.

"I'm not asking him anything, Stevenson; I'm only talking to you. So far you've managed to stay one step ahead of the government, but if you know anything about the way I work, you will know that I'm not the type to give up to easily. Lawrence is dead, and you're the man who killed him."

"You can't prove anything," Stevenson spat out. His eyes betrayed him as he flicked a glance towards the shut door.

"All I have to do is open that door there, and then we can all take a good look at a dead man. You tortured and then killed him, and I wouldn't mind shooting you down like the sick dog you are. Hanging is too good for vermin like you. Now hand me those papers."

Stevenson gave a minute nod to his partner Jacob, before putting his hand on the leather satchel. He then made a sudden move and shoved Edmonds into Jack. "Here, catch!" he shouted and threw himself to the side, clutching the satchel.

Jack had to step to the side quickly to avoid being hit by the stumbling lady. At the same time, Jacob rushed towards Ezra. Edmonds flung herself to the ground, afraid of being shot in the melee. Stevenson dropped to one knee, while pulling a derringer out from his boot.

Ezra shot once, hitting Jacob in the chest. The small man stumbled, holding himself, and then fell to the floor where he twitched in pain. Stevenson's little pistol fired, hitting Jack in the arm. The detective clutched his arm in pain, causing his pistol to fall to the ground. Stevenson then ran past him while Ezra tried to line up another shot, but he held his fire in fear of hitting his friend. The door was flung open and Stevenson disappeared outside.

Miss Edmonds looked up from the floor, and it appeared that she was getting ready to flee. She stopped when she saw the black man pointing a gun her way.

Ezra then ran out the front door into the rain and took two shots at Stevenson who was already far away, mounted on his horse. The two shots missed. He quickly ran back into the room. "I suggest you hold very still, Miss Edmonds" Ezra said, his voice as cold as winter. "There are some people who wish to talk to you."

She nodded and waited silently, her eyes wide and face pale.

"Jack, how is that arm of yours?" Ezra asked.

"It hurts like hell." He shook his head and squeezed his arm tightly with his free hand, causing blood to drip on the floor. He told himself he was a fool for thinking that Stevenson had enough honor not to risk the life of a woman. He leaned up against the wall, and slowly pulled his jacket off. "I don't think it hit the bone. The bullet just went through the flesh."

Ezra could see that his friend was in pain but not in any imminent danger. "Good, we'll take you to the doctor just to be sure."

"Is Stevenson's man still alive over there?"

Ezra kneeled over the small man and felt for his pulse. "He's dead. It was foolish of him to try to take me like that."

"Never mind," Jack said through gritted teeth. "We have to leave here quickly." He shook his head and bit his lip as he rolled his sleeve up as high as it would go. "See if you can find me some clean cloth and I'll wrap this arm up. And then we can get Davis."

"Do you think we will have a chance?"

"I imagine they will try to leave the city as soon as possible. Go get the horses, Ezra. I'll make sure she won't get away."

"Are you sure you can manage that with your arm?"

"Don't worry about me. We'll drop her off at Garrett's and then hurry on to Davis's to see if he was warned in time. We must hurry."

Ezra took off running to the livery, leaving his friend behind. Jack leaned sickly against the door frame but held his gun steady on Edmonds.

The spy studied the detective. "Are you sure you can really shoot me if I try to run away?"

"Go ahead if you want to take the chance."

She shook her head and instead stared at the ground in front of her. "Why don't you let me go," she pleaded. "I have a small bit of money here."

"Just be quiet and wait," Jack said roughly, his voice cracking with pain.
Chapter 16

They rode down Madison Street, the dim streetlights showing the way. Jack and Ezra followed Garrett as they entered one of the better neighborhoods of Washington. After they had taken Miss Edmonds to the City Watch, Garrett insisted on joining them on their visit to Davis. He had grinned gleefully at the prospect of one of the City's best-known gentlemen being arrested.

Davis's residence was a large Italianate home of recent construction. Heavy woodwork cornices hung from the house, painted white against the tan brick. A set of steep steps lead to a green painted door with a large brass knocker. The curtains were all closed, and not a single light could be seen inside. Ezra got down and held Jack's horse as he painfully pulled himself down from the mare.

Meanwhile, Garrett approached the steps. He held a gun in his hand and knocked on the front door. There was no answer at first, so he began rapping on the door with the butt of his gun. "Mister Davis," he shouted. "Come on out. I need to talk to you."

Within a minute, the door opened. An older man holding a lit candle stood there. "Mister Davis is not in, sir," he said sleepily.

"Who are you?" Garrett asked, trying to look past him and into the house.

"Sir, I am the butler and who might you be?"

"I am Captain Henry Garrett of the City Watch. Your Mister Davis needs to come with me and answer some questions."

"He has not been in all night. He is staying with friends." The butler answered him, his impassive expression giving nothing away.

"I would rather find out for myself," he told the butler. "Come on you two, let's take a look inside and see if this man is telling us the truth." Garrett pushed past the butler and walked into the house.

Jack painfully shrugged his shoulders and followed his partner inside.

Garrett and Ezra started to search the house and left the wounded detective at the front door. The entrance was dimly lit by a sputtering oil lamp that had been set aside by the butler. From where he was standing, Jack could see that the house was well furnished. A mosaic tile covered the entry floor. Wide wooden stairs with thick carpeting lead gracefully up to the second floor.

The butler looked harshly at him and said, "This is an unreasonable search of this home. Mister Davis will be most upset."

Jack said nothing. He reached over and turned the entryway lamp up higher. The sounds of Ezra and Garrett searching the house could be heard.

"As I already told the gentleman, he is out for the evening."

"Sure he is," Jack said. "When did he go? After Stevenson showed up? Maybe half an hour ago? How long did it take him to gather his things and take off?"

The butler gulped nervously. "I really don't know what you are talking about."

"Ezra!" Jack shouted.

His partner came down the stairs, holding an oil lamp in his hands. "Yes?"

"Any sign of Davis yet?"

"No, there doesn't appear to be anyone in the house but this butler."

"Ezra, I want you to go on and search the bedroom. Carefully check the closet and dressers to see if Davis has packed anything recently. He only had a few minutes to get ready before running for it."

"Will do," he replied. He disappeared up the flight of stairs.

Garrett soon came down the same hallway. He held his lamp up close to his friend's pale face. "You're looking ill. Are you sure you don't need to see a doctor?"

"I will in due time," Jack said resignedly. He put the lamp back down on the table and sat down on the steps. "Our friend here is playing us for fools."

Garrett looked over the butler with a wary eye. "Maybe I should take him down to the jail and let him do some hard thinking. What do you think?" He pushed the butler roughly in the shoulder.

The butler looked at both of them in bewilderment, licking his lips. "Please, I'll tell you the truth - Mister Davis left only a few minutes ago."

"Who came here to warn him?" Garrett asked with a growl.

"We were awakened by Mister Stevenson. Mister Davis then asked me to help him quickly pack some clothes and afterwards he left accompanied by his friend. There's really nothing else that I can tell you."

"Ezra!" Jack shouted. "Find anything up there?"

"No!" Ezra shouted back. He came back down the stairs to join them. "The bedroom was highly disarranged. It appears he packed in a hurry."

"He only took a small bag with him," the butler added. "I assumed he was not going to be gone long."

Jack sighed. "It looks like our quarry has fled the coop. We had better go back to talk to Miss Edmonds." He wasn't surprised that Davis managed to escape. They had ridden to the City Watch as fast as they could, but they had been hampered by his wound and Ezra having to guard Edmonds.

"What should we do with our friend here?" Garrett asked. "Maybe a few nights in jail will help bring back a few more memories."

"Forget it," Jack said flatly. "There's not enough time to worry about him."

"Just remember who runs this town," Garrett spat angrily at the butler. He then turned on his heels and marched out of the front door.

Ezra supported Jack as they left the house. With Garret's help, he then helped his partner back up on his horse, easing him up onto the saddle. They rode back to the City Watch building as fast as they could.

Jack gritted his teeth as they went down the muddy streets. His arm hurt more than he expected for the minor wound that it was, but he was already beginning to feel better after the initial shock had worn off.

The Watch was mostly empty this time of night, with only a skeleton crew left to guard the prisoners inside. The rest of the men were making rounds to pick up the brawlers and town drunks. Ezra helped Jack from his horse and they followed Garrett inside into the office. The office was the same as they had left it, with Miss Edmonds sitting in the chair and one of Garrett's men standing at the door guarding her.

She looked up at them and smiled with smug satisfaction. "I guess Davis has gotten away from you."

Garrett sat down behind his desk and faced Edmonds. He said sharply, "We'll see about that." He then lit a cigar and blew the smoke across the room. "Sam," he motioned to the constable at the door, "I want you to go down to the Secret Service and warn them about Ethan Davis and James Stevenson. We will want the patrols to be on the lookout for him. They will be traveling lightly, and if searched, they will be carrying U.S. Government papers. They must be stopped before they make their way down South."

With an impassive face, the man jotted down a brief note and then walked out of the room.

Jack sat himself down and pulled the wrappings on his arm tighter. "Miss Edmonds, perhaps you would be kind enough to tell us where Davis went."

She shook her head and spoke firmly. "Why should I tell you that? I would be happy to see those papers delivered."

"It would be better for you if you did tell us."

"I was supposed to deliver those papers," she said angrily. "If I can't, then maybe Davis can. At least my job would be done, even if someone else had to do it."

It was Jack's turn to shake his head. "Maybe you don't understand the position you are in. If you haven't noticed, this country is at war. The government won't look kindly at a spy and traitor. More than likely, you'll be hung by your neck until you are dead."

She didn't appear to take Jack's threats seriously. "They couldn't do that. I'm a woman."

Garrett chuckled. "Have you ever seen a hanging Miss Edmonds? It's a nice little dance you'll do up there after the trapdoor has been dropped. I've been to a few myself, and the crowd gets most excited at a hanging. I imagine the newspapers will cover it for quite a while. Plenty of people will come to see the show when a woman gets the rope."

She looked nervously back and forth between Jack and Garrett.

Garrett continued on and said, "I remember one time the hangman messed up. The poor fool was led up the stairs, crying and pleading his innocence. They put the rope around his neck and let him drop. The damn rope broke and he ended up landing on his ass. The worst part is they had to do it all over again. Now would you like to have something like that happen to you?"

"The captain is right," Jack said. "It won't make any difference to them if you are a woman or not. A traitor is a traitor any way you look at it. If you tell us where they have gone, maybe Garrett can work something out and help you."

She licked her lips. "I suppose it doesn't matter if I tell you or not; you will never catch Davis in time. I was just acting the part of a courier and was supposed to retrieve the papers on behalf of the State of Virginia. Davis was aware of that, since he was dealing directly them. He was to be paid when I received the papers. He was supposed to keep furnishing us with information as long as he could."

Jack looked at her sternly. "Courier or not, they will want someone to pin the blame on. You will make a good substitute for Davis if he can't be found."

"Look, Miss Edmonds," Garrett said, "I don't want to turn you over to the Secret Service unless I have to do so. They will arrest you and bring you to the Capitol Prison."

"So?" Edmonds said defiantly.

"I understand they don't have special facilities for women, so it will be an uncomfortable place to stay. If you tell us where he went, then I can stop you from getting put away there."

She looked suspiciously at Garrett. "Why would you do that?" she asked.

"Because Davis is more important to us right now, and with my delicate sensibilities I don't want to see a woman hanged." He smiled at her. "Just tell me what I need to know, and you will be home within a week. You will have to stay here for a few days, and then I can get a pass for you to leave the city. As long as you never come back here, you will be safe."

"Would you really do that for me?" she asked in disbelief.

"I have a soft spot for women. Why spend your time in that prison and face the possibility of being tried for treason?"

She sighed and looked at Garrett directly. "I'll give in if you swear my freedom is guaranteed."

"I can make that promise."

"Very well, I will tell you. I was supposed to deliver the papers at Harper's Ferry. There was the fear that if I tried to travel directly south I would be intercepted by a Federal patrol."

"Why would they make you go to Harper's Ferry?" Jack asked. "That's still under Federal control."

"If they vote to secede, the Virginia State Militia is planning to take the armory there by force."

Garrett looked pleased. "Good. Now you just wait there Miss Edmonds and I'll get you your very own room. You can spend a few days here and then you will be freed." He threw his cigar on the floor and stood up to grind it out. "Jack, now you should go see a doctor."

"I will," the detective said, "but first Ezra has to deliver a message for me. Go on and tell Miss Hanson of her brother's death. Tell her that we will be stopping by in the early morning before we leave for Harper's Ferry."

"I will," Ezra said, getting up to leave.

"I'll go back to the office after I see the doctor. We have to get some things together first."

His friend nodded. "Are we going after Davis and Stevenson?"

"There's nothing else to do."
Chapter 17

Narrative continued

I am writing in great haste, and not a little physical discomfort, as I have precipitously left Washington today. This evening, Stevenson came to tell me that I would be suspected in the disappearance of Lawrence Hanson and the important documents he was carrying. This is so distressing for a man in my position and at my time of life. I doubt I will be able to re-enter Washington society again. My butler helped me to pack a little but he is getting older and more easily flustered. It depressed me to have to leave him, and to see him in such a state. I imagine he couldn't help overhearing some of our conversation. I gave him a small amount of money in the hopes that it would keep his mouth closed until we were well away.

Stevenson seemed most ready to go when he came to alert me. Taking only the barest essentials we left town after running an errand. I am not used to such hurried goings-on. I prefer an orderly routine, and now I find myself on horseback and perhaps bedding down for the night outdoors. Stevenson seems to think we have a decent head start on any possible pursuers. Oh well, I am returning to the land of my family, or near enough at any rate. I am certain my personal appearance shall suffer, but I will be able to buy new clothes if necessary soon enough.

Later

We are taking some rest for the horses and for ourselves right now. We have found a little path from the main road that is under some trees, perhaps leading to a farmer's lane. The horses are chewing some fresh grass; we are resting against some rocks at the side of the path. I'm more used to traveling in comfort than in haste. But for all that, it is pleasant to see the countryside just now. A hint of spring has been in the air for a few weeks, but in the city all one can see are muddy ruts and wet leaves. Riding outside the city limits and into the countryside is something I have not enjoyed for a while. When I travel by train it is from one crowded station to another. Of course, traveling by horseback is slower, but a sense of geography and natural beauty comes stealing over you unawares. Washington has its attractions, it has been my home for some time, it has fashionable places to go, but the open feel of the countryside makes one more peaceful and expansive, even after the haste in which we left Washington.

Stevenson appears to know which route we should be taking. That Rebel spy Miss Edmonds will probably have a lot to tell the police once they get around to questioning her. I regret that the result of our planning for these war papers has turned out this way. I am certain Miss Hanson will feel I am responsible for her brother's death, and hold it against me. I am not sure how fond she was of him in truth, although I dare say she'd make a good show of it for the detective. And perhaps she felt guilty for not feeling more for Lawrence than she did.

Again, this idea about selling war plans could have been profitable for everyone concerned, and I am not sure where it went wrong, but I do know that I am unhappy with the results. If I didn't need Stevenson to help me find the Rebel agents, and be a bodyguard, I would sever all contact with him, as he must be to blame in some way. Perhaps Lewis Abbott is to blame as well, but I have known him so long that I find it hard to place blame there.

I wish we weren't headed to Harper's Ferry as the possibility of hostile action is higher there. But all the soldiers and such in the area might help obscure us better in case we are being pursued. For all that I downplayed Mister Blackwood's ability, I imagine he can figure out where we are headed and that he has already left to follow us, ex-slave partner in tow.

*

There was a light mist in the air as Jack and Ezra rode toward the Hanson house. They had packed for traveling lightly, with only their rifles, food for two days, and a small tarp to use to keep the spring rains out. The blossoms on the trees were almost in full bloom, choking the air with their thick perfumed smell.

Jack winced as his mare stepped jarringly over a hole in the road. He gingerly felt his tightly wrapped arm. Last night the doctor had warned him to be careful and to not use the wounded arm. As usual, he ignored the advice and did not tell the doctor of the long trip he was about to take.

As they rode closer to the Hanson home, Jack felt his throat constrict with nervousness. All night he had wondered how she taken the news of her brother's death. Ezra said she was impassive when she heard it, simply nodding sadly before slowly shutting the door. He had had then quickly made his way back to the office to prepare for the trip.

Faith was waiting for them at the front door. She gave them a weak smile. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, but she still looked strong enough to see them. "I got your message last night, Jack," she choked. "Why was he killed? Why?"

Jack pulled himself off of his mare and went over to where she was standing. He hugged her tightly with his good arm and felt her soft hair against his neck. "I don't know. All I can say is that I'm sorry about what happened to your brother," he said plainly. "I'll see that the responsible parties pay for his death."

She wiped her eyes, sniffled and wrapped her arms around him. "I was hoping he was still alive, but I guess I should have known better. It was hopeless all along, wasn't it?"

Jack felt her body against his and had a brief moment of wishing he could hold her for as long as he needed to. He gently stroked the back of her head with his good arm. "Now there was nothing wrong with hoping. I want you to be strong while we are gone. We will be gone for two or three days at best. When I'm back, I'll come and see you."

"Where are you going?" she asked softly.

"The woman courier sent up by Virginia told us where Lawrence's killers went. We will pursue them as need be."

Her voice cracking with emotion, she said, "I wish you could stay with me instead of leaving."

"I told Henry Garrett of the City Watch to keep an eye on you. His men will be stopping by to check on the house."

"Don't worry about me," she said. She hugged him tighter before stepping back to look at him lovingly. "Do you really think you will you be able to get those plans back?"

"They have a head start on us, but we know where he is going. It will take them some time to get to Harper's Ferry. If we're lucky, we can catch up to them before they make their escape."

"Please, be careful," she said. Her voice had lowered; a warm look was in her eyes that Jack knew was just for him. "When you are done, please come back to me."

"Don't you worry, I'll be back in a few days."

"I wish you would reconsider this pursuit. Those papers aren't that important anymore, but you will always be important to me."

He smiled and held her hand in earnest. "That's good to hear, but I'm still working in the Hanson family interest. If your honor is to be preserved then those plans must be returned."

"I could care less about the papers – only Lawrence's safety was ever important to me." She said and then started sobbing again.

Jack hugged her tightly again and kissed her cheek. "Please don't cry," he whispered.

Ezra coughed politely to get Jack's attention. "We best be going if we want to have any chance of catching them."

"Right you are," he replied. "Now Miss Hanson, I'll be back soon enough. Take care of your father."

She kissed him lightly on the lips and quickly turned away to flee into the house. Ezra smiled to himself as his friend painfully pulled himself back up on his horse. Jack then placed his arm into his makeshift sling and turned his horse down the lane.

Jack felt confused. He thought about his conflicting feelings for Faith and the job that lay ahead. It didn't seem to make sense because they could end the job now: Lawrence had been found, and the government could worry about the damn papers. Were the plans really so important to him now? Or did he really just want to get revenge on Stevenson and Davis?

They entered the wide, dirty street, having to ride along the side of the street to allow a large procession of troops to march by. As they continued west out of Washington, the temperature was beginning to rise and dry the mud-soaked streets. They turned onto Virginia Avenue when Ezra caught up.

He said, "Why didn't you tell her it was Davis we are after?"

Jack shook his head. "She's had enough misery right now. What would she think if she heard that a former suitor was tied to her brother's death? She thought that Davis was in love with her. Could it be he was only interested in her due to her family's wealth and her brother's position in the War Office? Would you want to tell her that?"

"I don't see the reason to protect her feelings. Unless you're falling in love with that girl," Ezra said flatly, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him.

Jack turned in saddle and gave his partner a sharp glance. He then shrugged his shoulders and gave a short laugh. "Could be," he said, trying to keep any emotion out of his voice.

"It's about time." Ezra's said, his tone turning friendlier. "She's been waiting long enough for you to make your intentions clear."

"My intentions? I don't know what you mean."

"She's practically waiting for you to take her away from that place."

Jack gave a little laugh. "She is in a sorry state right now, Ezra. I found her brother dead at the hands of that bastard Stevenson. I would not want to take advantage of her feelings right now."

Ezra gave this some thought before changing the subject. "We have a long road ahead of us. Why do you expect that we will be able to catch up? Once Davis makes it to Harper's Ferry, he only has to find the right people, hand over the plans, and then make his way south. Once he is down there, we won't be able to get to our hands on him."

"He may have escaped, but he doesn't have the right passes to get there easily. The Army has pickets around this entire city."

"That may be," Ezra said, "but the pickets won't stop a determined man. Everyone knows that."

The detective answered, "I know. But, they only have a few hours' start on us. Davis and Stevenson may know how to ride a horse, but to me they are still city boys. They will have to slow down on the small side trails and rest their horses more often than us. We're used to hard riding and can make up the time."

"You're used to hard riding, Jack. I was never in the Army like you."

"Don't worry - I'm sure you'll manage."

"Do you really think we can beat them there?" Ezra asked, still cynical.

"I'm not sure, but we have to take the chance. We have some seventy miles of traveling ahead of us, and I aim to try my luck."

Ezra frowned, aware that they had a tough ride ahead.

"Don't worry, Ezra, it won't be that bad. We'll make good time on the road."

"With company like yours, any road will be hard one," he said sarcastically.
Chapter 18

Hundreds of marching feet, the Federal soldiers heading to Washington, had broken up the dirt road outside the city. Jack and Ezra had to stay on the side of the road to allow the lines of men and wagons to pass the other way. It was slow going at first, but their horses managed to keep a consistent pace trudging along the muddy track. The sky was still gray and threatened rain as the afternoon drew on. The inexperienced soldiers were smiling and laughing, their faces excited with the prospect of going to war. Jack shook his head at seeing these young recruits, who still believed in the romance and glory of battle. He remembered his own the excitement that he had felt when he was just a young soldier making his way out West in a long column of wagons. Hastily trained, they had been thrown in to police the Plains Indians. After his first battle, the glory of battle seemed more like a passing illusion than ever before. War was a hard and bloody job that broke a man in more ways than the politicians ever imagined.

Ezra broke Jack's train of thought. "I think it's going to rain," he said while looking up speculatively. "If it does, it's just going to slow us down even more."

Jack looked up at the coming gray clouds. "This may be slow going, but Davis isn't going to have it any easier."

"I don't know, it seems like we're on a fool's errand. How can we be sure he's really going to Harper's Ferry? That Edmonds woman could have lied to us. Davis could have just as easily struck straight south," Ezra pointed in that direction, "And been into Virginia right away. Money, that's the way I would have taken if I wanted to get away from Washington – it's the quickest route."

"So would I," the detective nodded. "But he's in a difficult position. He has the plans but it would be easy enough for the Rebels to just take the papers without paying the amount he requested. That's one of the reasons why he remained in the city even as the search for Lawrence intensified. By remaining within the safety of Washington, Davis was protected by the very government he was trying to sell out. Since he can no longer provide information to the Rebels, they have no reason to upkeep any bargains. He's in a tight spot now."

They rode in silence. As the afternoon hours waned, the number of soldiers on the road had begun to shrink. The troops were now pulling the wagons off into the surrounding farm fields, as yet unplanted, and making camp. A burly sergeant driving a loaded wagon going the other way waved them over as they were passing. They slowed down to talk to him. His face was wet from the light mist of rain that had begun to fall. The wagon stopped and the sergeant wiped his face with a grin.

Jack saluted.

"You two headed to Harper's Ferry?" the sergeant asked.

"We are at that," Jack replied.

The sergeant grunted. "Be careful. There are some bushwhackers in the area. We had a couple of potshots taken at us a few miles back down the road. We fired at them and scared them away, but you never know if they will come back."

Jack answered, "My friend and I are in a hurry. We have to get going, but I appreciate the warning."

"It's no skin off my back, but you'll be safer if you spend the night in camp with us." He was still grinning as he jerked his head at the encampment behind them.

"Thanks for the offer, but we must move along." Jack flicked his reins, and Ezra followed.

"I tried to warn you." The sergeant shrugged his shoulders and watched as they kept going. "Just keep your heads down, you two," he shouted at their retreating backs.

Jack gave him a wave back. They continued on and soon had the road to themselves. The troops had all cleared off and white tents dotted the area like triangular clouds in the dingy mud-soaked fields.

They continued on the road for a while longer until the sky darkened with the coming night.

"Let's give the horses a rest," Jack said, his voice raspy since he was tired from riding all day and trying to keep his injured arm immobilized. The pain wasn't bad, but a sudden jolt would cause it to suddenly flare up, especially as his horse began to stumble with weariness.

"I could do with a rest myself," Ezra agreed, his voice haggard.

Jack studied the road ahead of them. "Over there looks like a good place." He pointed to an empty farm field where a single oak tree provided some cover from the rain.

They dismounted and led the tired horses under the tree. As they pulled the saddles off, the rain then began to come down in heavy, driving sheets. The horses began to feed on the grass. Jack poured part of his canteen for them into an iron skittle. He then sat down with his back to the tree and watched them eat and drink.

Ezra pulled some jerked meat and cheese from his saddlebag. "I'm not sure if we should eat these now or wait 'til the morning. I've got half a loaf of bread and a knife; let's eat it cold so we won't spend the night hungry."

The two of them set to work and quickly finished the food, a little less weary than before.

"Ezra, why don't you shut your eyes for an hour or two? I can take the first watch here."

The black man took a swallow from his own canteen, smiled thinly and said, "I'm not that tired, but I think a rest would do me good."

"Alright," Jack said. He looked nervously at his friend, not sure whether to ask what he was about to say. "Tell me, what do you really think of Faith Hanson?" he finally said in an off-handed manner. He really didn't feel comfortable talking about her, but had some contradictory thoughts on his mind that he wanted to sort through. His partner was always fair, though mischievous with his answers.

"What do you mean?" Ezra asked innocently. "Are you asking my opinion of her as a client or as a person?" He continued looking up at the dark cloudy sky through the spring boughs of the tree, listening to the rain falling around them.

"Oh, I don't know what I'm trying to ask," Jack replied uncertainly. His hands pulled at the cuffs of his coat. "I'm not sure what I think about her. She's so young, and I don't remember what it's like to be that age anymore. Why should she pay me any attention? We're clearly from two different worlds. We can never truly be happy together."

"If you want my opinion, you should take a chance with her. She may be younger, but she still seems more than interested in you. She may even have set her cap at you. Women like her want someone older who is experienced in the ways of the world. They are more interested in security and happiness than some fancy, youthful romance. She clearly spurned that villain Davis, so she must have more sense than you think."

Jack nodded and pulled his pouch of tobacco out. He rolled himself a cigarette and offered it to Ezra. His partner shook his head sleepily. Jack shrugged his shoulders and lit the cigarette, shielding his match from the mist of rain that came down through the branches above. He blew the match out before tossing it in the grass. "Yes, she does seem interested in me. But I can't shake the idea that she is using me somehow. She wants out of that house so bad, she seems willing to do just about anything."

Ezra's voice was now quiet and his eyes were shut. "She's just lonely, Jack."

"Someone could take advantage of the situation if one was so inclined." He took another drag from his cigarette and made a face. The tobacco tasted dry and stale, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. "Well, I just can't help but feeling like I'm being taking advantage of. It's as if she was looking for a horse headed out of town. It doesn't have to be a good horse, just one she can ride on." He stubbed the cigarette out in the ground, smiling ruefully. "Well, never mind my problems. Why don't you try to get some sleep now? I'll sit here and watch the horses. I'll make sure they don't bolt if we get some thunder." Not hearing a response, he looked over at his friend, who was already fast asleep. Jack smiled to himself and continued to watch the rainy sky.

After an hour, he woke Ezra and then took a short rest himself. Afterward, they saddled up the horses and rode through what remained of the night at a hard pace. They kept the conversation to a minimum while the horses trotted uncertainly through the mud-soaked road. The rain continued to fall heavily as the hours passed on the deserted track. Only the fading ruts of the army wagons and muddy imprints of the marching soldiers could be seen. They rode on into the early morning, their riding coats pulled around them to keep out the continuing sheets of rain.

"This is some bad traveling weather," Ezra grumbled.

"Remember, it can't be any better for Davis. I bet you they are holed up somewhere waiting for it to pass."

"They are somewhere nice and warm, with a cup of hot coffee in their hands."

Even in his gloomy mood, the detective still managed to give a short laugh at the complaining. "Don't you worry, my old friend, that rain will give us the chance to make up some time on them. It will keep those bushwhackers away too."

"Jack, at this point I'm getting worried about the horses," Ezra said plainly. "They are going to be too tired to be any good to us. If someone springs an ambush on us, the horses won't last a minute if we have to make a run for it."

Jack knew that his partner had a point. They best let the horses rest again before they were pushed too hard. "We'll stop up ahead and let them feed some more," he agreed.

The rain was beginning to diminish. On the left side of the road was a grove of pine trees. That would provide some cover from the rain, so they stopped and pulled themselves off the wet backs of their mounts. Jack reached deep into his overcoat pocket and pulled out two dry cigarettes. They lit them and sat down in the damp underbrush and listened to the patter of the slackening rain. In the meanwhile, the horses ate the small amount of grain that was put in front of them.

"It's nice to get out of Washington," Ezra finally said. "It has been a long time since we've been able to leave that place."

"Yes, it has been too long. We should take the time and do some hunting more often. Too bad it's hard to make any kind of money out in the country, unless we become farmers on a big spread."

Ezra snorted and said, "I have a hard time imagining you behind a plow."

He frowned, remembering his own childhood on the farm. "You know, Ezra, that's what my father expected from me. He worked the soil year after year and got so little in return. That's when I decided to leave home and join the Army."

"I never knew that," his partner said with interest.

"Yeah, I was sad to leave the old man behind, but I wasn't going to throw my life away digging in the dirt. It just seemed pointless trying to growing crops and praying for rain. There's no money in it."

Ezra took one more drag from his cigarette before carefully putting it out in the pine needles. "I don't know," he said. "There are worse things a man can do. You won't become rich being a farmer, but at least it is honest work."

"You mean unlike the work we do?" Jack asked, throwing his cigarette stub far into the wet grass beyond.

The black man laughed again. "We aren't that dishonest, but we have to deal with people who are. Someone has to solve the little mysteries that people come across in life. If something has been lost or if they are going to lose someone – at least they will know the truth. Is there anything wrong with helping people find the truth?"

Jack shrugged and lit another cigarette, the flame of the match lighting up his face. A shout in the distance suddenly went up and several horses started galloping towards them. "Looks like we have some company coming!" he shouted as he stood up. He threw his just-lit cigarette into the dirt and ground it into the soil. "We had better get ready!"

Ezra nodded and grabbed the bridles of their horses. He then pulled them deeper into the pine trees. Jack followed, taking their carbines from the saddle scabbards.

A nearby voice shouted, "Hold up, men." The group of horses began to slow down as the party approached the tree line. "Where did you see that light, Pickens?"

"I swear it was right over here, Mister Stevenson." a thin, reedy voice answered.

Jack and Ezra froze. Stevenson was here, so perhaps Davis was nearby. Jack quietly handed a carbine over to his partner, who gently cocked the hammer. The rain continued to come down, masking their sound within the confines of the pine trees.

"Pull the horses back further into the trees," Jack whispered, "I don't want my mare to catch a bullet if some shooting starts."

Ezra nodded; the movement was almost imperceptible in the gloom. He then took both of the horses by their bridles and began to quietly move them further back into the dense pines..

The men were talking with the voice of Stevenson rising above the fray. "Get that lantern out and let's take a look," he ordered. "Pickens here may have really seen something."

Jack watched through the boughs as a thin man pulled himself off his horse. Several of the men followed suit with pistols drawn. The thin man then took out a lantern from his bag and tried to light it. His matches appeared to be wet and it took several attempts to start the wick.

"Hurry up, Joseph," one of the men could be heard muttering impatiently.

"Don't rush me, I've got it lit now," he replied. The lantern door was then opened, and the weak light of the lamp began to roam over the pine tree undergrowth.

In the dim light, Jack could now see that the men were dirty, unkempt and dressed in rough work clothes. They were carrying an assortment of weapons and looked scared. He was amazed by their amateurish approach. What men would stand out in the open with a lantern? Perhaps it was time to teach them a little lesson. Jack took careful aim with his Colt repeating rifle and fired a single shot into the lantern.

Chaos ensued as the lamp shattered, splashing burning oil across the carrier and splattering the ground. The man named Joseph screamed as his flesh began to burn.

Jack fired two more shots, downing another of the ruffians.

The rest of the men scattered away from the pine trees, some leaping up onto their saddles and riding away. The tall figure of Stevenson could be seen riding his horse at the head of the group.

Jack took a shot at him, but missed.

The burning man was still screaming with pain as he attempted to smother the oil with his hands.

Out of pity, Jack took another shot. The man slumped over, quiet at last.

Ezra came back and crouched down next to his friend. "How many did you see?" he asked in a whisper.

"I think there are a dozen of them. That was Stevenson on the black horse alright. I didn't see Davis, but I'd guess he sent him with that gang of ruffians to get us."

"They must have known that we would be here on this road, trying to catch up to them."

"I guess so," Jack replied. "I scared 'em off for now, but they will be back. We had better reload and get ready for them."

"We could probably make a run for it," Ezra said. "No reason why we should try to take on a dozen men."

"I don't want to try to outrun them. We don't know how well rested their horses are compared to ours. We are in no condition for a long chase."

"That's true. What kind of guns were they carrying?"

"Mostly muskets, but you never know." Jack reloaded the Colt rifle cylinders by feel with fresh gunpowder and shot. Normally he would have covered the back of the cylinders with wax to minimize the chance of burning gunpowder igniting a neighboring cylinder, but it was too much of a risk right now. This was a known flaw with the Colt rifle, and a few impatient men had lost a hand when all of the cylinders had accidentally ignited at once.

"I've tied up the horses nice and tight. I'll go on and take the right side," Ezra whispered.

"Good," he replied, "Keep your head down until they come back. I'll take the other side. Wait until they get real close and mark your target carefully. We only have five rounds each. Save your pistol until they're on top of us. Also make sure not to fire in between us unless you have a clear shot."

"I know, I know," he replied sulkily. "I've been shooting long enough; you don't have to remind me."

"I just don't want to you to shoot me by accident."

Ezra grinned nervously. "It'll take more than a bullet to kill someone as ornery as you." He then pulled his hat tighter over his head and slowly crawled his way to the right side of the trees.

Jack made his way over to the left side and rested on his stomach, facing out towards the road. The rain had stopped and the clouds parted, allowing patches of moonlight to shine through. From there, he watched the dark muddy road as lightning flashed in the distance. The two corpses of the men he had killed were dark shapeless forms in the grass. He waited quietly, wishing for a stiff drink to calm his nerves. It was times like this that most men were scared. For Jack, fear brought a type of rare clarity. The fear never gets any less, but you could keep your nerves still - if you had enough experience with it. He knew that those ruffians were very afraid. But they wanted to strike back and try to prove their bravery. He imagined the men would be overconfident because Jack and Ezra were outnumbered. They would try to hit them hard instead of taking the safe route of encircling the pines. They would be better off being patient and waiting for them to make their move.

After just a few minutes, his prediction came true. Across the road, he could see a line of nine or ten men walking towards the trees. They walked slowly with their guns at the ready. Behind them a tall figure on horseback goaded them on.

The voice of Stevenson could be heard. "C'mon you men, move on forward. We can get that bastard who shot Joseph and Stu. If you see anyone move, shoot them!"

The men were ignoring his entreaties and were making their way ever so cautiously. They came towards the pines in a loose arc, hoping to outflank anyone inside.

Through the camouflage of the weeds, Jack looked down his barrels and set his sights on the man holding the side of the line closest to him. He tracked this target and slowly squeezed the trigger until the gun fired. The flash from the barrel was momentarily blinding. The man fell backwards, his breath rattling in great gasps. The others fell to the ground, trying to find the source of the shot. Jack rolled a few feet away from his original position. Ezra then fired from his position.

Another man on slumped down on the ground, yelling in pain as the bullet passed through his chest. The rest of the men froze in panic.

"Charge them!" Stevenson yelled from his horse. The men at first looked as though they were about to break away, but with their leader's urging, they ran madly towards the line of trees. They shouted, cursing loudly, as they raised their pistols and blindly fired into the pines. Jack and Ezra fired several more times into the line of men, the shots covered by the sound of returning fire. Two more men fell in their tracks but the remaining group made it into the woods.

Before the detective could get a clear shot, the horse crashed into the pines. Stevenson dismounted and drew out his two pistols, following his men into the undergrowth. "Keep together," he ordered. "If you see anything move, shoot it down."

"I found their horses," a man exclaimed. "It looks like there are only two of them in here."

Stevenson answered back, "Be careful, but just don't let them escape."

By this time, Jack had abandoned his empty rifle and pulled out the Starr pistol. He pulled himself up on his elbows and watched as the men moved through the gloom, looking for a target. Two men were coming towards him, their guns held out low. Jack waited quietly and let them pass. They walked within a few feet of him, but missed seeing his prone body in the underbrush.

Jack turned on his back and fired two times, dropping both men with two well-placed shots in the back. As if in response, he could hear the sound of Ezra's pistol in the distance. The remaining men fired wildly into the bushes.

"They're between us!" one man shouted. "Let's get out of here!"

"Hold up!" Stevenson yelled. It was too late. The men had already seen their comrades cut down by unknown fire, and they fled without listening, happy to escape with their very lives. Now only Stevenson remained behind.

"Come on out, you bastard," Stevenson said, looking desperately at the underbrush around him. "Or are you afraid of me, Blackwood?"

Jack stood up quietly, only ten yards or so away from the big man. The detective's Starr was ready in his hand. "I'm not afraid of you," he said.

Stevenson spun quickly around and fired two shots towards Jack. In his haste, his aim was off and the wild bullets struck a nearby pine tree.

"You'll have to do better than that," Jack said. He fired once, the lead ball hitting the man in the chest.

Stevenson fought to keep his footing and failed. He then slumped to his knees, grunting in pain as he went down.

Jack cautiously moved towards him with his partner approaching Stevenson from behind. "You should know better than to take an old Army scout in the woods," the detective said. His voice was low and steady, but filled with anger.

Stevenson tried to raise his gun to fire again, but the gun seemed too heavy in his hands. It fell to the ground. He looked up at the detective with hate. "Damn you," he said. "At least Davis will still get away from you. I'm sure of that." He then fell forward, his arms clutched around his chest as if to stop his lifeblood from escaping into the dirt.

"We'll see," he said to the dead man. "The game isn't over until the last turn."

Ezra came to stand next to him as they both looked down at the dead man. "Well, that's one of them, Jack. You know, revenge is always more sour than you can imagine," he said quietly.

Jack's face was set, his mouth in a grim line. He looked at his pistol and stuck it back into his holster. "Let's get the horses."

Ezra nodded in silence and began making his way back to the horses. Jack paused for a moment before following him. He looked at the corpses littering the field and shook his head at the pointlessness of it all.
Chapter 19

Narrative Continued

I'm all alone now, on my way to Harper's Ferry, after some unexpected incidents. Stevenson and I were ambushed by a group of ruffians, and though now I am safe it was a bit unexpected. Perhaps they were horse thieves, I don't know. I thought it was pure foolishness on their part to be out at all with the number of soldiers in the area, but perhaps it was an opportunity too good to be refused, the idea that all those men and their horses were about, and the treasure that that represented. More than all the petty thieving available in a year to some of these men, I suppose. But as I say it was foolishness, as someone from either side could have mistaken them for hostile and shot first in protection. Oh well, these men were out tonight with the intention to do harm, or at least to cause mischief.

It has been a damp and windy night, and Stevenson and I were just discussing the possibility of another rest. I don't mind wind by itself, nor rain neither, but once they are together it is hard to feel comfortable no matter how one is dressed. Although it is spring, the possibility of frost is in the air at all times, and the wind blows the cold rain on your cheeks, up your sleeves, and almost through the seams of your coat. At the time we were passing down a lane with some trees partially sheltering us from the constant drip of rain, and talking about where and when to stop. So maybe we were not paying attention as we ought to have been, when suddenly five men on horseback approached us with pistols at the ready. The lane was wooded, and they seemed to have been lying in wait behind some trees.

I was fumbling for a weapon, my hands damp and numb as I got into my coat pocket, when six more men on horse approached from the rear. Stevenson got a shot off that missed, but one of the men who had come in from behind stopped him from any further action.

" _Stop moving, old man," he shouted as he rammed the rifle butt at Stevenson's back. Although I was still breathless from their attack, I was a little amused at this, as Stevenson, who is usually so prepared, was caught short for once, and had no rebuttal either. He hates reference to be made about his age, although he's not old yet, he knows he's not young anymore either. The man was short, still young, and hatless with a grubby coat on his shoulders that he wore open._

The rest of the crowd circled closer, another gesturing at me to put my hands up. This I did obviously, so my movements could be seen in the dim light. The rest of the group was waiting for his orders, as the short man seemed to be orchestrating the group. "Joseph, you see if that one has any weapons," he nodded toward me as he spoke. Joseph, a little older than the short one, came over to me and felt my pockets, keeping my pistol, and patting me around lightly to see if I had anything else hidden on me. "Thompson, you get between them to make sure they can't hide nothing."

" _Here's his gun." Joseph showed it towards the short man._

" _You hang onto it for now. If they have enough money maybe they can have it back when we leave." For a short man, he had a menacing look about him. His coat might have been grubby but it was a quality piece of goods to begin with. Clearly thieving had its benefits. The rest of the group, eleven in all, seemed an ill-matched lot. Some were older, most looked a little underfed and tired. Well, it had been a late night for us as well, though they had the advantage of surprising us._

A small idea was fermenting in my brain, and I was waiting for the right time to bring it forward. I try to be a man who thinks on his feet when the occasion calls for it. Stevenson seemed embarrassed at being caught out like this, and avoided making eye contact with me, even though we were only a few feet away from each other. Thompson, who had gotten between us, was on a somewhat skittish horse that had a hard time staying still, but I did not have anything to hide or pass to Stevenson for us to make a fast move. In fact I preferred waiting to see how these events would unfold.

" _Would you two gentleman mind telling us what brings you this way?" The short one began. He turned to me for his answer, his fair hair glinting in the faint light._

" _I am certain that you are not the law in this area, so I am not bound to answer your question. In fact I think the same question should be asked of you and your fine group this evening... Mister..." I gestured a little with my head, and slowly lowered my hands._

" _I am John Pickens, and you're right, we are not the law in this area." He stopped a little as he lit a small cigar. He exhaled and gestured around the circle of trees we were in. "We are just out to see what the night might bring us." A faint smile crossed his face which was shiny from the mist. "We sometimes find interesting things going on, and these things make us richer."_

" _Well, I do not see how two gentlemen from Washington can be all that interesting," I told him. "But I do think we can see a way toward making you richer."_

Stevenson suddenly looked at me, a question in his eyes. He is smarter than he seems to a lot of people, in fact it is the easiest thing in the world to seem stupider than you are.

" _I was thinking you would make us rich one way or another," Pickens said. "The usual way is for you to empty your pockets for us."_

I gave a small chuckle and nodded at him. "That would make you richer for certain. But if I can hire you and your group to do some work for us, I can pay you even more when the job is completed. What do you say to that?"

His eyes narrowed with interest. "I don't care for daily work; I have a job that satisfies my needs. But I could do an odd job for you, I reckon, as long as I were paid adequately. These friends of mine can decide whether they want to join in or not."

" _Oh this is highly irregular work I am offering you." I started slowly, since the idea was still forming itself in my head. "You see, my friend Stevenson here and I are being chased by two men, opposed to the Southern cause. We think they are following us, and hoping to bring us to justice for some trumped-up charge back in Washington. I'll give you each ten dollars each to go with Stevenson and ambush them. When you bring them back to me, preferably dead, I will give you twenty more." I smiled slowly as I brought out the offer, hoping that it was riches untold to them._

" _Am I right in thinking this is cash you are carrying about you right now?" Pickens asked._

I gave a quick look to Stevenson to make sure he kept his mouth shut. He knows that I am wealthy, but I never let on how much I might carry on me at any given time. "I could pay the ten dollars now to anyone who will go with Stevenson to find these men. The rest of the money I will have to get a hold of in Richmond, or perhaps Harper's Ferry. It might take a day but the money is there."

After that offer, it was quick negotiating with these opportunists. I gave them the money, and not one of them backed down from the offer. Stevenson took over in getting them all their orders and they took off, with the promise to meet me next day in Harper's Ferry. Stevenson and I had a quick word in private before they took off, and he left me hopeful that this business of Mister Blackwood can be taken care of. I am not sure whether I am going to pay them or not when the time comes, though it might not hurt to have some compatriots in this area should the need arise. We shall see.

So now I am headed that way, hoping that the ambush means no one is following me, and taking the time I want to rest and get thoroughly dry and comfortable before I continue on. Stevenson may have been a bit of an ill-mannered brute at times, but he kept the loneliness away. Now by myself, my mind wanders to things I'd rather not think on.

*

Coaxing their horses slowly along, Jack and Ezra arrived at Harper's Ferry in the mid-morning. They had managed to keep up a good pace through the rest of the night, but now felt the long hours catching up to them. The chill of the morning was giving away to the heat of the sun, but it would be some time before they felt warm again. They stopped at the top of a hill overlooking the town of scattered buildings below. Harper's Ferry was located at the confluence of the Shenandoah and Potomac rivers. With the railroad and the armory, the town was of strategic importance to the Army. For now it was quiet with only a few soldiers out in the streets.

Ezra yawned and stretched as he said, "It looks like the Federals are not here in any considerable force. It appears they are moving the majority of the troops to Washington first."

Jack sleepily agreed. He said, "It seems like a foolish mistake, but I'm no general. Let's go on down and see if we can find Davis. I want to take care of this quickly as I still have some business back in Washington." Without any further explanation, Jack trotted his horse forward.

Ezra gave his friend a quizzical look and with a shrug kicked his own horse forward.

As they came into the town, a soldier stepped out from the shadows of a house. He had his rifle raised and ready. "Hold up," he shouted nervously. "What business do you have here?" His uniform was deep blue wool, and so new it was still creased.

Jack reached cautiously and pulled out the papers he received from Garrett from his coat pocket. "We are here on behalf of the City Ward of Washington. We are looking for a spy who may have come this way."

After looking at the papers, the soldier stood aside and said, "You know Virginia seceded just yesterday? We only have a small garrison here, but hope to keep Harper's Ferry out of their militia's hands."

"I wish you luck. But who's in command here?" Jack asked.

"Lieutenant Jones," the soldier replied. "He can be found at the Armory down the road."

The detective tipped his hat and said, "I thank you."

They passed the soldier and made their way towards the Armory. The few soldiers there were busy moving carts and hauling boxes. The men looked frightened. The Armory itself was the site of the failed slavery rebellion in October of 1859. It was here that John Brown was captured and hanged after Colonel Robert E. Lee had put down the insurrection.

Jack and Ezra rode into the courtyard where a few horses were tied up. There, a lieutenant scanned the railway bridges with a set of field glasses. He turned when he heard them ride up. "And who might you be?" he asked impatiently.

"My name is Jack Blackwood. This here is my partner, Ezra Miller," Jack said. "You must be Lieutenant Jones."

"That I am," Jones replied suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"

"We are here looking for someone named Ethan Davis. He has some stolen government papers in his possession which he means to sell to the Secessionists."

"I see. I would like to help you but we are in a heap of trouble here. As you may have already heard, Virginia voted to secede from the Union. I fear they may march on Harper's Ferry any moment and try to take the Armory. I can't let that happen, but I'm short of men and short of time."

"Mister Miller and I will be willing to help, but I need to know if you have seen any strangers come through here recently?"

"I can't say that I have," Jones replied curtly. "But we aren't exactly keeping track of any citizens coming or going. What does this Ethan Davis look like?"

"He is of a medium build, blonde hair, and dresses well. As far as I know he would be traveling alone."

"There haven't been too many visitors here lately, and I haven't seen anyone of that particular description. Right now there have been more people leaving the town than coming in. They are afraid the Virginians will be coming in here to loot the place."

"Could he have slipped in here unnoticed?" Ezra asked.

"I have a few men patrolling the outskirts of the town, but I don't have enough of them to keep the area completely secure. If someone really wanted to sneak in here, I doubt if I could stop them."

"I see," Jack said hiding his disappointment. He grinned at his partner before continuing. "Lieutenant, you are in luck, I was once in the Army, and we can both use our guns pretty well."

The Lieutenant's tone became less formal and friendlier. "Really," he said. "What did you do when you were in the Army?"

"I worked as a scout. I'm a fair shot with this here Colt rifle and Mister Miller here isn't that bad either."

"That's good. Right now I need some more men to keep an eye out across the Potomac. The Virginians are sure to try to take the bridge in order to get into town. If this Davis of yours is trying to escape, that would be an obvious route for him to take."

"We are running short on ammunition, but my partner and I can watch that area if you think it is suitable." Jack looked over at Ezra, who nodded his assent.

"That would be much appreciated," Jones replied. He wiped his face with his sleeve and pointed towards the railway bridge. "If you need more ammunition it can be gotten from the stores over there. That rail bridge is the only egress across the river in the town of Harper's Ferry. You could cover that point and keep an eye out towards the other side. If you see anything suspicious, run down and let me know."

"Sure," Jack said. "We can manage that for you."

With a salute, Jack and Ezra left. They watered their horses at the trough and then tied them to the post outside the armory. Afterward, Jack looked over to the rail bridge across the river. There was a small white house on a hill near the road that overlooked it. He pointed it out. "That is where we will keep watch."

"Yes, but let's stock up first," Ezra said.

They went to the ammunition stores. A private's official manner gave away to friendliness once they mentioned their assignment from Lieutenant Jones. After receiving a stock of gunpowder and shot, they then climbed their way up the hill, lugging their rifles with them.

The house door was padlocked shut and Jack knocked. No one answered the door. He looked at his partner, and said "It looks like no one is home." He then rammed his shoulder into the door, and the hasp twisted and broke. With a squeak of the rusty hinges, the door opened.

It was a poor little house, obviously not well taken care of. The floor was dusty, and the windows were unwashed. The furniture was simple, and a single pot-bellied stove once provided heat for the departed owner.

"It may not look like much," Ezra said with a laugh, "but it has a nice view."

The front windows faced the railroad bridge one hundred yards below. It was made out of wood with stone foundations sunk into the riverbed. It was some two hundred feet in length and cut straight across the Potomac River which lazed over rough rocks and through yellow weeds. The other side had a road next to a towering limestone butte. A few small buildings stood next to the road that meandered south into Virginia.

Jack studied the view and then said, "Good, now let's drag this table on over to the windows. Gather some bedding from the other room too. I want to make a good gun perch to do some shooting."

They pulled the small kitchen table over to the front windows. Jack wrestled the window open while his partner gathered some sheets and pillows from the other room. He piled the bedding on top of the table and arranged it to provide some support for the rifle.

"Why are we waiting here?" Ezra finally asked. "It seems we would be better off searching for him in the town."

"That's a lot of ground to cover and the way I figure it, we don't have enough time." Jack replied as he sat on the floor, cleaning his Colt repeating rifle. He removed the cylinders and cleared out the existing loads. Afterward, he began to go carefully over the entire rifle. He then said, "If I got this figured out right, Davis is hiding somewhere close by. He knows that the Virginians are going to strike here. He only has to wait for them to come and try to drive the Federals out. If he gets scared, then he may make an attempt to cross here."

"What makes you think he is still here?" Ezra asked. "He could have found a way around the town and forded across the river."

"Perhaps, but what other choice do we have? This town isn't exactly well guarded and this garrison won't last long against any organized force. If Davis doesn't show up, at least we can lend a hand."

Ezra shook his head.

"Doubting my patriotism?" Jack asked sarcastically. "Now in all seriousness, I'm hoping that Davis really is here and won't be able to stand the pressure of waiting. If that is true, then he'll try to flee across that bridge, right into the arms of the Virginians. And when he does, I'll shoot him before he even makes it half-way across."

Ezra frowned and said, "It doesn't sound like you're giving him much of a sporting chance."

Jack laughed. "The way I look at it, he sent Stevenson to try to kill me. I won't mind giving him something in return for his troubles. Now I want you to keep guard around the house. I'm going to be concentrating on that bridge and don't want someone to sneak up on me. Too many hunters have gotten blindsided by looking in the wrong direction at the wrong time. If you see Davis coming towards the bridge, give me a shout so I can ready my shot."

"Will do," Ezra said impatiently. "If there really is anything to see, you'll be the first to know." He walked out of the door with his loaded rifle.

Jack lit his candle stub and started placing wax around the newly packed Colt cylinders. He then looked down the rifle sights and brushed away some dust on the barrel. Afterwards, he pulled himself on to the table and tried to get comfortable. He ended up stretched out on the table on his stomach. The gun was pointed out of the window, straight down the hill and onto the bridge. He slowly went over the landscape with his field glasses and kept his eyes busy looking for any movement across the river. After a few minutes of this, he shifted uncomfortably on top of the piled blankets and tried to clear his mind for any upcoming action.

The rest of the afternoon went by with relative quiet. The river flowed gently under the bridge, and the sun shone brightly over the town. Ezra continued to prowl quietly around the house, looking carefully to see if anyone was trying to approach unseen. He gnawed on a bit of jerky that he also shared with Jack. Only rarely could the movements of the soldiers in the town be seen.

In spite of himself, Jack's thoughts drifted away and he found himself picturing Faith. He thought of her long blonde hair, friendly manner, and the kisses she had given him. He relaxed a little under the influence of these thoughts and forgot his hunger and tiredness. He also thought of Lawrence's corpse, the grief of the Hanson family, and his own recent killing of Stevenson. Would Faith be shocked by the death of Stevenson or would she be happy to hear the news? Perhaps he wouldn't tell her about any of this. It might be for the best if such bloody events were kept from her.

The low rumble of the river made the town seem eerily quiet. Jack yawned, blinked quickly and shook his head as if in a daze. He looked through the glasses again. Across the river, down the road, he suddenly saw four men on horseback approaching warily. Any thoughts of sleep disappeared when he saw they were all wearing the same type of uniform and had cavalry sabers on their sides. He shouted for Ezra who came bounding in.

Jack said, "It looks as if that Lieutenant was right. Those look like Virginian Cavalry scouting the way ahead for the main army. Go on down and warn him that enemy scouts are across the river. Tell him that they will be bringing up their main force soon."

The ex-slave nodded, went out the back door, and ran down the hill towards the armory.

Jack turned his field glasses back to view the scouts. They were on foot now, having left their horses behind to try to view the riverbank without being seen. Their uniforms were simple light blues, with only a feather on the side of their caps to designate their cavalry status. One had a set of field glasses of his own and was sweeping it over the town. He spoke to his fellow soldiers and pointed towards the armory. After a few more exchanged words, they turned and ran back towards their horses. They quickly left in a gallop after mounting up.

Ezra returned, breathless from exertion. "I told the Lieutenant about the scouts. He is putting some of his men in position by the riverbank on this side. If the militia tries to come across that bridge, his men should be able to stop them from making it across."

"That's good," Jack said. "Now I'm going to take a break for a minute and stretch my legs. It might be the last chance I get for a while." He slid off the table and began walking back and forth across the room, smoking a cigarette. He stopped every minute to look along the river with his field glasses. Some two dozen Federal soldiers were now on this side of the river, hunkered low in the shrubs. He waited for a few minutes before he pulled himself up on the table to wait once more.

It was early evening when Jack first spotted the Virginian infantry marching down the road. There appeared to be several companies led by officers on horseback. He estimated well over two hundred men were now approaching. Their bayonets shone in the sunset, and the steady sound of their march could be faintly heard over the gurgle of the river.

"They're here, Ezra. Now I just hope that the Lieutenant's men see them from down there. Remember, I can't spare you for a minute. If you hear a horse heading towards the bridge, you give me a shout. Don't worry about the Federals. They can take care of themselves. I will only have a few seconds to make my shot before Davis will be safely across. I can't let him get too far or else we will never have a chance of getting those papers back."

The peace of the evening was suddenly broken by the sound of rifles firing and echoing off the water. The small group of Federals in place had begun to fire upon the massed men across the river. At that distance, their fire wasn't accurate, but the Virginian ranks broke and took up positions in the small surrounding buildings. Soon a rifle was poking out of every window and was returning fire. Jack watched through his field glasses and frowned. The Federals were heavily outnumbered and had little hope of holding off the Virginians for long.

Ezra said, "How long do you think this will last?"

"It will be hard for the Rebels to cross the river," the detective replied tersely, without breaking his view through his field glasses. "They can either try to swim across and get their powder wet, or they have to take the bridge. Now hold on, what are they trying to do now?"

By now the Federals had moved off the riverbank and were taking positions further back behind what cover they could find. A sizable group of Virginians took advantage of this break and started to make their way across the bridge. They moved quickly with their heads held low and their muskets held forward with one hand. This movement was soon spotted by the Federal troops, but their sporadic fire was not enough to cause the Virginians to retreat back into cover. Jack put his glasses down and readied his Colt Rifle.

He spoke to Ezra over his shoulder, "I know this is a gamble, but if Davis is here, this is a good chance for him to make his break. Keep your eyes and ears open and let me know if you see him coming."

The Virginians made it half way across the bridge before the returning fire was too heavy for them. They were now down on their stomachs, inching slowly forward on the rough wooden beams. From that position, they would return fire on the Federals and then reload with great difficulty.

Ezra was looking out towards the road to the armory when he saw the smoke begin to rise from the buildings. "Jack," he said, "the Armory is on fire."

The detective didn't even turn to look. "That Lieutenant must have realized he can't hope to keep this town. He's decided to burn the Armory down instead of letting the Virginians have the guns and powder."

Ezra shouted, "There's someone coming on horseback! Whoever it is, is heading straight towards the bridge."

Jack sighed with relief. This had to be Davis. "Here we go," he spat out. His heart started to pound and he breathed deeply trying to calm his nerves. His hand itched as he readied himself for the shot.

The black man watched as the man on horseback made his way down the road towards the bridge. The horse pushed through a group of soldiers carrying torches. The dumbfounded men tried to shoot, but their shots went wild in the chaos of the moment. The horse continued on galloping hard and began to turn onto the bridge.

Ezra's eyes widened as he recognized the fleeing figure. "It's Davis!" he shouted. "Shoot!"
Chapter 20

Jack shifted his body, placing the rifle butt squarely on his shoulder. As the horse and rider came across its sights, he followed along, with sights just ahead of his target. When the shot felt right, he gently squeezed the trigger. The rifle fired, and the fifty-six caliber miniball struck Davis in the right leg just as he made the turn onto the bridge. He crumpled over, fighting to stay on the back of the still-moving horse. He failed and slipped off the saddle. His body struck the railing. He flipped right over into the river below. His mount stumbled and collided against the side of the bridge. Dazed, the horse picked itself up and stood at the entrance to the bridge – oblivious to the gunfire on both sides.

"That was a great shot!" Ezra exclaimed. "Is he dead?"

Jack was pleased by the compliment but disappointed by his results. "I was hoping to hit him in the heart," he replied. "But I doubt he lived after falling over the side of the bridge like that."

"I can't tell from up here. I don't see anyone floating in the river either."

Jack picked up his field glasses and scanned along the river, hoping to see a floating corpse. He could see nothing but running water and the Virginian Militia clinging to the top of the bridge.

Ezra said hopefully, "I don't see how anyone could have survived being shot and falling off the bridge."

"Maybe so, but I would rather know for sure. Either way, we'll still have to go down and get those papers."

The Federal fire had slackened, but it was still thick enough to have stopped the Virginians on the bridge from advancing any further. They had made it to the center of the bridge and were desperate to get any little cover they could find. The Federals in turn were picking off anyone trying to run across.

Jack and Ezra left the house and made their way down to the side of the hill. There they stayed, crouched behind the rail embankment, hiding from view. Davis's horse was still standing at the end of the bridge, still unaware of the battle around it. The smoke from the burning buildings began to blanket the town, causing Ezra and Jack to cough and hold their mouths tightly with their hands. Crawling, they made their way to along the embankment ditch. The ditch was dirty, but neither of them cared as long as it provided cover from the miniballs passing overhead.

Jack flexed his sore arm and looked at the horse that was now several yards away from them. It had a saddle bag. He handed his rifle to his partner. He said, "Now Ezra, I want you to cover me. Shoot anyone who gets too close or is drawing a bead on me."

"Not with your arm like that. Let me go."

"I already have one bullet wound, one more won't hurt."

Ezra shook his head. "Be careful, Jack, there's no reason to die over some old papers. No one here knows which side you are on. Anyone will be happy to hit such an easy target."

"I'll be quick," the detective said with a smile. "But remember, there are only four shots left."

Ezra nodded and slapped his friend on the back. He peeked over the ditch and rested the rifle on the edge of the ditch. "Now, Jack! It looks clear!"

Jack crawled out and on his stomach, slowly moving towards the horse. The sound of the miniballs striking the ground or singing by through the air around made him nervous, but he bit his lip and continued on, foot by agonizing foot. The uneven ground dragged roughly against his stomach, but soon he was just a few feet away from the horse. In spite of the fighting around him, he had to appreciate Davis's choice in rides. It was a sleek Appaloosa stallion with excellent markings. Once he was in range, Jack leaped up to grab the horse's bridle and pulled it away from the bridge.

At the same time, a shout suddenly went up on the Virginian side. A company of a dozen cavalry charged on horseback across the bridge. Their sabers were held high and glinted in the setting sun. The infantry stuck on the bridge jumped out of the way as the cavalry thundered onto the wooden timbers. The Federals shot at the oncoming charge, but only managed to pick off a few men. The horses neighed in terror, the cavalrymen shouted, but continued to push their mounts hard towards the other side. Jack looked across the bridge with frozen horror on his face, realizing he would be ridden down.

Ezra shouted, "Come on!"

Without thinking, his partner jumped out of the ditch and went down on one knee. He held his rifle steady towards the oncoming line of cavalry. He fired past his partner and hit the leading horseman straight on. The man grabbed his chest with a bloody scream and tumbled hard off the horse and into the river.

Jack snapped out of his daze, pulled hard on the bridle, and pulled himself up onto the saddle. A few cavalry shots whistled past him, one bullet tugging at his shirt sleeve.

Ezra fired again, and the next lead horseman was hit in the shoulder. "Move it!" he shouted. He only had two rounds left in his rifle, and the cavalry were getting too close for comfort. He snapped the trigger hard two more times, the cylinder turning and discharging the remaining loads in a flash of black gunpowder.

Jack kicked the horse hard in the flanks, turned and galloped the short distance to his partner. Ezra, rifle empty, swung up on the horse as the Virginian cavalry broke to the other side of the bridge. Their pistols were firing wildly, but the bullets went wide.

The stallion was now running scared, but reacted as Jack kicked its sides hard to urge the horse to a gallop. They rode hard down the road towards the Armory, trying to gain as much distance from their pursuers as possible. The air was now thick with dark smoke from the burning buildings.

"Move it, you damn horse, move it!" Jack shouted as the bullets cracked around them.

The remaining Federal troops were running into the street, fleeing out of the burning town. The tide of battle had broken, and there was little resistance left to the oncoming Virginian cavalry. The rest of them ran across the bridge, shouting and cheering as they went.

All around the Armory, the air was hot from the heat of the fires. The Virginian cavalry had now dispersed into the mass of fleeing men, trying to ride down the easier targets. Lieutenant Jones was still there in the courtyard, surrounded by smoke, shouting orders as his men scurried about. He nodded curtly at Jack and Ezra as they galloped into the courtyard.

"Glad to see you both made it back," the Lieutenant said.

Dismounted, Jack was breathing hard. "It was a close call," he said. "I was about to be rode down by that cavalry if Ezra hadn't slowed them down."

His friend grinned and said, "You were just standing there like a fool. What other choice did I have?"

"Did you get the man you were looking for?" Jones asked.

"I managed to shoot him before he made it over the bridge, but I'm not sure if he is dead or not. I did get his horse, and the papers are right here." Jack patted the side saddle bag.

The lieutenant nodded. "We don't have much time now. We have to pull out. I just don't have enough men to hold them back anymore. If I were you, I would come with us." He then shouted a few more commands at his remaining men.

Jack and Ezra returned to their horses. There, Jack tied Davis's mount to his saddle horn. They joined the chaos of smoke and men streaming out of the town. The Virginians had now taken the lower part of the town near the bridge and were firing towards the armory. A few miniballs ricocheted off of the walls, whining through the thick, smoke-choked air.

As they reached the top of the hill looking down on Harper's Ferry, Jack and Ezra stopped to look back. The Federal soldiers trudged by, their faces haggard with defeat. The entire town was now swirling with smoke and fire. In the distance, they could make out a small stream of Virginians still crossing the bridge. The sound of gunfire could still be heard, but it was diminished. They waited until they saw the Lieutenant, now on horseback, make his way up the hill. He was the last Federal soldier to leave the town.

Jack saluted in greeting. The lieutenant stopped to join them in watching the burning town below. By then, the sun was setting. Pockets of fire from the burning Armory added an eerie glow to the sky.

Jones shrugged his shoulders and sighed. "If I only had a few more men, then I could have held that town until we received reinforcements."

"Reinforcements would never have come," Jack said. "They are too busy fortifying Washington. But at least they won't be able to have the guns in the armory."

"We'll see," replied Jones somberly. "I just wish we had had some more time to set the fires. I'm sure they won't be able to get anything too valuable, but some of my men carried out their duties half-heartedly. I'm not sure if they were even on our side."

The sound of gunfire had now completely died away. The Virginians had taken Harper's Ferry.
Chapter 21

That evening, a thick cloud of smoke from the burning town screened the glow of the moon. Jack and Ezra were riding in the back of the column of soldiers limping towards Washington. The pace was slow since many of the men were wounded, and the entire group was short of horses. The cold spring weather helped little.

"Even though you're no longer in the Army, Mister Blackwood, if you could help keep a watch back here I would be much obliged." Jones said wearily.

Jack nodded.

Ezra asked, "We're an open target on this road. Are you expecting any more trouble?"

"I doubt it. They will be more interested in putting those fires out than chasing the remnants of my command. But you can never be sure what will happen in times like these." He sighed and looked back at the smoke-shrouded moon.

"How much longer are you going to keep your men going?" Jack asked sympathetically. "They look all in and could do with a rest. It might be better to hide in the woods over there and wait until your men are more mobile."

"Well, I want to get far enough away so we won't be a tempting target for those damn Virginians. I will head to the front now and take charge up there. Don't worry, we'll be stopping in a few hours." The lieutenant kicked his horse ahead.

Jack shook his head. "I hope they don't send some cavalry after us. They would cut us up into ribbons."

They made slow progress along the road, but no enemy attacks came. After another hour, Lieutenant Jones led them into a field that was sheltered from the road by a large hill. A few of the more fit men were then posted on the hill to watch for pursuers. Several small fires were built, and the men collapsed around them, grateful for the rest. Only a few scraps of food were available to share and drinking water was short as well.

After hobbling their horses for the night, Jack lifted the saddle bag off of Davis's mount before following his partner into the hastily assembled camp. Jack was impatient to examine the bags, but made his way to the fire that Lieutenant Jones had picked. Ezra stood near the fire and warmed his hands. Jones was sitting on the ground, leaning his back against his saddle. He looked worried and haggard from the day's events. The soot from the fires at the Armory had left stains across his face and his uniform, which had not been too clean to begin with. Jack knew that his own appearance could not look much better.

"Lieutenant, are you sure these campfires are safe?" Jack asked. "The smell of smoke would tip off any pursuing scouts."

"No, they aren't safe – but my men need to eat something warm." His jaw tightened from the criticism. "We made it this far without any trouble. Let's hope our luck doesn't run out."

"If they sent any cavalry your way, we will be spotted in no time."

"I don't expect any more trouble today," the lieutenant replied, looking at him with annoyance.

Jack shrugged his shoulders and dropped to the ground beside Ezra. "I hope you're right, I'm tired myself."

"Mister Blackwood, are those the papers that you came to Harper's Ferry for?" Jones asked, looking curiously at the saddlebag.

"Well, I went to Harper's Ferry to find a man. But this will have to do. I was about to take a look inside. I sure hope they are worth the trouble." Jack then opened the bag and emptied the contents onto the grass. Several objects fell out – some beef tack, a small bag that jingled with the sound of coin, a small silver-plated derringer, and a tightly bound satchel.

With shaking hands, Jack carefully opened the leather satchel. It held just a small sheaf of papers which he hurriedly examined in the firelight. They were the plans, but only seemed to be a small portion of them. They listed the number of men needed and the general outline of the plan, but the details of the units and locations were missing. Now where was the rest of the it?

"Seems like a lot of work for just a few papers," Jones commented blandly.

"There has to be more than this," his partner said in disbelief.

Jack ran his hands through the other items with exasperation. "You're right, Ezra. There has to be more than this. I think this is the same material that Stevenson had at his house. I remember Edmonds was demanding to see the rest of the plans before payment."

"Then where is the rest of it?" Ezra asked. His voice was rough from exhaustion.

"I'm not sure. Did you see him carrying anything else when he tried to cross the bridge? Was there any other bags or cases?"

His partner shook his head. "Davis was traveling light and had both of his hands on the bridle. If he was carrying anything else, it was on his person."

"Damn it. We'll have to go back to Washington empty handed." Jack then gave the silver-plated derringer a cursory examination before shoving it into his coat pocket.

Jones yawned and poked at the burning logs. "Perhaps he hid the main papers on the way down to Harper's Ferry." His voice trailed off and then he looked back to Ezra and Jack. "Or someone else is holding them for him."

"You could be right," the detective admitted. "Abbott would be the obvious choice."

"Abbott? How could he get the papers?" Ezra asked. "He was locked away when we went to Stevenson's house."

"There is only one way to find out," Jack replied. "We shall have to return to Washington."
Chapter 22

Narrative continued

For the moment Jack Blackwood has bested me, but perhaps that will change. I suppose I will continue where I left off, though in my current state – after a generous dose of medicine for my pains at a small hospital outside of Harper's Ferry – I cannot guarantee that my telling of the story will be logical.

I made my way to Harpers' Ferry as the plan originally went, not really aware of what Fate had in store for me. The day had cleared up since the previous dripping rain, and the wind had died down as well. After initially missing Stevenson and his conversation, I had settled in to my thoughts, and they did not remain unpleasant as they had before. Perhaps the change in the weather made me more optimistic. Also I had hopes that I could settle my business in a profitable manner, and Stevenson could take care of the rest with the Southern rascals. His ambush of Mister Blackwood seemed to simplify matters and take some of the burden of planning away from me. But that interfering detective and his partner were too smart for Stevenson and the men. Although I have not heard from Stevenson or anyone else for that matter, I cannot hope for the best. It is obvious that Blackwood and his man had weapons and intelligence, and managed to stop the men, even though they were outnumbered.

When I entered Harper's Ferry using a back route, I knew something was about to happen. The residents had a distracted air, and the smell of gunpowder seemed to be floating in the distance. I walked into a tavern and started a conversation with the landlord. He was a talkative man. He told me that Virginia had just seceded, and that news made me get a little restless. I did not want to be getting shot at with my business unfinished and unable to collect the money I had been promised by the Rebels.

I decided to leave abruptly, and I found my way to the bridge leaving the area of the arsenal and towards the rumored Virginian forces. I stayed hidden in the woods around the area, considering what to do. I then saw that some Virginian Cavalry were scouting the area, and I only had to wait for the rest of the army to arrive to get across that bridge. When I tried to cross, the miniballs were buzzing everywhere. My luck did not hold out, and I was shot in the leg. I ended up falling into the river below where I thought I would drown.

Some local citizens took up the work of hauling the wounded to safety. I am recovering in the house of an older lady, Missus Douglas, who is pleased to be helping a fellow Southerner. The bullet has been removed from my right leg. Luckily I passed out before the operation became too painful, but my leg looks a sight. The doctor said if it doesn't improve, I may lose my leg to amputation. I oppose that idea strongly when it is suggested, and I hope to be well enough to leave in a week's time or so. For the moment, I welcome the rest at this hospitable place, and reflect back on the past, and hope to get my chance against that infernal Blackwood in the future.

*

On the outskirts of Washington, Jack and Ezra bid farewell to Lieutenant Jones and his men. Jones had to report to Fort Stevens and tell them of the loss of Harper's Ferry.

It was near midnight when they finally made their way into the heart of the city. Only a few travelers and soldiers were out at this time of night. Jack felt tired. He wanted more than anything else to sleep in his own bed, get a bath and shave, but he knew that he should instead put an end to this case and return those papers. Perhaps Abbott would provide the final clue to their whereabouts.

They saw at the entrance that Abbott's apartment building was dark. Tying the mounts at the post outside of the entrance, they found the front door unlocked. Jack pushed it open and found a fat clerk at the front desk, fast asleep. As Ezra shut the door, the fat man's eyes fluttered open, and he seemed surprised to see these uninvited guests.

He said crankily, "I'm sorry, it's late gentlemen. Now what can I do for you?"

"We wish to talk to Mister Abbot," replied Jack. He could smell the odor of whiskey in the air.

"I'm afraid that is not possible."

"Look, do you want to lose your job?"

"Whatever do you mean?" the clerk asked, his face blanching with fear.

Jack sniffed. "I know the smell of whiskey better than any man. This place reeks of it. Now we're going up to see Abbott."

The clerk stuttered, "It's much too late for you to call on him. Please, it would be better to stop by in the morning."

"This is too important to wait. Can I talk to his butler?"

"His butler is out for the night. He usually has evenings free so Mister Abbott can entertain his guests in his own, shall we say, privacy." He smiled slyly at them.

They headed for the stairs.

The desk clerk called after them, "Gentlemen, if you continue, I shall have to have the police come and forcibly remove you."

"That might be a good idea," Jack called over his shoulder. "Ask for Henry Garrett to come personally."

They climbed the stairs and found that the apartment door was closed and locked. Jack pounded on it with his fist and shouted, "Abbott, come and let us in! We know you're in there." There was no movement or sound from the apartment. He knocked furiously again. No response came.

Jack looked at his partner and shrugged. "Let's go in and wake him up." He stepped back and kicked the door hard with a heavy boot. The door made a cracking noise as it buckled. He leaned back and kicked it even harder. The frame splintered as it swung open, broken at the deadbolt. The inside of the apartment was dimly lit - the low light of two oil lamps in the living room cast dark shadows. Abbott was there - sitting on the sofa with his head slumped on his chest. He was dressed in a dark suit with the front of the jacket unbuttoned. A heavy black stain was spread across the front of his silk shirt. The windows were open and a small breeze lifted the curtains.

Jack went over and felt for a pulse. There was no heartbeat and the flesh had long turned cold with death. He frowned as he looked over the body. "He's been dead for a while," he said to Ezra without emotion.

"I'll take a look around anyways and see if anyone is hiding," Ezra said. He pulled out his Colt pistol and walked into the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

Jack stayed in the room and walked over to the oil lamps to turn the flame up higher. He then leaned over Abbott and started to examine him closely. Gunpowder burns had damaged the shirt, so it was obvious that someone had fired at point-blank range. Pulling the shirt open, he saw a small bullet entry wound that went right into the heart. The blood had stopped pumping quite a while ago and had congealed in a thick streak, running down the chest. Jack then pulled Abbot's head back to find a lifeless expression. On the side table near the sofa there was a bottle of wine, half-empty, with a pair of drained tulip wine glasses nearby. The ash tray held a single cigar that had burned out, leaving a trail of ashes. Jack examined the wine glasses and they only had the slight smear of fingers and lip marks on the rim.

Ezra returned, shaking his head. "I didn't find anyone, but the bed was turned for two for the night."

"How do you know that?"

"There was some folded lingerie at the end of the bed. I don't think Abbott would be wearing anything like that for himself unless he is stranger than we imagined."

Jack gave a short sarcastic laugh. "He had a woman over, that is to be sure. With the lights down and the wine, he thought he had a nice little get-together."

"How was he killed?" Ezra asked, taking a closer look at the wound for himself.

"By the looks of the wound, he was shot at close quarters with a small caliber bullet. There was a trace of burn marks on the shirt. Whoever killed him was sitting right next to him when they pulled the trigger. There is no sign of struggle, so he must have died right away."

"One small shot from a small pistol in the middle of the night won't wake most people," Ezra said. He then looked thoughtful as he continued speaking. "If his advances towards said woman were too aggressive, she may have been protecting herself."

"I thought of that too. She may have panicked," Jack said. "But she was still smart enough to take his key and lock the front door."

"If she did that, then it could have been planned from the start."

"Or else she was buying herself some time before the body was discovered. She must have known that Abbott's butler wouldn't be returning until the morning."

"How long ago do you think he died?"

"Three or four hours ago" Jack replied. "Whoever did it got out in a hurry but was careful enough not to arouse the suspicions of the night clerk. Speaking of the clerk, why don't you go on down and have him send for the Watch if he hasn't already. I'll take a look through the other rooms for anything we might have missed. Those papers could have been hidden here."

"If they were, I doubt you'll find anything now," Ezra said as he left.

He knew that his partner was right. Whoever killed Abbott had enough time to get whatever they wanted. If the remaining plans really had been here, then they would be long gone by now. He went to the first bedroom in the hallway. It was small and simply decorated, obviously the room used by Abbott's butler. He skipped this bedroom and went to the last room.

This was a spacious bedroom, richly furnished. The bed was turned for the night, and a short and thin silk woman's gown was neatly folded at the foot of the bed. Jack picked it up and looked at it thoughtfully. He then searched through the drawers of the side tables, finding some trinkets and a few books. He rifled through these and didn't find anything of interest hidden within the pages. The closet held several well-made suits, but nothing else worth investigating. He made it to the dresser, opened the drawers and examined the undergarments, socks, and shirts neatly folded within. There was simply nothing to be found in the bedroom. He started at the sound of someone entering the apartment.

When he entered the front room, he found Garrett examining the corpse. Ezra stood by the front door with a tired look on his face. Garrett nodded grimly at the detective, his searching eyes then returned to look over the evidence. He went through the same motions as Jack, studying the shirt and examining the wound.

"He's dead alright," the captain finally said. "Now what made you come back to see him?"

"It's a long story," Jack replied. "A very long story indeed." He heard that his voice was now ragged with exhaustion.

"I'm not going anywhere right now," Garrett replied sharply. "Let me hear it now."

"Very well, if you want." Jack then proceeded to tell him about Harper's Ferry and their failure to retrieve all of the papers.

When the detective had finished, Garret said, "What do you mean, you only got some of the plans?"

"When we encountered Stevenson at his house, he was showing off part of the plans to Edmonds. The rest were supposedly being held by Davis."

Garrett sighed with exasperation. "Do you know where the rest of the papers are now?" he asked.

Jack and Ezra shared a quick look that Garrett did not see. Jack spoke before his partner could say anything. "Either Davis hid them away, or left them behind in someone's care."

Ezra said, "We were thinking Abbott here would be able to tell us."

"What makes you think he would know anything about this?" Garrett asked. "He was being held in my jail when Davis was forced to flee Washington."

"Ethan Davis was in a hurry to get out of town. He may have feared carrying the papers on him and being found with them. If he could have someone else hold them, he could then safely make the deal with the Secessionists and then have the papers delivered. It would have been safer than carrying the entire set of plans."

"So Abbott held the papers for him?"

"Oh, I don't think Abbott had the papers himself – but he knew who did. He knew Davis well enough and was part of his plans. If anyone knew who had them, it had to be him."

"Well, Abbott is going to keep that secret to himself now," Garrett said, looking sadly towards the corpse again. He then said, "Jack, I feel like Hell. I almost feel as bad as you look. Why don't you two go on home for the night? I'll have my men tear this place apart looking for clues."

"I've already taken the liberty of looking through his bedroom. I didn't find a thing."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of everything and we can talk it through in the morning."

Jack nodded and walked out wearily with Ezra following him. His partner looked suspiciously at him as they made their way past the two City Watchmen that Garrett had brought with him. They went over to the horses. The black man grabbed Jack by the shoulder.

Ezra said angrily, "You know who did this, don't you?"

"Maybe I do, Ezra. I'll let you know." Jack pulled himself away from his friend and then got on the back on his horse.

"Jack, you have to tell me."

"Later."

Ezra angrily shook his head as they started back home.
Chapter 23

Jack stretched in his bed, feeling the sore muscles from the long days of riding. From the way the sun streamed in his window, he guessed it was early afternoon. Groaning as he pulled himself from his bed, Jack sat up and rolled himself a cigarette. He took a couple of drags, made a face and then tossed the still lit cigarette out the window. The tobacco tasted sour in his mouth, and he still felt too worn out to care.

"Ezra," he called out. "Are you awake yet?"

Ezra came in with a yawn. "I've been awake for about an hour, I was wondering when you were going to get up."

"I could sleep another hour or two, but I suppose I'll have to catch up on my sleep later."

"I have some hot coffee on the stove."

Jack stood up and rubbed his grizzled chin. "Coffee sounds good. How did you sleep last night?"

"Good. It's been awhile since I've been in the saddle for such a long time. I'm feeling sore and tired, but it sure is good to be home."

"Yeah," he replied walking towards the kitchen. "What are you making in here?"

They sat down to a late breakfast, having large slabs of bacon with eggs. The day was gray with a light spring drizzle slowly turning the dirt roads into mud. Through the windows, they could see unhappy looking soldiers tramping through the muck, calling halfheartedly to each other as they passed.

There was a sudden knock at the door. When Jack went to answer it, he was greeted by an exhausted Garrett.

"Henry, it's good to see you," Jack said while letting him in.

The captain came in and sniffed the air. "Do you have any extra grub? I haven't eaten since yesterday."

"Sure, come and sit down with us. There is plenty to go around."

Jack poured a cup of coffee for Garrett while Ezra fixed a plate of food for him. They all sat at the table and continued to eat with little comment.

After finishing his meal, the captain leaned back in his chair and lit a small cigar. He drank some more coffee before clearing his throat to say, "I appreciate the meal. I was up all night trying to get some more information on Abbott's murder."

Ezra pushed his plate away. "Did you get anything out of that clerk?"

Jack lit up a cigarette and sat back in his chair to listen to Garrett's story.

"We questioned that drunk, though I do admit he was a hard person to get anything from. I guess he was well-paid by Abbott to be discreet. There sure was plenty of bad stuff going on at that place, but after a few hours with my boys, he was willing to tell us everything. You see, Abbott's butler went out that night. He was often gone and even had his own apartment a few blocks away. We tracked him down and spoke to the old boy. We couldn't get much out of him either. He was the old-fashioned sort who wasn't willing to betray the secrets of his master. But we managed to learn enough from the clerk and the butler to piece together what we do know. It turns out that Abbott would have quite a few ladies visit him at night. How much was business and how much was pleasure we will never know. According to the clerk, some of them would be the same girls, but more often than not it was a new girl every time. Last night, after dinner, the clerk saw Abbott come in with a good-looking blonde. She looked to be very upper-class, not the usual type of woman who would visit. That was enough to make the clerk remember her."

Ezra's eyes widened as he looked at Jack, and he seemed about to speak to Garrett. Jack shook his head almost imperceptibly, and his partner stopped before saying anything.

Garrett did not appear to notice and continued on. "About thirty minutes later, she came running down the stairs and ran right into the street without a word to the porter. He told us he found it quite funny, thinking the woman was running away in shame. About three hours later, you two showed up and bullied your way into Abbott's apartment." He paused and looked back and forth between Ezra and Jack. "I have a pretty good idea that you know who that woman is. Now I want to know right now what you are hiding from me."

Jack slowly shook his head and said, "Right now, I don't know anything worth telling."

Garrett glared at the detective. "We've known each other for a long time, Jack; you can go ahead and tell me what you know."

"If I knew anything for sure, I would tell you. But I am not about to say anything until I have some solid evidence. At least give me that, Henry."

Garrett stood up and looked directly at Ezra to say, "The problem with your friend here is that he is a sentimental fool. Talk some sense into him for me."

His partner merely shrugged and poured himself some more coffee.

Jack said impatiently, "I'll get back with you, Henry. Just give me a little more time. You know you can take me at my word."

"I'll hold you to that. Now don't bother seeing me out, I'll find my own way." Garrett roughly pulled on his coat and stamped noisily down the stairs as he left.

"What are you going to do?" Ezra asked.

"I'm going to go see Miss Mulholland."

"Mulholland?" Ezra said incredulously. "What can she tell you about last night?"

"That's what I'm about to find out," the detective replied with a smile.

*

Jack made his way through the muddy streets. He rode slowly, making easy time on his tired horse. Except for a few people daring the light rain, the street leading to Mulholland's apartment was quiet and deserted. There, he tied his horse tightly on the post and kicked the mud off of his boots at the doorstep.

The hallway was silent this time, the apartments either vacant or the residents were busy sleeping through the afternoon rain. Jack knocked lightly on Mulholland's door and waited while leaning on the frame. He heard some light footsteps come to the door and then pause. Her faint voice could be heard through the old door.

"Who is it?" she asked, her voice sounding suspicious and distant.

"It's me again, Jack Blackwood. I have a few more questions to ask you."

The door opened and Mulholland stood there with an easy smile. She looked fresh, her hair still damp. He could smell a light perfume, and she was wearing a slip that only went down to her knees. He looked her up and down slowly. Jack gave a low whistle and gave her a leer. "You're looking quite nice today, missy."

She smiled shyly and said, "Come on in."

He walked in and kicked the door shut behind him. Mulholland sat down in front of a mirror and began fixing her hair.

Jack sat down on her bed and watched her for moment before speaking. "I'm sorry to bother you again, but as I said, I have a few more questions for you."

She paused and put down the hairbrush in exasperation. "I've already told you I don't know where Lawrence is."

"I already know where Lawrence is now - he's buried six feet deep."

She stood up quickly in shock and faced him. "What do you mean by that? Is he dead?"

"Oh, he's dead alright. One of Davis's men killed him before we had a chance of finding him alive. He was buried just the other day."

"I'm sorry to hear that." She sat back down and continued to work on her hair. "Whatever happened between Lawrence and I was a long time ago, but I'm still sad to hear that he is gone."

Jack said nothing but just watched as began to pin her hair up. Her movements were slow and graceful, and Jack felt she knew he enjoyed watching her. "I wanted to ask you about Abbott again," he finally said. "You told me you didn't know him. Are you sure?"

She paused for a moment as if making a decision. She finally said, "Oh, I knew Abbott." She gave him a sly look. "He was always meeting with Davis. He had quite an appetite for women." She had turned to face mirror again, her back to Jack, the brush pausing in her hand as she listened to his questions.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I hated Davis and wouldn't protect him for all the money in the world. But Abbott came around here to see me a few times. He paid me well enough and I was hoping to keep it that way. Why should I tell on a good customer?"

"I found Abbott murdered in his apartment last night."

Mulholland stopped fiddling with her hair.

Jack continued, "All of the evidence points to a woman. It was a woman that visited with him and ended up killing him in the end."

"Surely you don't suspect me," she said with a faint smile that he could see in the reflection of the mirror. She was certainly being cagey in her answers, he thought.

"Turn around Elizabeth. I have a few more questions for you."

She stood up and swayed towards Jack. "I'm tired of your questions." She pulled the slip off over her head, the silk material whispering against her skin. She stood nude in front of him proudly - her breasts were small and her body still thin. Looking at him unashamedly, she said, "Now take off your boots, mister, I don't want you to get my bed all muddy."

He pulled his boots off and threw them into the corner. He lay back on the bed with his head on a pillow and watched her as she pulled off his pants. She straddled him and began to unbutton his shirt. She looked serious as she worked off his undershirt.

Jack then pulled her roughly down to him and kissed her hard on the mouth. "You're a beautiful woman, Elizabeth."

She hushed him. "No more questions and no more talking."

They kissed for a while longer, their hands exploring each other. He rolled over, pulling her underneath him. He kissed her breasts and stomach. She sighed and pulled him back up to kiss him hard on the mouth. Jack pulled himself up to look in her eyes before thrusting deeply inside of her. She writhed underneath him, her legs wrapped tightly around him as he made love to her.

*

Much later, they sat in bed sharing a cigarette. She sighed and ran her fingers lightly around his chest. They listened together to the sound of the rain against the windows and watched the cigarette smoke drift lazily through the air. Outside, the light of the afternoon was beginning to fade to the darkness of night.

"It's good to make to love to a real man," she said. "I can't tell you how tired I get of young blushing soldiers who got all of their sexual experiences watching the pigs do it on the farm."

Jack laughed and kissed her on the ear. "It's good to know that I can make someone happy."

"As happy as a woman like me can be."

"I still have a question for you."

Mulholland rolled her eyes. "Can't you just be quiet and enjoy this time we have together?" she asked.

She then pulled herself off of the bed, unashamedly naked in the dim evening light. Walking over to her dresser, she sat down and lit a lamp. She began brushing her hair again in front of the mirror, her face in a pout.

He studied her nude body for a while before speaking. "I want to know about Ethan Davis and Faith Hanson."

She froze for a moment and then giggled. "Faith Hanson? You want to know about that tart? She has some secrets that you would love to hear."

His stomach was wrapped up in knots. "Go on and tell me," Jack said quietly.

"Well, I don't like to reminisce over the old days of Davis much, but just for you I'll tell you all about it. The reason that Davis stopped seeing me was because of Faith. Those two were inseparable. There was plenty of talk of those two getting married at that time. Faith seemed to be very much in love with Davis and he with her. It broke my heart at the time, but there wasn't much that I could do about it. I was a married woman and Miss Hanson was available. Davis said he loved me, but I could hardly compete with the wealthy and virginal Faith Hanson," she said vehemently.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, sincerely. His heart felt heavy with his own sorrow as he heard the words come from her mouth.

"I suppose it was for the better. Davis never really loved me, but I was fool enough not to care if he did."

"Tell me again about your first meeting with Lawrence. You said Davis arranged the meeting. How did Faith seem to feel about you and her brother together?"

"I was surprised that the Hansons invited me to that party of hers. She never liked me, especially when it started to be known of my prior involvement with Davis. But she seemed to actually encourage Lawrence's love for me. I guess she was happy that I was spending time with her brother instead of pining endlessly after Davis."

"After your affair with Lawrence was broken up by his father, what happened after that?"

She sighed. "Davis had no further use for me after that. I tried to write to Lawrence, but he never answered me back."

Jack looked thoughtful as he lit another cigarette. He stayed quiet for a while and continued to watch her but this time he was lost in his own thoughts. She finished her hair, stood up, and reached down for her slip. She pulled it on and began searching through the piles of clothes scattered on the floor.

"Well, honey, I have to get ready," she said.

"Ready for what?" Jack asked.

She gave a little flip to her hair. "I can't pay the bills sitting here talking to you. I have to go out and work for a living." She found the dress she was looking for and slid it over her head. "Can you button me up please?"

He stood up and went over to her. He roughly pulled the dress off of her and began to kiss her on the mouth. "Stay with me, Elizabeth, and I'll pay for the night."
Chapter 24

The next morning, after leaving Mulholland's apartment, Jack rode his horse to the Hanson house. The butler answered the door and led him to the same sitting room as before. In the foyer there were several traveling trunks stacked together. He cast a curious glance at these. Arriving at the sitting room, he sat down with his jaw clenched, waiting for Faith to appear.

Within a few moments, she walked in with a faint smile, looking expectantly at Jack to start speaking. He stood as she came in, gave a stiff bow and waited for her to sit. She was still wearing black, apparently in memory of her brother. But strikingly out of place, her hair was pulled back with pair of red ribbons.

Jack cleared his throat before speaking. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I had some business to wrap up before I could complete the case."

"That's quite understandable, Jack, but it has been hard for me to wait so long." Her voice still held some sweetness as she said this, and her eyes seemed to reproach him.

"I saw those trunks in the hallway. Are you planning on going somewhere?"

She quickly looked away before answering. "I have an aunt who lives in Baltimore. I was planning on leaving this afternoon to visit her for a few weeks. It's been awhile since I've seen her, and I know how lonely she can get by herself." She spoke rapidly as if telling a well-rehearsed story.

"Your father must have taken Lawrence's death hard," Jack said. "A man in his health must be careful not to have any sudden shocks."

"Father took it surprisingly well, considering everything that happened the past week," she replied. "In his mind, I think he wrote Lawrence off a long time ago. He was always getting into some type of trouble, and my father had to bail him out. Now my father can relax and enjoy his last remaining years."

He replied flatly, "Yes, I suppose so."

Suddenly she had a flurry of questions. "What happened at Harper's Ferry? Did you get the papers back? Has the Hanson family name been cleared?"

His answer was sharp and short. "It was a difficult trip, but the papers were never delivered to the Secessionists. Davis never had a chance against me."

Faith's hand quickly came to her mouth, and then slowly returned to her lap. "Davis? What happened to him?"

Jack felt sick to his stomach, but he continued. "Let's just say that things worked out so that I was able to stop him from escaping."

"What did you do?" she asked, clutching her hands together.

"I shot him as he tried to make his way over to the safety of the Virginia Militia. He fell over the side of a bridge and left the papers in his saddlebags. I got them back."

"I never would have guessed that Davis could do something so evil. So the papers have been returned? There is no more reason for Mister Forsythe to bother us?"

"I didn't exactly say that; not all of the papers have been returned," Jack replied, putting emphasis on each word. "Someone else, I imagine here in Washington, is still holding the rest of them." His mouth became a grim line.

"Who could that be?" she asked. She leaned forward, looking worried.

"It means that Davis gave the rest of the papers to someone else before he made his escape to Harper's Ferry. He did not want to be captured holding something that could very well have hanged him. So he fled Washington with Stevenson, hoping to get over to the Secessionists to sell them the plans. After they came to an agreed price he was going to send for the rest of the papers to be delivered at a different time by a different courier." Jack cleared his throat. He was getting tired of hearing his own voice, and he was even more tired of seeing Faith's false gestures. It would be better to leave, but he had to finish. He felt he owed it to himself and his remaining sense of honor to do it this way.

He sighed before he continued. "Last night, Ezra and I returned to Washington. We then went to visit Abbott. Problem was that he wasn't ready to receive guests. Somebody murdered him. This same somebody wanted to keep their involvement with him secret."

"Who would murder him?"

"We know it wasn't Davis or Stevenson who killed him since they are both dead. And the Secessionist spy wasn't available to murder either."

"How do you know that?" Faith asked; her face was pale, and Jack could see she was breathing harder than normal.

"Miss Edmonds is currently being kept in jail for a few days and can't hurt anyone right now. But I do know who ever killed Abbott was a woman. They wanted to protect themselves from anyone ever finding out their true involvement with the murder of Lawrence."

Faith's face was even paler, and her hands clutched the side of the chair. "Who would do that?" she asked in a whisper.

Jack stood up and took a step closer to her. His voice was rough with emotions he didn't want to think about. "It was the same person who was willing to hold the papers for Davis. It was the same person who was still in love with Davis and was willing to kill Abbott so she wouldn't have anyone left in Washington who could reveal her true motives. Abbott was wise enough to know how Davis operated. He still wanted his cut of the loot even though he compromised Davis. The person that Ethan Davis gave the papers to was you."

Her eyes opened wide in shock, and she half stood up from the chair. She looked at the open door as if ready to flee.

"Now I want you to sit still and listen to me," Jack said. He put his hand on her shoulder and guided her back in to the chair. "You aren't going anywhere until you hear me out."

Faith slowly nodded her head and then stared at the floor.

"You knew your brother was seeing a married woman," he continued. "In the course of our investigation, I spoke to Elizabeth Mulholland. She was having an affair with Davis until he decided he had had enough of her. But he wasn't quite finished with her and wanted to use her to get a hold over Lawrence. It was you who introduced Lawrence to her. You did that on Davis's suggestion."

"I did nothing of the kind! Who told you these lies?" she said, her voice rising.

"Elizabeth Mulholland told me of your love for Davis." Jack's voice dripped with anger. "She told me all about Davis and you. There's no point in lying to me anymore."

"That's not true," Faith countered, a faint sob choking her voice. "I met Davis through my brother, but I was never his lover. He was just a family friend after he gave up the idea of marrying me."

He ignored her and continued. "Lawrence was at first just another blackmail job for Davis and Abbott. But when Lawrence got his job at the War Department through your father, he became something more. Once the war broke out, it was a golden opportunity for Davis. Your brother had access to vital information that could be traded for money. Part of it may have been out of loyalty for the South, but it was mostly his own greed that led him to use your brother. At the same time, Davis dropped you from his life. He no longer wanted to spend his time with you, but you still wanted him."

"I'll tell you again, I didn't have anything to do with this," she protested feebly. She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

"You were afraid to lose Davis and more importantly, your cut of the money. After your brother disappeared, you knew all along that he was taken by Stevenson and Abbott at Davis's order. You knew all along that it was Davis was the one who held the plans. That's when you hired me. You wanted revenge, but most of all you wanted to put a scare into the man who once spurned you. The only thing you didn't count on was Davis' experience. He was an old hand at this kind of game. He didn't scare easily and was still willing to take a gamble with you staying quiet about your dealings in this matter. If he could buy enough time, then he could get rid of the papers before Lawrence's dead body was discovered."

Faith was quiet for a while. Her face had become peaceful and her sobs less frequent. The words came slowly. "Davis could be quite ruthless," she admitted, her voice low. "The death of my brother is proof enough of that. But you must be crazy to think I would have let him take Lawrence from me."

"But that's exactly what you did do. You were willing to do anything to get Davis back."

"No!" she shouted. Her face red with anger, she stood up and pulled a derringer from her sleeve. Although her hands were shaking, her movements were quick and determined.

Jack grabbed her wrists and pushed her roughly back down into the chair. He pulled the gun out of her hand and held it in his own. She sobbed and hugged herself as she rocked back and forth.

He looked over the diminutive gun and sniffed the barrel. It had been fired recently and still smelled of blackpowder. He slipped it in his coat pocket. Jack then continued as if nothing had happened. "When Davis left Washington, he gave you the papers, knowing he could bend you to his will. Later you met up with Abbott at his place, and you wouldn't agree to his demands. I'm sure he just wanted a cut of the action, thinking that Davis had left him in the lurch. You killed him. You shot him with the derringer given to you by Davis - the very same one you just tried to shoot me with now. You see, Davis had an identical one in the saddlebag I retrieved."

"Abbott didn't want to listen to me," she whispered. "He threatened to turn me in if I didn't give him the papers. He actually laughed at me and called me a traitor to my own brother. Then he tried to take me by force. I tried to warn him, but my gun went off accidentally and he was killed. I didn't mean to do it." She started to gently sob.

Jack looked at her sadly. He had no reason to love her anymore, but it still hurt to be in the same room with her.

"What are you going to do with me?" Faith asked. Her voice was low, and cracked with emotion.

"Nothing," he replied. "There's very little real evidence against you. Just give me the papers back and I will let you go. If you try to hide them from me, I'll have Henry Garrett come and get them."

She shuffled out to the hallway. Jack followed her to the trunks stacked in the foyer. She opened the case on top and pulled out a bundle of papers tied up with string. She handed them over, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

He untied the string and looked quickly through the papers. They were real. He tied them up again and prepared to leave.

Faith licked her lips, and looked up into his eyes. "Why?" she asked. "Why are you letting me go?"

Jack turned to go, unable to look at her any longer. "I'm not sure and I don't think I ever will be."
Chapter 25

Narrative continued

My leg has begun to heal quite nicely, and though I now walk with a limp, I do not notice the discomfort. Now that this business of the Anaconda Plan is over, I wonder what will come next. I am on my own again now, waiting to find new opportunities and friends in my surroundings. After some contemplation, I have decided a return to Washington might be rash. It is best for me to remain in Richmond for the time being. But I am looking forward to the day when I can return and have my revenge.

*

Jack rode back home, taking his time as he threaded his way through the busy streets. He dropped his horse off at the livery and walked the rest of the way to the office. After he made his way up the steps, he found Ezra was sitting behind the desk waiting for him.

The black man watched as his partner hung up his coat. "How did it go with Faith?" he asked. He held an unlit cigarette in his hand, his face impassive.

"As well as could be expected," the detective replied. He sat down across from his partner and threw the bundled papers onto the desk. "She denied everything at first, but I eventually got the truth out of her. I know she won't be giving us any ringing endorsements anytime soon, that's to be sure."

Ezra took the bundle of papers and put them in the safe with the rest of the plans. "I never would have guessed that someone like her could setup her own brother and then kill a man. How did you guess that she was so deeply involved with all of this?"

"I wouldn't have guessed if I hadn't visited Elizabeth Mulholland that first time. She seemed surprised that we working on behalf of the Hanson family. When I saw her last night, she confirmed that after Davis left her, he began to see Faith. I'm not sure if Faith was ever in love with the scoundrel, but she was willing to use him for her own needs. She wanted to get out of that house and cared for little else." Jack pulled a bottle out from the desk and poured two drinks. He handed a glass to his partner and continued. "When Abbott was killed, he was obviously entertaining a woman that he knew rather well. Whoever that was, she didn't wear lip gloss. I saw that the two glasses were both unmarked."

"So?" Ezra lit his cigarette and picked up his glass from the table.

"Most women in the city don't wear lip gloss, but most of the ladies that he would see would be quite inclined to add some. Faith was careful enough to maintain her innocent look, so that was one clue to who killed Abbott."

"How did she know him?" Ezra asked, sipping his whiskey. "He's not exactly her type of person."

Jack filled his glass again. "She met him through Davis, of course. She recognized him as a man who knew too much about Davis. When he gave her the papers before leaving Washington, Abbott must have suspected it. Abbott threatened her for a cut of the money. If he didn't get his share, he was going to turn her in or kill her. Instead she shot him with the very derringer that Davis gave her."

Jack filled Ezra's glass and then reached into his pocket a cigarette.

"What was the point of all of this?" Ezra asked. "What did she hope to gain out of Abbott's murder? She was already well off and would come into a lot of money once her father was gone."

"That's a difficult thing to consider, my friend. I think it was part revenge for her brother's death and part greed. Lawrence was going to come into all of the inheritance, so she was willing to sacrifice him. She was stuck in that house, looking after her father for the past few years. Her youth was fading away and she was the one doing all that hard work nursing her father. She thought she deserved the money, not Lawrence. But I think when Davis dropped her, that was the last straw. She wanted to take the money to escape that house."

"She must have been really desperate to get out of there," Ezra said as he stubbed his cigarette out.

"Yes, she was," Jack replied. "She was desperate enough to put her trust in Davis, who ended up ordering Lawrence's death. She was desperate enough to kill Abbott in cold blood to protect the stake she had. She was even willing to try to make me fall in love with her."

Jack poured another drink, his hands only slightly shaking.

"Is that why you let her go?" Ezra questioned Jack.

"I let her go because I'm an old fool."

Ezra looked sadly at his old friend. "You know, I think you were really in love with her."

Jack stayed quiet and could not meet his partner's gaze. He then lit a cigarette. He took a sip before facing his partner again. "I didn't turn her in. I just couldn't do it. Her father is a sick man. The shock of Lawrence's death was already enough for him. To know that her daughter was partly responsible for his son's death would be too much. It would have killed him."

"That may be," Ezra said. "But he deserves to know the truth eventually. He is living with a murderer. Are you sure it's safe to let her go?"

"I don't know," Jack replied. "I'm willing to just forget everything about the Hanson family. I'm tired of them and everything else."

"What are you going to tell Garrett?"

"I'll make up some story for him and we can drop the plans off at Forsythe's tomorrow."

"What about Faith?" his partner protested. "She may kill someone again, and then what will you do?"

Jack smiled and stubbed his cigarette on the bottom of his boot.

"You know, Ezra, I can't be held responsible for every woman in Washington. Let's go get drunk - I'm buying."

###

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The Works of Paul Westwood:

**The Color of Sin:** Las Vegas. Devon Pierce lives a life of his own choosing, surviving by his wits and violent actions. For those in desperate need, he is the judge and executioner of last resort - above the law and incorruptible. Cleora Kinney, an exotic dancer, has been wronged and the Afghanistan treasure of her deceased father has been stolen. Only Devon can set things right. But first he must follow the clues found hidden deep in the shadowy underworld of the city of sin.

**Grave Injustice:** It had been in the Warren family for years: the ancestral home deep in the South. After the death of James's reclusive uncle, the house is now his to sell. But James is haunted by a childhood memory of a ghostly horror of a deceased young girl. With the help of his wife Beth, who is a law student, the young couple must solve a murder from the Civil War and lay to rest the spirit that still haunts the grounds. But the danger is not only in the past, but will come crashing into the present. Their lives and fortunes will be forever changed.

**Nano Zombie** : Not all zombies are undead. Brent is a man who lives in the near future, a crumbling civilization where man feeds upon man. Escaping from the chaos of the city, he is suddenly thrust into an unspeakable nightmare of sickness and war. In a world of apocalyptic horror, he battles for those he loves, an orphan girl and a woman with a mysterious past. In the desolated countryside, Brent fights to stay alive and find a cure to the most terrible disease that humanity has ever seen.

**Nano Zombie Redemption** : This exciting sequel to Nano Zombie has Emily battling to stay alive in a dying world. Now that her adopted father, Brent, is gone she must learn how to survive on her own. Food has run out and the Infecteds rule the dust-filled wasteland. With danger at every turn, she, along with her companions, try to find a way to finally defeat the zombie hordes. The horrific journey will test their bonds of friendship and even love.

**Horror America** : Move over Sherlock Holmes! When the supernatural game's afoot, helpless people call on the good Dr. Townsend to save them. Ghosts, the undead, werewolves, and more horrors that man was not meant to see are loose in 1870s America, so it's up to Captain Parker, a gunslinger for hire, and Dr. Townsend to stop the horror. Yet when Townsend's beautiful daughter falls under the spell of a mysterious suitor, their fortitude will be tested in a battle like no other. Written in a series of connected short stories narrated by Parker, this novel will keep you turning pages late into the night.

**Lonely Are The Dead** : 1977. A ruthless serial-killer is stalking Bay City. His purpose is unknown, but the dismembered victims are always young and beautiful. In order to find the perpetrator, Police Detective Markus has to set aside his personal troubles, and pull the evidence together before panic sweeps the city. His only ally is Karen Dekker, a reporter with a tortured past and the chance to break the biggest story of her career.

**The Cursed Sun** : Two centuries after the Final War, civilization struggles to rise from the radioactive ashes of the new Dark Ages. An innocent man turned outlaw is forced on a journey across a desolated landscape, risking his life to deliver a warning to the growing rebellion. The message he carries will change the balance of power, and with it, the hopes of humanity.

**Murder at Zero Hour:** William Grant, an American, joins the British Army during the Great War. He is posted to France, where he witnesses the horrors of war on the front line. During a dangerous night patrol, a captain is murdered, leading to a series of unanswered questions. With only his wits, Grant must solve the mystery while keeping his own skin intact. Will he be a victim of war or just another victim?

**At Harper's Ferry** : The book that started it all. Jack Blackwood is a lonely drunk who starts a detective agency in the heart of Washington DC. As Fort Sumter is attacked, he and his partner Ezra are embroiled in a case that could change the very course of the war: the son of a retired congressman has gone missing, along with military papers outlining the Union's Anaconda Plan. At the heart of the matter is a beautiful prostitute, a trail of dead men, and a spy who will stop at nothing to deliver the plans to the Confederacy.

**At Bull Run** : The second book in the Blackwood Series. A wealthy man hires Jack Blackwood to find the murderer of his only son, who had recently joined a newly-formed Union cavalry regiment. In a city crowded with temptation, the investigation uncovers a killer who is targeting prostitutes and soldiers alike, causing panic in the ranks. Only Jack's wits and the power of the Colt can put a stop to the killings.

**At Shiloh** : The third book in the Blackwood series. As Grant's Army marches through Tennessee, it is beset by guerilla fighters led by the traitorous Major Gardner. An invaluable shipment of gold is stolen from the Union and must be retrieved at all costs. Posing as a guntrader, Jack must not only complete this impossible mission, but survive the perils of battle and the amorous advances of a widow trapped in an unfriendly town.

**The Blackwood Trilogy** : Jack Blackwood is a widower and a drunk. Ezra Miller is an ex-slave in a white man's world. Together, they run a detective agency in Washington DC. As the Civil War rages, they are involved in a series of cases that will change the very course of the war. This anthology collects all three adventures – At Harper's Ferry, At Bull Run, and At Shiloh - at one low price.

Free Bonus Chapter of The Color of Sin:

It was supposed to have been a nice and quiet evening at home. My current home being the an old warehouse that I had personally converted into apartments. I, of course, had kept the entire top floor and left the space underneath empty so I wouldn't be bothered by the worst impulses of humanity: noise. The other units brought in a tidy income though I purposefully kept the rents low enough to keep out the neuvo-rich. Instead, the building was populated with artists, workers, and a mish-mash of hustlers and conmen. They were the type of people who kept to themselves and weren't always asking questions about the landlord above. Instead they were quite happy to get entrance to such a secure building at an affordable price. And considering the area we lived in, D Street Avenue in Las Vegas, a little safety went a long way.

I was sitting on the sofa with my legs up on the footrest and half a Gimlet at my elbow. On my lap was a tablet. I was scrolling through a map app, trying to find the best way to drive out of this town. July was coming, which meant the hottest part of the year. A vacation was due, and I was entertaining the thought of taking my car on an extended tour of Oregon. I really didn't want to leave - I liked this town - but I was overcome with a feeling of restlessness. I had been bored as of late, which often happens in my line of work.

In the corner of my eye, I saw the graceful movement of Melodie Glass, who was working on some new dance moves. She had come over for the privacy and the fact that I had a large space to practice in. The massive JE Labs speakers and Mark Levinson electronics were an additional bonus. The high-reved pop music sounded dismal to my ears, but she seemed to enjoy the fidelity as she stretched and contorted her dancer's body into moves that only can be done by top-level gymnasts or professional strippers. She was the latter sort.

Melodie was pale with long black hair, smooth skin, and a face that revealed an Asian ancestor. She was skinny but well-endowed on top – work done by a good plastic surgeon – and had the well-muscled legs of someone who moved all day for a living. She was wearing a faded black leotard with red legwarmers. Her hair was pulled back and kept in place with a hair clip. Though taller than your average woman, she was still a few inches shorter than myself.

She was working her body hard. If I had installed a stripper pole, I'm sure she would have been sweating even harder. But instead, she was practicing her floor routine, the gyrations meant to keep the dollar bills coming. With the stiff competition in Vegas, the men and women who made their living at exotic dancing, Melodie made sure to stay in shape and keep her dances fresh. Even with the air conditioning running at full blast, there was a slight odor of perspiration. From the track lighting above I could see a gleam of sweat on her exposed skin.

I put the tablet down and took a sip of my drink. Lime juice mixed with gin had a wonderful way of sharpening the senses. As I drank, I saw Melodie stop. She went over to the CD player and turned off the power, sending a momentary thump through the speakers. I frowned, knowing that something serious was on her mind.

"Devon?"

"Yes?" I replied as I set my drink back down.

She took a step closer. "Is it true what people say about you?"

"What do people say?"

"That you help people in need."

"I don't think I've ever been called charitable."

"You know what I mean."

I gave her a half of a smile. "Yes, it's true that I help those who can't help themselves. Of course there has to be some profit in it." I vaguely pointed at the luxury furnishings and the expensive rug at our feet. "This sort of stuff doesn't come cheap. I am, after not, not running a charity here. But there are some rules to the game. The first, of course, is that I won't go killing for money. The second is that I won't harm the innocent, though the latter is questionable since I have never met anyone who is truly innocent."

"You're the most cynical man I've ever met," she purred.

"I prefer the word experienced. But I did not earn my money by doing anything that is unethical – within the confines of what I consider ethical, that is."

She leered at me. "That leaves a wide range of possibilities, honey." She instantly turned serious again. "Maybe you really could help a friend of mine. Her name is Cleora Kinney. She's a co-worker of mine at the Pussycat Lounge. She's only been there a few days and anyone can tell that she isn't cut out for the life. But I do know that she needs help and I can't think of anyone but you."

I scratched my chin in thought. After a few moments of this, I said, "I wasn't exactly planning to be in town for very much longer. Anyway, I'm not hurting for money right now."

"This is something interesting."

"What is it?" I asked, taking the bait.

"Last night, after our shift was done, we got to drinking and talking. After a few beers she opened up and told me everything. We're talking a lot of money here."

"A few thousand dollars? A hundred thousand?"

"Maybe it would be better if you would talk to her yourself. I would hate to tell you the wrong thing and have you turn down the job. She can explain it better than I can."

"Now you've got me interested."

She closed the space between us with a few sultry steps – all hips and doe-like eyes. It was a good performance that got my heart racing, even though I knew the act was as false as a street bought Rolex.

She said, "That's the point, honey. She'll be here in a few minutes."

"What?"

She reached over and ran a hand through my hair. "Don't worry, you'll like her. Everyone does." She then sauntered off, showing her backside to good effect. She went back to the stereo, turned the CD back on, and began to dance to the rhythm of the music.

I returned my attention to the Gimlet. I took a drink and tasted nothing. I was too busy being angry with Melodie to notice the flavor. I put the glass down and tried to return my attention to the map on the tablet. But the route I had chosen instead blurred and disappeared from my vision. Instead I busily thought of the possibilities: a changed will that left the poor girl out of a sizable estate, a drug dealing boyfriend, or some stolen merchandise that she knew about. Dancers like that were always making friends with rich men who wanted to share their wealth. What could be different with this woman?

The door buzzer went off. It was just barely audible over the thump of the music. I got up off the sofa, threw Melodie a nasty smile, and went to unlock the steel reinforced door. After that, it was a walk to the elevator that I had specially modified so that it took a code to access my two floors. As an extra precaution, the door leading to the staircase was locked with thick doors at the floor levels. With the wired alarm system I had installed myself, no one could get inside without me knowing. In case I was out of the building, I had a computer setup to send an email to my cellphone. This may all sound rather paranoid, but when you do my type of work, a little caution goes a long way.

The door to the elevator opened. I got inside, selected the ground floor, and waited impatiently as I was taken slowly down. In the entryway, I saw a young blonde waiting behind the door. The glass of this entryway was reinforced with chicken wire. The wood was thick and old, an original part of the warehouse. With a flourish, I opened the door and let her in.

"I'm Cleora," she said as she offered her hand.

"Devon Pierce," I replied. We shook. "Come right this way."

In silence, we rode up in the elevator. There I studied her. In profile she looked good. With small features, she looked more like a teenager than a woman who works the stage for a living. Her nose was straight and the color of her eyebrows matched the color of her blonde hair. She had honest to goodness freckles, blue eyes, and a page boy haircut. She was wearing a shapeless top and a black skirt that went down to the knees. Long white socks and tennis shoes added to the school girl effect. The calves had the muscled tone of a dancer. I could see why men would like her, but there was also a coldness there that would be hard to penetrate.

"Come right this way," I said as I opened the door to my apartment.

She went in and let out a gasp. It's a common enough reaction when new visitors see the wood floors, plush rugs, the paintings on the brick wall, the gleaming stereo, and the Herman Miller furniture. The entire effect was that of stylish modernity and was a far cry from the ghetto streets a few stories below us. This was my hideaway from the world and only trusted souls were allowed into the inner sanctum. Part of my annoyance with Melodie was giving access to her friend iwithout my permission. But if you can't trust your friends, than who can you trust?

"Are you a drug dealer?" Cleora asked.

Seeing the arrival of her friend, Melodie stopped the CD player. I noticed that this time she had done it correctly by using the buttons. She said, "No, and he's not part of the mob either. He's just a rich bastard."

I could see that this answer did nothing to clear up the confusion. I added, "I'm not that rich. But I do like to live comfortably. As for my income, I consider myself as a sort of an investor. This building, for example, used to be a warehouse. I provided apartments for the people of this neighborhood and in the process built a place for myself that I found comfortable. I also have other interests that meet my financial needs."

"But why this neighborhood? You could be living big in Summerlin." That was a more swank part of town.

Melodie answered, "Devon here isn't like other people. He likes to associate with conmen, junkies, and strippers. He thinks normal people are boring."

I nodded. "And their lives are rather boring without the sort of problems I find interesting. Perhaps I could help you."

Melodie said, "Cleora, why don't you tell Devon here all about your problem. I'll go shower and change." With those words, she went down the hallway and went into the bathroom. The sound of running water was immediately heard.

It was obvious that Cleora was feeling uncertain, so I went over to the bar and fixed her a drink. While I was pouring out the vodka, she sat down at the stool and waited until I was done. She gratefully accepted the screwdriver, taking a tentative sip.

She said, "I don't feel right being here. I mean what can anyone do for me?"

"I don't know anything about your situation so I can't possibly answer your question. But we could start at the beginning."

Cleora gave me a shy look, an honest to goodness inside view at the real woman underneath the veneer of the armor she must have developed in her line of work. I could see why Melodie said that this girl was not cut out for the job as an exotic dancer.

She finally said, "Okay, but this is going to sound a little crazy."

"Try me."

"My real name is Amy. Cleora is my professional name – everyone uses it except my sister. You see I was an army brat. That meant I never had a real home. Instead my family traveled from base to base. Five years ago, when I was eighteen, I got pregnant. This happened over in Henderson."

This was a suburb that southwest of Las Vegas.

"We were living in a little ranch home in a neighborhood Luckily my old man was off on his first tour in Afghanistan when I found out I was going to have a child or else there would have been hell to pay. The father of the baby was a boy named Timothy King who was an awkward kid I went to school with. There was nothing ever serious about us, instead we were just friends who liked to fool around. I don't know where he is now. I really don't care. So I had a little girl. She's named Madison. She's the only reason I came to you. I want her to go to college. I want her to have the things that I never had."

I nodded and didn't say anything. Now that she was on a roll there was no stopping her now.

"My father Bill Kinney was a captain in the Special Forces, doing some type of work for the government. It was all hush-hush, you know, top secret. We were never rich, that's for sure. But somehow when he was sent over to Afghanistan, he must have discovered some way to make money. I don't know what it was or how he got it back to the States, but that's not important. I know it had to be illegal, whatever he did. I mean they don't hand out free cash to soldiers, do they? But he was a hard man who thought he was the toughest thing on the planet. The older he got, the more he had to prove himself. A week after he returned from his final combat tour, he went out to the bar. He got into a fight with a younger man - some tough college football player. It must have been a lucky punch, because apparently my father just folded up like a house of cards when he got hit in the side of the head. He never regained consciousness. He died two days later."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

She gave a shrug. "That was two years ago. I wasn't that sad at the time. And I'm not exactly grieving now."

"How did you find out about the money?"

"When Bill came back, he couldn't keep it a secret. He told my mother and my sister Kim and I that we were going to be rich soon. He also told us that we couldn't tell a soul. He made us promise."

I pursed my lips together. "Did your father tell you the source of this new found wealth?"

She shook her head and took another sip of her drink. "I thought he was making it up. Not that he was the sort of person to lie, but he came back from the war a changed man. He was a drunk.. He was abusive toward my mother. He threatened my little girl. I thought he was telling us lies about the money to keep us happy."

I was skeptical now. "What made you change your mind? I mean one day you don't believe him and the next you're suddenly sure that there is a fortune just waiting for you."

"I'm getting there. Eight months ago a man named Keith Miller came to the door. He ended up staying with us. He claimed to have known my father over in Afghanistan; that they had served together in the Green Berets. He was just out of the army and looking for a job. My mother let him stay with us until he could get back on his feet. I wish she had thrown the bum out on his ass."

The sudden venom caught me by surprise. But before I could say anything, she continued on, her jaw tight and unyielding.

"Keith said he knew my father well. He said they had spent two tours together. He had no family and nowhere to go. At first he seemed so kind. He was good with his hands and really helped around the house. After a few weeks, he even got a job as a bouncer at the club I worked at in Henderson. He isn't a big guy but he's got muscle. I've seen him fight and toss out some real tough guys. I admit that it felt good to have someone strong around. He seemed to like me and my daughter quite a lot. And with my mother sick with lung cancer, my sister and I really needed him.

"In the end I fell in love with Keith. We might as well have been married, that's how close he was to me. He seemed to be a good man. And when mother died, Kim quit job as receptionist so she could take care of her two sons from a former marriage and my daughter. It was up to Keith and I to bring in the money. Things were tight and I was glad for all the help I could get from him. But there was some strange quirk about Keith that became quite bothersome. You see he loved to talk about my father. I thought he was just waxing nostalgic about an old comrade, wanting to know Bill's habits: where he liked to visit, or where my dad hunted, or what kind of work he had done around the house. Keith also took a real keen interest in gardening and found some excuse to dig up most of the yard. I didn't pay any attention to this until the day that he left."

"It sounds like he was looking for something," I commented dryly.

She took the final sip from her glass. The ice cubes were all melted. I also noticed that the water in the bathroom was off and Melodie hadn't come out yet.

"Whatever it was, he found it," she said. "One day I awoke and Keith was gone. He only took his personal stuff and never showed up at work. This two months ago. To be honest, I wasn't all that surprised. I knew that he wasn't that good for me. But there was one strange thing that really got me shook up. In the back of that house was a patio that wasn't much larger than one of your rugs. It was made with old flagstones. One of them had been removed. Underneath was a hole that contained a scrap of canvas that was olive green. I can tell you that it didn't take too many leaps of the imagination to put the pieces together. Something, perhaps that money my father talked so much about, had been hidden there.

"I was angry as hell. I thought I would never see Keith again. I had to quit my job at Henderson and come to Vegas to get a better paying job. But just last week, after I had gotten out my shift at my new job at the Pussycat Lounge, I was driving home. I saw him outside of the Sands casino, pulling some breezy redhead out of a new Lexus with temporary tags. She looked high maintenance and much too rich for a man like him. Before I could find a parking spot, the two of them disappeared inside. I searched around the casino but didn't see them. I ended up camping in the lobby. It was an hour later when he came out with that woman. Like a fool, I ran after him, demanding all sorts of explanations. He practically ran away, dragging that bitch with him. They hopped into that car and took off. I ran to my car and started following them. Two blocks later, he dropped her off at the entrance of a ritzy condo called Eastgate. After that, I lost him in the traffic. I think he knew that I was following him."

"And you think he found the money that your father hid? Perhaps he just shacked up with a new woman."

Cleora actually blushed. "I can tell you that Keith isn't the type who can a snooty woman fall for him. He's different – uneducated and good with his hands. He's no gigolo."

I let out a small sigh of exasperation. "It's a general observation of mine that woman of all classes aren't particular when it comes to a man's background. If they like what they see, then they'll try and get him."

"You don't know Keith. He's a brute. And I'm not just saying that out of hatred. He can be tender and even sweet, but there's an anger inside of him that is downright scary. I have the scars to prove it. No woman in her right mind would be with him long. As I said, I was glad when he was gone. I also got scared that he would come after me, once there weren't any witnesses around. He can be cruel if he think he's been wronged. I'm glad that I left Henderson."

"You no longer live with your sister?"

"No, I share an apartment with one of the girls from the Pussycat. It's easier that way. I send my extra money back to my sister, who is busy taking care of my daughter, and visit them on the weekends."

"Would you like another drink?"

She shook her head. "No thanks. So will you take on my case?"

"I'm not a private detective. Let me give it some thought and I'll get back to you."

Cleora dragged a cellphone out from the heavy purse that was still slung over her shoulder. "Would you like my number?"

"That won't be necessary at this time. I'll contact you through Melodie."

After that, I walked her down to the front entrance. I waited until she got into her car – a beat up Kia – and drove away. Deep in thought, I went back to the apartment. Once the door shut, I could hear the Melodie humming some unknown song. The sound was coming from the bedroom. I went there, walking gently on the sides of my feet.

"Hey," I said through the half-open door.

"Why don't you come in?" Her voice was low and filled with desire.

I took a few steps inside. With the gauze curtains across the windows, the room was dim. I could just see the Stickley bed and matching side tables with their Tiffany lamps. Lying on top of the bed was Melodie. She wasn't wearing anything at all except for a smirk. The look suited her quite well. She was propped up on a pair of pillows, her long black and wet hair leaving a dark stain on the cotton. There was no extra fat on this specimen, only toned but shapely muscles that only accentuated her natural curves. She wasn't shy about me looking either, but we had our fling in the past so there was nothing new that Melodie could share with me.

"So what do you think of my new friend?" she asked. She said the words casually as if we were talking on a street corner.

I sat down on the edge of the bed. "I like her. It appears that Cleora has led a tough life. But she still managed to find her way through. That proves she's got her head on right."

"I like her too. So will you help her out?"

"I've got to think about it. There is a lot I need to know before I can even began to find out what was stolen from her."

"So do think really think that this Keith character did find something that her father buried in the backyard?"

"It seems plausible. Bill Kinney served in Afghanistan. To me that means poppies, opium, and heroin. With all the supplies being ferried back and forth, it wouldn't be that hard to smuggle some drugs into the country. You know as well as I do that it is a quick and dirty way to make some money."

Before I could react, Melodie grabbed my arm. I did not resist as he pulled me closer, guiding my hand to one of her perfectly formed breasts. That plastic surgeon really was a genius. But before my fingers touched the ruby hardness of her nipple, pulled back, easily breaking her grip.

"Damn it, Devon," she said sourly.

I rubbed my chin and stared into her dark eyes. "You know as well as I do, Melodie, that the game is over between you and I. Anyway, I thought you had a new boyfriend."

"I do," she said nastily as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up.

"Hold on, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"It's too damn late," Melodie spat out. She ran out of the bedroom and into the bathroom where she slammed the door with enough force to make the internal walls shake. She was a strong girl.

I went back to the living room. There I began to paw through some records that were tucked inside a bookcase. I found a Handel record. I went over to the Goldmund turntable, turned it on and, after turning a few knobs, had some glorious baroque music pouring elegantly out of the speakers. I stood in front of the stereo and listened intently, trying not to think of what could have happened in that bedroom. Don't get me wrong, I liked Melodie quite a bit and felt like a fool for turning her down, but I also did not want to rekindle that old flame. Before we had broken up, things had gotten complicated. I was happy to be friends with her and didn't want anything more than that – or so I told myself.

When she finally came out of the bathroom, Melodie was dressed in her street clothes: a miniskirt, a red sleeveless top, and a pair of high heels. Her damp hair was twisted into two long braids. A plastic grocery bag containing her workout clothes were in hand. She looked shyly at me, unable to meet my eyes. This was so unlike her that I felt a moment of pity.

"A fight with Angelo?" This was Melodie's boyfriend, a small-time hustler who I personally disliked. Of course I generally didn't cotton to anyone who sold cocaine.

She nodded. "It was a bad one. I was just trying to prove something to myself. I'm sorry."

"It's no problem."

"I wish things had worked out between us. If they did, I wouldn't be stuck with Angelo. He can be such a bastard sometimes."

I raised an eyebrow. "So can I. Things weren't always smooth sailing between the two of us."

She frowned, her eyes misted with tears. "Angelo is my Keith. They both take advantage of women who are in need. But I can't help myself. That's why I feel so strongly about Cleora. You have to do something for her."

"I'll have to think about it," I said. "Come on, let's get you home."

I escorted her down to her car, a new Mini Cooper. A chaste kiss on the cheek and I sent her on her way. I watched the taillights recede into the maze of traffic. I could already feel the heat of the day slowly start to give away to the chill of the desert night. It would take hours of time but it was inevitable. Around me were the sounds of civilization: people talking, the thud of a car door shutting, and the low rumble of an airplane flying overhead. But I was far away from all of that. Instead I was thinking that I needed some time and space to forget. And only then could I make a decision.

