Calamity Jane 10

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Some of them might not,’ the Kid admitted. ‘But it wouldn’t have stopped me doing as you did if it had been necessary. I’ve spent quite some time in Ireland and I like the Irish people, they’re among the most friendly, hospitable, good hearted and generous in the world. And I’d be the last to pretend there aren’t oppressions being carried out, even if nowhere near as many as dear Vera would have everybody believe. But I can’t see how a bloody civil war costing hundreds, if not thousands, of lives on both sides will solve anything. So, no matter what any blasted politician might want, regardless of his motives, I’ll do all I can to stop it.’

  ‘Speaking of motives,’ Belle said, realizing that only genuine sincerity would have caused the Englishman to drop his laconic pose and therefore concluding that she no longer needed to wonder whether their interests in the affair would be compatible. ‘Why do you think the Gorr-Kauphin crowd are involved?’

  ‘You know what their kind are like, dear girl. They’re going to build a brave new world they can rule and make it a better place for the likes of you and I.’

  ‘I doubt whether they would consider you and I as suitable to live in it, dear boy—sorry, new habits die hard too. Are they active in Irish affairs?’

  ‘They, or some like them, have a finger in every pie.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Belle admitted. ‘But I’d have thought they would be able to achieve more in either England or Ireland.’

  ‘Possibly,’ the Kid replied. ‘But it’s safer to be an agitator over here—And more lucrative too, by all accounts.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Belle conceded, knowing that—particularly in Chicago with its large Irish population—there was much support and considerable fund raising for the cause of liberating Ireland from British rule. So agitating in the city would be less dangerous than in either home country. However, she was convinced the matter went deeper than that. ‘Anyway, I don’t see why we should sit here trying to decide what they’re up to. There’s one person who might be able to enlighten us.’

  ‘Tinville?’ the Kid suggested, having arranged to meet the young Belgium actor and pay the rest of the sum which had been demanded for the betrayal if the information proved correct, and surmising the Rebel Spy had a similar arrangement.

  ‘I was thinking of Colin Gorr-Kauphin,’ Belle corrected, with the mild and innocent aura which those who knew her realized meant she was at her most deadly. ‘After all he’s been through tonight, I’m sure he’d appreciate a soothing hand on his brow and then, out of gratitude, he might be willing to bare the secrets of his guilty little soul.’

  ‘If I was a betting man, a folly to which I must confess I’m not addicted,’ the Kid commented. ‘I’d take the odds I could say whose soothing hand it will be. Unless, of course, somebody else has the same idea.’

  ‘Not Captain O’Halloran, surely?’ Belle asked, standing up. ‘I can’t see him making a competent investigation, even if Father Devlin and dear Vera would want him to.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of him, old thing,’ the Kid objected. ‘Rather of them. They know her brother far better than we do and I doubt whether they will consider him staunch or reliable. So, knowing that if he lives, he’ll talk, they could decide to make sure he won’t be able to.’

  ‘It isn’t likely,’ Belle stated. ‘I don’t doubt they would kill him, or that she would be influenced by him being her brother if it was necessary. But, with O’Halloran in charge of the investigation, they won’t think they have anything to fear. At the most, she’ll go to the hospital and stay with him until he recovers and make sure he knows what to say if he should be asked.’

  ‘Then she might be there when we arrive,’ the Kid pointed out.

  ‘Possibly,’ Belle answered. ‘But Tinville told me my “boyfriend” would have to do the robbery tonight as the money was to be removed after the show and I doubt whether Vera would trust even a priest to do that unless she was with him. Anyway, I think it’s worth going to the hospital and seeing what we can learn.’

  ‘So do I, dear girl,’ the Kid seconded. ‘But are you suitably dressed for doing it?’

  ‘As a very good friend of mine would say,’ Belle drawled, glancing down at her masculine attire; although the contours of her slender body removed any suggestion of there being a person of the male gender in it. ‘What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?’

  ‘Not a thing, as far as I’m concerned, dear girl,’ the Kid replied, in a tone that contrived to be both laconic and emphatic, wondering to which friend the Rebel Spy was referring and drawing an erroneous conclusion over the sex of the unnamed arbiter of feminine costume. 22 ‘But it’s hardly what one would expect of somebody, even a lady as lovely as yourself, to wear while laying a soothing hand on one’s brow.’

  ‘I yield to your superior wisdom, kind sir,’ Belle smiled, crossing the room and opening the wardrobe. ‘Let’s see if I can find something more suitable.’

  ‘Do you want me to leave while you change?’ the Kid inquired, watching the beautiful young woman unlocking a large trunk and removing some of its contents.

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Belle replied, placing the items of feminine clothing and a hat box on the bed. From the latter, she lifted a natural looking fiery red wig, a small bottle of spirit gum and a small container which proved to hold pieces of adhesive plaster. ‘You’re such a gentleman I don’t even need to ask you to turn your back.’

  ‘I’m not sure that was a compliment,’ the Kid protested, after the Rebel Spy had completed the alterations to her appearance. ‘Shall we go, dear girl?’

  ‘One can hardly wait, dear boy,’ Belle answered and picked up her parasol.

  Seven – I Started the Fire

  ‘We’ve come to ask how that poor Mr. Gorr-Kauphin’s getting on, sir,’ Captain Patrick Reeder informed the uniformed porter who was standing behind the reception desk in the entrance hall of the Streeterville Municipal Hospital. For the visit, he had reverted to speaking with a County Londonderry accent. Claiming that it complemented Belle Boyd’s wig and clothes, he had donned his false nose before leaving the Carrick Hotel. ‘Sure and wasn’t it the terrible thing that happened to him?’

  When the Rebel Spy and the Remittance Kid had entered by the open double front doors they had found the hall well illuminated, all but deserted except for the porter. Although she was now wearing a black jacket and skirt which had been carefully padded to give the impression that she was a much bulkier woman, in order to conceal the masculine attire she had retained, she also wore the Kerry coat. She had not worn the two-piece costume when visiting O’Malley’s Grand Emerald Isle Theater because, despite the garments having been made to meet with the special requirements of her work, she had anticipated there could be a need for greater freedom of movement than they would permit. In view of what had happened, she considered that the omission had been justified.

  ‘Are you friends of his?’ challenged a voice from behind the couple, causing them to turn and sending the Kid’s right hand beneath his jacket in the same casual-seeming manner that had misled Shamus O’Toole.

  A single glance at the two men who were coming into the hall from a side entrance supplied Belie with all the information she required. She recognized the burly, heavily mustached driver of the buggy which had followed Captain O’Halloran’s rockaway coach for what he was, a detective. More important, she identified his companion.

  ‘Is your poor back still hurting, honey?’ Belle inquired solicitously, reaching with her left hand to close over the Englishman’s jacket in a way that would prevent him from being able to draw the Webley R.I.C. revolver. However, she did not take her eyes from the more slender of the new arrivals and went on, ‘Why land’s sakes a-mercy! Aren’t you-all Cap’n Dusty Fog’s good friend, Lieutenant Edward Ballinger of the Chicago Police Department, sir?’

  ‘I am,’ Ballinger admitted, having observed the Kid’s action and drawn an accurate conclusion as to what was going on. He had learned various aspects of
practical gun handling from the noted authority on the subject whose name had just been mentioned by the beautiful young woman. 23 He found her as intriguing as the possibilities raised by her companion’s apparently innocuous behavior. While her clothes did not appear to be of better quality than might have been expected in the area, she spoke with the accent of a well-educated Southron and her question was clearly intended as a warning. Walking closer warily, he continued, ‘And, like I said, are you friends of Mr. Gorr-Kauphin?’

  ‘More like admirers, your honor,’ the Kid corrected, taking the hint and bringing his empty hand into view. ‘Sure and after all the good and enjoyable doings at the O’Malley’s, we thought it only right we should call in and ask after himself’s health as we was passing.’

  ‘Then I reckon you’d better come across to that office over there and tell me what good admirers you are,’ Ballinger stated, holding himself in a position of readiness which would allow him to draw the Webley Bulldog revolver from its forward tilted holster on the right side of his waist belt.

  ‘If that’s what you’re wanting, sir,’ the Kid assented, taking note of the lieutenant’s posture and realizing what was meant by it.

  ‘We do,’ Ballinger confirmed. ‘Don’t we, Sergeant Molloy?’

  ‘That we do, lieutenant,’ the burly detective seconded, clenching two ham-like fists.

  ‘Sure and haven’t I always been the one to do anything a police officer was wanting me to do,’ the Kid declared. ‘Would you lead the way, sir?’

  ‘After you,’ Ballinger countered with a faint grin.

  ‘Whatever you say, sir,’ the Kid replied, taking Belle’s arm and escorting her towards the door that had been indicated. ‘Don’t be worrying now, Bridget darlin’, there’s no cause for alarm.’ Lowering his voice, he went on, ‘Is he good?’

  ‘He was trained by Dusty Fog’ the Rebel Spy answered, also sotto voce, deducing correctly that her companion was referring to Ballinger’s ability as a gun fighter rather than a detective. Her voice implied that she believed no better recommendation was needed, but she added a compliment. ‘And, as I didn’t want either of you to get hurt when there’s no need for it, I thought a word to the wise was required.’

  A lamp was lit in the small office to which the lieutenant had directed Belle and the Kid. Following them in, he asked them to take the two chairs at the far side of the desk. As they obeyed, he perched his rump on the desk and Molloy leaned a shoulder against the side of the door.

  ‘All right, who are you?’ Ballinger inquired. ‘That nose’s good, mister, but it’s not the one you were born with.’

  ‘Land’s sakes, I should hope it wouldn’t be,’ Belle put in, before the Kid could reply. She was aware that he had donned the nose as much because of her earlier derogatory comments about it as to change his appearance. ‘But I wish the gentleman I work for was here. He’d be a handy man to have around at a moment like this.’

  ‘Would he be a general handy man, or a special one?’ Ballinger asked, stiffening slightly and looking with even greater care at the girl.

  ‘The special one,’ Belle confirmed, delighted at the way in which the craggy-faced detective had drawn the requisite conclusion.

  ‘Do you reckon you could get us some coffee, Rory?’ Ballinger requested, looking over his shoulder.

  ‘Shouldn’t be too hard, lieutenant,’ Molloy answered, showing no surprise. ‘Terry Nolan behind the desk there and me walked a beat together before he retired. Is there any rush for it?’

  ‘Nothing special,’ Ballinger replied and, after the sergeant had left, closing the door as he went, swung his gaze to the couple. ‘It’s not that I don’t trust him, but I reckon anybody who works for that “general handy man” wouldn’t want too many people knowing about it. Mind telling me who you are?’

  ‘My name is Belle Boyd,’ the Rebel Spy introduced, having noticed that the lieutenant had continued to make the play on her superior’s name into three separate words. ‘But I’m afraid I can’t offer you any verification of it.’

  ‘I’ve heard tell about you, Miss Boyd,’ Ballinger answered, sounding almost casual. Then, thinking of his theory regarding how Colin Gorr-Kauphin had been injured, he added, ‘They reckon you’re pretty good at that French foot fighting, savate or however it’s called.’

  ‘I know something about it,’ Belle admitted.

  ‘More than just something, according to what Betty Hardin 24 told me,’ Ballinger corrected. ‘She reckons you’re as good at it as Dusty Fog is with those fancy fighting tricks he learned from Ole Devil’s Chinese valet.’

  ‘General Hardin doesn’t have a Chinese valet,’ Belle pointed out, sensing that the comment had been worded as a test for her veracity. ‘Tommy Okasi claims he is “Nipponese” and was brought here by General Hardin’s father from Japan.’ 25

  ‘By golly, you’re right, he does!’ Ballinger conceded, but nothing in his demeanor gave a clue as to whether or not he regarded the correction as proof of the Rebel Spy’s bona fides. ‘Without seeming nosey, except that doing it’s my duty, you’ve only answered half of my question.’

  ‘This is Captain Patrick Reeder of the Rifle Brigade,’ Belle introduced hoping the Englishman would realize that their only hope of obtaining the grim-faced, very competent detective’s cooperation was by being frank.

  ‘I’ve heard of you, Colonel Boyd,’ Ballinger declared, the use of the Rebel Spy’s official rank combining with the tone of his voice to suggest that he approved of whatever information he had received. However, there was a noticeably less cordial timbre to his words as he turned his attention to the other man. ‘Pleased to meet you, Captain Reeder. Only I don’t recollect ever having heard of a Rifle Brigade … in the U.S. Army.’

  ‘Neither have I, old boy,’ the Kid admitted, once again following his companion’s lead in how to treat the detective and reverting to his British upper class manner of speaking. ‘And, even if there is one, I don’t have the honor to serve with it. We are the 95th Regiment of Foot and I hold my commission from Her Britannic Majesty, Queen Victoria.’

  ‘And you’re over here on a vacation, I reckon,’ Ballinger commented.

  ‘With all due disrespect, old chap,’ the Kid replied amiably, ‘I doubt whether you “reckon” any such thing.’

  ‘I don’t, to tell you the truth,’ Ballinger admitted with a grin. ‘I’m only a half-smart local lawman, but I’d say you’re in the same line of work as Colonel Boyd. Only maybe not for the same “general handy man” who employs her.’

  ‘I am,’ the Kid confessed. ‘But for a different employer.’

  ‘But you’re both after the same thing?’ the lieutenant guessed.

  ‘We are,’ Belle confirmed, glancing at and receiving a barely perceptible nod from the Englishman.

  ‘And that thing’s got to do with the show at O’Malley’s tonight?’ Ballinger went on, although his words were more in the nature of a statement than a question.

  ‘It is,’ Belle confirmed. ‘We were there to find out what was behind it.’

  ‘Together?’ the detective challenged, remembering that he had been told it was to be an all-male audience.

  ‘Independently,’ Belle corrected. ‘We met outside.’

  ‘Before or after the fire?’ Ballinger said quietly, thinking of the Rebel Spy’s way of defending herself without weapons and the deductions he had formed with regard to the injured actor.

  ‘Just after it started,’ Belle replied, knowing that the next few seconds would be decisive if all she had heard about the lieutenant’s ability as a detective was true.

  ‘You wouldn’t have met somebody just before you met Colonel Boyd at the back door, would you, Captain Reeder?’ Ballinger suggested, swinging his gaze to the Englishman. ‘Not far from the open toilet window in the alley, say.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I did,’ the Kid confirmed, his respect for the detective having increased with each succeeding question. ‘A rather large, aggressive chappie who se
emed to take exception to my leaving before the show was over. We agreed to differ on the matter and I went on my way rejoicing.’

  ‘Huh huh!’ Ballinger grunted, having an idea how the agreement had been reached and, knowing the nature of the large, aggressive chappie, more pleased than indignant over the assault. However, he began to see what was implied by the Englishman’s admission. ‘And then you met Colonel Boyd?’

  ‘Yes,’ the Kid agreed.

  ‘Did you “agree to differ” with anybody, Colonel Boyd?’ Ballinger asked, bringing his eyes back to the girl and there was something different, less approving, in his manner.

  ‘I kicked Colin Gorr-Kauphin down the stairs when he came after me with a razor,’ Belle replied, aware that she was approaching the most difficult part of the interrogation. ‘And I started the fire.’

  ‘Goddamn it!’ Ballinger thundered, memories of the great conflagration which had decimated so much of Chicago causing him to lose his relaxed posture and bringing him to his feet exuding a furious menace. ‘You set fire to the dressing-room?’

  ‘To the trunk,’ Belle corrected, realizing that the lieutenant’s anger was caused by discovering a member of the United States Secret Service was responsible. ‘And I wouldn’t have done it if there had been any other way—’

  ‘You could have burned down the whole goddamned theater and killed everybody in it!’ Ballinger pointed out savagely.

  ‘Don’t you think I know that?’ Belle snapped back, rising with such an expression of anger she caused the detective to take an involuntary step away. ‘When I did it, I was sure Gorr-Kauphin wouldn’t dare to try anything except raising the alarm. Instead, he came after me with that razor. Even then, I would still have warned the audience as he couldn’t, but I heard and saw enough to tell me somebody already knew and I could leave without any of them being endangered.’

  ‘You had a good reason for doing it?’ Ballinger asked, in a softer voice and, once again, the words were more of a statement than a query.