"I was just doing my job," he said modestly.
Judson clapped a hand on Fox's back. "No need for such humility, my boy," he said. "You are a hero, after all." His voice dropped as he went on, "Come into my office when you get the chance, Fox."
"Of course, sir."
Judson went back to his office. Fox took care of the other two customers in his line, then rapidly closed his shutter before anyone else arrived. He straightened his coat, ran a hand over his hair, and took a deep breath.
Judson boomed, "Come in!" when Fox rapped on his office door.
"You wanted to see me, Mr. Judson?" Fox said as he closed the door behind him.
"Didn't I just say that five minutes ago?" Judson demanded. "Never mind. Sit down, Fox."
Fox took the seat which Judson indicated, a gnarly-legged armchair in front of the desk.
Judson leaned back in his own chair and put a cigar in his mouth. "Hell of a night, wasn't it?" he grunted.
"Last night?" Fox tried not to groan at the memories. "Yes, sir," he agreed weakly. "A hell of a night."
Judson grinned wider. "Pretty hung over this morning, eh?"
Fox nodded. He winced as Judson opened a drawer in his desk. The drawer squealed in protest as the banker pulled on its handle.
"What you need is a little hair of the dog," Judson proclaimed. He lifted a half-full bottle out of the drawer. "Bourbon all right with you?"
The very thought of drinking liquor right now made Fox want to gag. He tried to swallow his nausea and said, "I . . . I don't believe I'd care for any."
Judson shrugged. "Suit yourself." He took a glass from the drawer and spilled some of the bourbon into it. After tossing off the drink, he licked his lips and said, "Ah."
Fox leaned forward. He wanted to get this interview over with. "If I might be so bold, sir, why did you want to see me?"
Judson squinted at him. "Can I trust you, Fox?"
"Why — of course you can trust me, sir. Didn't I prove that yesterday?"
"You were trying to save your own skin, Fox, and don't try to tell me different. A man like yon, in the habit of carrying a gun like that . . . You knew what you were doing, all right, and it wasn't saving my money. But that was the result anyway, and I'm properly grateful. What I'm asking for now is if you want to make some extra money."
Fox felt a surge of excitement. Unless he was mistaken, Judson was trying to recruit him into the effort to discover the commission's decision. He said, "I'm always interested in making money."
"Good," Judson grunted explosively. "I like a man who likes money. I know what to expect from him." He reached into the drawer again and took out a bulky leather pouch. The flap of the pouch was closed and sealed with wax. "I want you to deliver this to Madam Henrietta's for me this afternoon, boy. Can you handle that?"
Fox took the pouch as Judson extended it across the desk. "Of course, sir." He weighed the leather bag in his hands, trying to be unobtrusive about it. It felt like it was full of either documents or money — or both. "But what about my work this afternoon?"
Judson waved a hand. "Don't worry about that. This is more important. One more thing. Give the pouch to Roland, nobody else. Whatever you do, don't bother Henrietta with it. It's not important enough to disturb her beauty sleep."
Fox nodded. "I'll give it to Roland," he said.
"All right. Run it over there right after you've eaten." Judson took a small stack of bills out of the drawer and slid them part of the way across the desk. "This is for you, for running this errand for me."
Fox had to stand up to reach the money. As he leaned over the desk to pick it up, he was able to glance down and see a little of the inside of the open drawer. He saw a corner of curling parchment with some words scrawled on it.
He recognized the handwriting.
To cover his shock of recognition, Fox scooped up the money Judson was offering him and grinned in pleasure. "This is very generous of you, sir," he said.
"Nonsense. I believe in paying my employees fairly. Now get busy, Fox. You're still working for a living, you know."
"Yes, sir." Fox patted the pouch. "I'll guard this with my life, sir."
"Try not to get into any more gunfights," Judson said dryly.
"Yes, sir."
The smile was still frozen on Fox's face as he left Judson's office. He didn't even go back to his window. Carrying the pouch, he strode out of the bank, anxious to complete Judson's errand.
And wondering how one of the maps stolen from Landrum had wound up in the drawer of Warren Judson's desk . . .
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Fox headed straight for the hotel where Landrum, Glidinghawk, and Celia were staying. The other members of Powell's Army had to know about this development.
They had their proof now that Judson was mixed up in their mission. He must have hired the men who had raided the camp and stolen the maps. Fox wasn't quite sure how to proceed from here, but it seemed logical to him that they should try to get their hands on that map so it could be used as evidence.
There was no answer when Fox knocked on the door of Landrum's room. He went down the hall to Celia's room and rapped on the panel there. His nervousness was growing. What if none of his partners were to be found? That would leave any decisions that had to be made to him.
The door opened, and Celia looked curiously out at him.
As she swung the door back, Celia saw the excitement on Fox's face and wondered what had happened. She stepped back quickly and said, "Come in, Preston."
He slipped into the room and shut the door behind him. "Have you seen Landrum and Glidinghawk?" he asked.
"Not since earlier this morning. What's wrong?"
Fox shook his head. "Nothing. I've got news, though."
Celia felt her own pulse quickening. Her resolve not to think about the case now that her part was over had been severely tested by boredom this morning. She wanted to get involved again, even if it meant working with Fox.
"What is it?" she asked. "Something about Judson?"
"I'd better find Landrum and tell him," Fox muttered. "Do you have any idea where he went?"
"He and Glidinghawk were going to turn in their geological report to the commission," Celia replied. "After that, they were probably going to start on another expedition. They're probably replenishing their supplies and renting horses again."
Fox started to turn away. "I'll try the livery stable. Maybe they're there."
Celia reached out and caught his arm to stop him. "Tell me, Preston," she insisted. "What did you find out?"
"Well . . ." He hesitated, unwilling to be too rude to Celia. "You remember Landrum talking about that map he wrote, ah, women's names on?"
Celia nodded. "It was one of the maps that were stolen."
"I saw it in Judson's desk a little while ago."
Celia's fingers tightened on his arm. "You're sure?"
Fox nodded. "I saw the writing and recognized it. It was Landrum's scrawl, all right."
Celia saw what that meant just as plainly as Fox did. "This may be the break we need," she said. She released Fox's arm and turned to the wardrobe where her coat was hung. "Come on. We'd better find the others."
"You can't go," Fox said with a frown. "You're not even supposed to know me, let alone Landrum and Glidinghawk."
Celia shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I don't have a cover to protect anymore."
"But they do," Fox pointed out.
Celia stopped as she was shrugging into her coat. A grimace passed over her face. Fox was right, of course. And it was galling that the young man was thinking straighter right now than she was.
With a sigh, she said, "I suppose that's true. It would draw more attention if anyone saw me talking to them. You can probably get away with it, being a man and all."
"That's right. I'll head down to the livery stable immediately."
"If you don't find Landrum and Gerald, you come back here and tell me," Celia said. Realizing that her sharp tone made
the words sound too much like an order, she added, "Please."
"Of course," Fox nodded. "As soon as I can. I do have an errand to run for Mr. Judson." He tapped the pouch that he had tucked inside his coat. "I have to deliver this to Madam Henrietta's."
"What is it?" Celia asked.
"I'm not sure. Papers or money or something like that. Maybe even some of the other stolen maps. The pouch is sealed, though, so I can't risk opening it."
"I suppose not." Celia felt a strong sense of curiosity about the package Fox was delivering, but there was no way they could discover its contents without compromising his cover identity.
As he left the room, Celia went to the window and pushed the curtains aside a couple of inches. A few minutes later, she saw Fox emerge into the street below and head toward the livery stable, walking briskly, purposefully.
And she felt the impatience and frustration building inside her. It wasn't fair that she had to stay out of the case for the most part now.
Maybe — just maybe — she was going to have to pay another visit to Madam Henrietta's.
Fox was lucky. Landrum and Glidinghawk were just coming out of the stable, leading their saddle horses and a couple of pack horses, as Fox hurried up to the large building.
Landrum saw him coming and frowned when it became obvious that Fox intended to speak to them. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that the owner of the stable had gone back into his office, and the hostlers were all busy at the other end of the big barnlike structure; If Fox would just keep his voice down . . .
"I have to talk to you," Fox said as he came up to Landrum and Glidinghawk. Luckily, Landrum thought, the boy had enough sense to be quiet about it.
Landrum gave a short nod. "Not out here in the open," he said. "We'll cut through that alley in the next block. You go the other way, circle back around, and meet us there."
Fox said, "All right," and moved on down the street, not hurrying but not wasting any time either. The entire exchange had been rapid and hushed, and it was doubtful that anyone on the street had even noticed it.
As "Landrum and Glidinghawk led the horses toward the alley, the Omaha asked, "What do you think has happened?"
Landrum sighed. "I don't know. I just hope Fox hasn't done something stupid again." He gave a shake of his head. "Reckon maybe I'm being too quick to jump to that conclusion, but you know how it is with Fox."
"Yes," Glidinghawk said. "Indeed."
They turned in at the narrow alley and proceeded to follow it, pausing when they reached the middle of it. A few moments later, Fox appeared at the opposite end and came toward them, increasing his pace as soon as he was out of sight of the street.
"Who put the burr under your saddle, Preston?" Glidinghawk asked as Fox came up to them, panting slightly. The young man's eyes were big with excitement.
"I found out what happened to at least one of those maps that were stolen from you," he said.
Landrum and Glidinghawk both tensed. "How the hell did you do that?" the Texan asked.
"By doing my job," Fox returned, somewhat stiffly. He was all too aware of how the other members of the team still felt about him sometimes.
"What happened to the map?" Glidinghawk asked quietly, trying to keep them on the subject.
"I saw it in Judson's desk," Fox said. "The way I see it, he's the one who hired those men to rob your camp."
Landrum rubbed his jaw with a calloused hand. "So Judson's got one of the maps, eh? Reckon you could be right, Preston."
"It was the one who wrote your paramours' names on," Fox said. "I couldn't mistake your handwriting, Landrum."
Landrum grinned. "It is pretty ugly, all right," he admitted. "All this does is confirm that Judson is mixed up in what we're investigating. We suspected that already."
"If we had the map as evidence, however, we might be able to get the army to launch a full-scale investigation into his affairs," Glidinghawk said. "Including that parlor house."
Landrum nodded thoughtfully. "We need the map as proof, though."
"That's what I thought," Fox agreed excitedly. "I think I should try to steal it back from him."
Landrum and Glidinghawk both stared at Fox. "Steal it back from him?" Landrum finally exclaimed. "How the devil are you going to do that?"
"I can get into the bank tonight and take it out of his desk," Fox replied. "I'm pretty sure I can get my hands on the keys long enough to make wax impressions of them. The head teller has a set of them, and I can distract him."
"Sounds risky," Glidinghawk mused. "And how do you know that Judson will leave the map in his desk?"
"I don't," Fox admitted. "But even if he doesn't, I'm sure I can come up with some evidence to tie Judson in with Madam Henrietta and the commission."
Landrum frowned and thought for a long moment, then said, "I don't like it. But I don't see what else we can do right now. Time's getting short, and we've got to move while we've got a chance."
"I agree," Glidinghawk said. "I wish things were a bit simpler, but — "
"They'll be simple enough when I get through," Fox broke in excitedly.
"Just be careful," Landrum warned him. "Gerald and I are supposed to be leaving on another of those geological expeditions, but I reckon we'd better stay close instead. We'll go ahead and leave town, just in case anybody's keeping an eye on us, then double back later. We'll be in town again by tonight."
"Excellent. I'll try to get into the bank as soon as it's good and dark." Fox pulled his watch out and glanced at it. "Right now I've got to hurry. I have to deliver a package at Madam Henrietta's for Judson."
"What kind of package?" Landrum asked.
Fox pulled out the pouch and went through the explanation again, and Landrum and Glidinghawk echoed Celia's desire to see what was inside the leather bag. "Damn," Landrum grated. "It's too chancy to open it. But everything we need might be right there in that pouch."
"We'll have the map," Fox assured him. "And pretty soon we'll have enough to hang Judson and whoever his partners are."
"Just don't get killed first," Landrum cautioned him.
"You really think someone would kill over a matter like this?" Fox asked.
"Preston," Landrum said flatly, "I know they would."
* * *
During the day, Madam Henrietta's was not nearly as busy as it was at night, but there were still some customers who preferred the daylight hours.
Thick gray clouds had blown in during the noon hour, and now they scudded through the sky, casting a gloomy pall over the city. The air was chilly, and most of the people who were out and about were wrapped tightly in their coats.
A tall man striding toward Madam Henrietta's followed that example. His coat was belted tightly around his waist, and his collar was turned up. A nondescript black hat was pulled down on his graying hair. He kept his bearded face lowered, and no one on the street paid any attention to him.
The man went through the wrought-iron gate and up the flagstone walk to Madam Henrietta's front door. Purposefully, he used the lion's-head knocker to rap on the thick panel. There was only one doorman on duty at this hour, and when he saw who was on the front stoop, he stepped back quickly to admit the man.
"Where's Roland?" the man asked in a low, hoarse voice.
"Upstairs in the office," the doorman answered.
"And Madam Henrietta?"
"Asleep in her room."
"Excellent." The man shrugged out of his long coat, revealing a conservative gray suit. He handed his hat to the doorman, along with the overcoat.
Even in civilian clothes, Colonel Matthias Porter carried himself with a military air. Locking his hands behind his back, he quickly strode through the parlor and headed for the staircase. At the moment, the parlor was empty except for one sleepy bartender who paid no attention to the colonel.
Porter went briskly up the stairs and down the hall to the office. When he knocked, Roland called softly from within, "Come in."
The colonel opened the doo
r and stepped in. His lips were dry with anticipation, and his tongue slipped out to quickly lick over them.
Roland glanced up from the desk and smiled thinly. "Ah, Colonel," he said. "I've been expecting you."
"You're sure Henrietta's asleep?" Porter asked without preamble.
"Quite sure," Roland nodded. "I added a little, ah, insurance to her coffee at breakfast."
"She won't think it unusual that she went to sleep again so soon after getting up?"
"The woman stays up all night, Colonel. She's accustomed to sleeping most of the day."
Porter nodded. He lifted a hand and rubbed his eyes. "You can understand why I worry. With the burden that I have to carry . . ."
"Of course," Roland said smoothly. "It's not easy for a career officer to turn traitor, is it?"
Porter's face flushed with anger. "Damn you," he grated. "I'm not a traitor."
"Perhaps not in the strictest sense of the word. But you are working against the best interests of your country by helping Judson and me find out your commission's decision in advance."
Again Porter passed his hand over his eyes. "I told you all of this . . . this intrigue is not necessary. I've promised to tell you as soon as the commission reaches its decision. There's no need for you to be stealing maps and having your whores pump my staff for information."
Roland leaned back in the chair and steepled his fingers. "Perhaps not, Colonel. But you see, Judson and I don't trust you. You might be capable of double-crossing us. We can't have that. We have our own experts going over all the information gathered by your commission. We'll reach our own conclusions, and if they agree with what you tell us later, we can feel more confident about proceeding with our plans."
"You're referring to your plans to gouge the government for every cent you can manage."
"Exactly." Roland grinned. It was an unusual show of emotion for the man.
Porter sighed heavily. "All right. We both know you've got me over a barrel. I don't know why I even bother worrying about it."
"That's right, Colonel. You'd do better to concern yourself with the latest little treat we have for you."
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