“Aren’t you worried about carrying a lot of money? I was surprised to see you traveling without your two bodyguards. What were their names again? Tweedledum and Tweedledee?”
“Very funny, Bates. You should have figured out that after you and your friends cleaned me out, I had to let them go.”
“Those people were not my friends,” Gideon said, still angry at the memory. “David Vanderslice asked me to do the contracts, so I did. In the end, David couldn’t even pay me, so if you think I had any part in that, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“You mean your girl didn’t cut you in?” Thornton taunted him.
“She didn’t have any part in that, either. You were there, so you know she doesn’t owe you anything.”
“She owes me all right. You notice she didn’t even object when I told her how much. She already knew.”
“Is that what you think?” Gideon asked, wondering how long he could keep Thornton talking.
Not long as it turned out. “Are you going to give me my money or not? Miss Miles”—he emphasized her name so Gideon could not object—“assured me you wouldn’t dirty your hands with it, but I don’t see anybody else here to do the honors.”
Just then someone tapped on the door, and it opened before Gideon could even respond. Mr. Devoss stepped in.
“Pardon my intrusion, Mr. Bates, but I understand you are meeting with Mr. Thornton. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” Gideon said in surprise. Since when did Devoss keep track of Gideon’s appointments? Still, Gideon remembered his manners and introduced the two men.
Devoss was his usual, serious self, but Thornton was grinning broadly. Did he think Devoss was going to pay him? Of course he did, Gideon realized with amazement. Poor Thornton.
“Mr. Thornton, might I ask you to step into my office for a few moments?” Devoss asked. “I would like you to meet someone.”
Thornton was only too happy to oblige. He was very anxious to meet this other person.
“Mr. Bates, will you join us, please?” Devoss added as he escorted Thornton from the room.
Gideon was just as eager to see what was going to happen in Devoss’s office, so he followed obediently.
“Are you a native New Yorker, Mr. Thornton?” Devoss was asking as they moved down the hallway.
“I’m from Albany originally.”
“And how do you like our fair city?”
“Not at all, Mr. Devoss. In fact, I can’t wait to leave it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Devoss said. “I thought you might be staying on for a while.”
Devoss led Thornton and Gideon to his office, where a well-dressed man awaited them. Gideon judged him to be in his mid-thirties, his suit impeccable, his hair pomaded neatly into place. His expression was a bit sour, giving the impression of self-righteousness. Gideon realized it probably was self-righteousness when Devoss introduced him as Archibald Stevenson.
The ambitious young lawyer had gained national recognition a month ago when he testified before the Overman Committee and named a few hundred people he considered subversives. Most of those people were upstanding and loyal Americans who were outraged to have been named, but Stevenson remained unchastened. Devoss had told him the Union League Club had recently appointed Stevenson to chair a committee they had organized to investigate the Bolshevik threat to the United States. This committee was to continue the work of the League.
“Please sit down, Mr. Thornton,” Devoss said, indicating one of the client chairs. Stevenson, Gideon noted, went to sit behind Devoss’s desk while Devoss chose to stand just behind Stevenson’s right shoulder.
Gideon stepped back, out of Thornton’s line of sight but where he had a good view of everyone.
“Mr. Thornton, are you acquainted with a man named Leopold Volker?” Stevenson asked in the tone an attorney used when he already knew the answer was yes.
“What?” Thornton asked, his good humor evaporating. “What is this?”
“You heard me, Mr. Thornton. Is it true that you know a man known as Leopold Volker, who also goes by the name of Leo Vane?”
“Why are you asking me about this Volker fellow?” Thornton asked, trying for outrage.
“I should have mentioned that Mr. Stevenson is a special agent for the Military Intelligence Division,” Devoss said, although Gideon knew he was no such thing. “He’s very interested in the possibility that foreign governments are trying to infiltrate our country.”
“Which is why I need to know if you have associated with this Leopold Volker,” Stevenson said.
Thornton was still determined to bluff it out. “What does it matter if I did?”
“It matters because Mr. Volker was instrumental in smuggling a German operative into this country, Mr. Thornton.”
“I don’t know anything about that. I only knew Vane because he sold me some rifles back in 1917.”
“Why were you buying rifles, Mr. Thornton?” Stevenson asked with renewed interest.
“I was going to sell them to the army.”
“I see. And did you sell them to the army?”
Thornton glared at Stevenson for a long moment. “No, I did not.”
“Why not?”
Thornton turned his glare toward Gideon, who merely stared blandly back. They had already had this conversation.
Thornton turned back to Stevenson. “I’m not exactly sure. Some soldiers came in and took possession of all the paperwork, and I never saw it or the rifles again.”
“That sounds strange.”
“It was very strange,” Thornton agreed. “I lost a lot of money on that deal.”
“You lost a lot of money on Berta Volker, too, didn’t you?”
Thornton’s expression was almost comical. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do, Mr. Thornton. I believe you provided over twenty thousand dollars to help smuggle Miss Volker into this country illegally. Why would you do a thing like that?”
“Who says I did?” Thornton challenged, trying for bravado this time.
“Your banker, Mr. Diller, for one.”
Thornton looked thunderstruck, but he recovered quickly. “Bankers don’t know what their clients use their money for after they withdraw it. It’s none of their business.”
“Perhaps not, but Mr. Diller had a very interesting story to tell us. He said you brought Mr. Volker into the bank so he could cash some of Miss Berta Volker’s securities. Mr. Diller was very surprised to learn that Miss Volker wasn’t actually in the city, and later he was surprised to find that Miss Volker was in the city but her securities were not.”
“I don’t . . .” Thornton just shook his head when he couldn’t come up with an explanation.
“Mr. Diller also told us that he warned you about Volker. He even warned you that Volker might be using your money to finance German spies.”
“The war is over,” Thornton said more confidently. “The Germans aren’t spying on us anymore.”
“Perhaps not, but the Bolsheviks are, and we know the Germans are financing them.”
“Well, I don’t know any such thing,” Thornton insisted. His face had turned a dangerous shade of red.
“That is difficult to believe, Mr. Thornton, because Miss Volker confessed to everything when she was arrested.”
Thornton was sweating, his gaze darting from one man to the other as he frantically considered his position. “That’s not true,” he tried, feigning confidence now. “Miss Volker is in New York. Diller saw her himself.”
“If she is, then perhaps you would tell us where to find her.”
“I . . . She’s staying at the Waldorf.”
“Then we’ll find her there if we check?” Stevenson asked a bit skeptically.
“Uh, no, I believe she checked out.”
“How do
you happen to know that?”
“I . . . I tried to find her, to make sure she was all right.”
“But she wasn’t all right at all, Mr. Thornton,” Stevenson said, “because she was in jail in Charleston, wasn’t she?”
“I don’t know. All I know is this woman sent me a message. She said she was Berta Volker and she had escaped and needed some funds to tide her over until her cousin arrived.”
“And Mr. Diller said you gave her some funds.”
“Of course I did. It was the least I could do.”
“To help a German operative?” Stevenson scoffed.
“To help a woman in desperate straits.” Thornton sat back in his chair and lifted his chin, as if certain he had proven himself innocent of all crimes.
“I see. So you admit that you helped Leopold Volker bring this woman into our country.”
“I . . . She was going to give me half of her fortune for helping her,” Thornton said.
“Half her fortune?” Stevenson plainly didn’t believe that for a second. “That was extremely generous of her. How much was her fortune supposed to be worth?”
“Half a million dollars,” Thornton said, obviously expecting them to be impressed.
Stevenson was frowning now. “So she was going to give you a quarter of a million dollars in exchange for . . . for what exactly?”
“For helping her,” Thornton said, his confidence slipping again.
“And is Mr. Diller correct that you advanced this woman only twenty thousand dollars?”
“A . . . a bit more than that, I think.”
“But only a bit,” Stevenson said. “That is quite a return on your investment, Mr. Thornton. Surely, you can’t expect us to believe anyone would be that grateful for your help.”
“I . . . That was the arrangement we made.”
“Do you have any proof of it?” Devoss asked.
Thornton’s face was turning red again. “No. I burned the contracts when Vane told me Berta had been arrested.”
“So you destroyed evidence,” Stevenson said with great satisfaction.
“It wasn’t evidence,” Thornton insisted. “He told me . . . I didn’t want anyone to think I was involved with them.”
“And yet you were, and you obviously recognize your guilt. Tell me, Mr. Thornton, how long have you been working for the German government? Or are you in league only with the Russians?”
“I’m not in league with anybody!” Thornton cried, jumping to his feet. “I just wanted to make some money, and Vane told me this sad story about his cousin who was rich and he was going to pay me a hundred thousand dollars if I helped get her out of Mexico and—”
“I thought you said she was going to give you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” Stevenson said.
“That was later, when Vane got arrested.”
“But Vane didn’t get arrested,” Stevenson said. “Miss Volker was arrested, and Vane escaped. Mr. Devoss saw the Charleston newspaper that reported the story.”
“Yes, that’s how we knew you were involved, Mr. Thornton,” Devoss said. “According to the article, Miss Volker has named you as a conspirator. The authorities are looking for you at this very moment.”
“You’re lying!” Thornton shouted. “She didn’t mention my name. It wasn’t in the newspaper.”
“Then you admit you knew all about it,” Stevenson said with some satisfaction.
“Yes! I mean, no, I didn’t know . . . She’s not a Bolshevik, or if she is, nobody told me.”
“But you knew she was entering this country illegally, didn’t you?” Stevenson asked. “You are the one funding the whole plot.”
“No!” Thornton shouted, pounding his fist on Devoss’s desk.
Gideon had already taken a step forward, ready to subdue Thornton if he went for Mr. Devoss or Stevenson, but the office door burst open and two rather burly men in cheap suits and derby hats rushed in and grabbed him.
“What are you doing?” Thornton demanded. “Take your hands off me.”
“We are taking you to the Military Intelligence Division office for further questioning, Mr. Thornton,” Stevenson said smugly.
“Let me go! I haven’t done anything wrong!” he shouted. He jerked his head around to see Gideon. “He’s the one! He stole my money, the money I was going to get for the rifles!”
“I thought you said the army confiscated the rifles,” Stevenson said.
“But he was behind it, him and that woman.”
“Miss Volker?” Stevenson said, obviously confused.
“No, the other girl. And she and her brother cheated me, too. They took the money I invested in the stock market.”
“I see.” Stevenson shot Gideon an apologetic look and continued in a more calming tone, “We’ll get this all straightened out down at the MID office, Mr. Thornton. If you’ll just come along with us . . .”
Thornton was not going to come along peacefully, but he was no match for the two men who were obviously accustomed to handling unruly prisoners. They soon had him on his way down the hallway to the front lobby, with Stevenson, Devoss and Gideon in their wake.
“There she is!” Thornton cried when he and his escorts reached the lobby. “That’s the woman who cheated me, she and her brother. And she stole my rifles, too!”
Gideon had to push his way past Devoss and Stevenson to see who Thornton was talking about, and to his complete surprise—although he probably should have expected it—he found Elizabeth in the waiting area. She had jumped to her feet, and she was staring at Thornton like she thought he was a madman.
“Get her,” Thornton was screaming. “She’s behind all of this!”
“Who is this lady?” Stevenson asked of no one in particular.
“This is my fiancée,” Gideon said, hurrying to her side and putting his arm around her protectively.
“Miss Miles,” Mr. Devoss said, ducking around Thornton and his guards to join Gideon. “I’m terribly sorry about this.”
“What’s going on?” Elizabeth asked. She really looked as if she had no idea. Gideon was very impressed. “What is this man shouting about?”
“I have no idea,” Devoss said.
“I’m telling you, she’s the one you should be arresting,” Thornton shouted. “She’s stolen thousands of dollars from me, and she took all my rifles!”
Someone behind them started speaking rapidly in French, and a baby started to cry.
A baby?
Gideon turned to find Sergeant Kellogg with Oriel Segal who was clutching her squalling baby.
“There!” screamed Thornton, breaking free from his guards with a titanic effort. “That’s Berta! She’ll tell you what happened!” He lunged toward them.
Gideon pushed Elizabeth behind him and blocked Thornton’s advance with a solid punch to the stomach. Thornton’s grunt was gratifying. All that boxing in his youth had finally paid off.
“Very impressive, Gideon,” Devoss murmured.
But Gideon was watching Thornton, ready to stop him if he tried anything. Fortunately for Thornton, the two guards had taken custody of him again, hauling him upright and pulling him a safe distance from Elizabeth and the others.
“Who are these people?” Stevenson asked Gideon.
Gideon opened his mouth to reply, but Elizabeth’s fingers digging into his arm stopped him.
“This is Sergeant Kellogg and his family,” she said, raising her voice to be heard above the baby’s cries. “Sergeant Kellogg served in France with a good friend of Mr. Bates. Oriel here”—she gestured to the woman who was bouncing the baby in a futile attempt to quiet him—“is a French war bride. They needed some legal advice, so I brought them to see Mr. Bates today.”
“Then she’s not Berta Volker, a German national?” Stevenson asked a little more rudely than Gideon felt was appropr
iate.
“Certainly not,” Elizabeth said, with a concerned glance at Oriel. “I told you, she’s French. I don’t think she even speaks much English.”
Oriel asked Kellogg something in rapid French, and he answered her, apparently explaining what was going on, although Gideon knew she spoke English passably well.
“Mr. Bates, what is the meaning of this?” Kellogg demanded angrily. “Who are these people and why does that man say Oriel is somebody else?”
“I honestly have no idea,” Gideon said, although he felt certain Elizabeth could enlighten him if she chose to.
“She’s Berta, I tell you.” Thornton was croaking. He didn’t quite have his breath back. “Volker tried to convince me that she was in jail, so he could get away with her fortune. I’ve got it all figured out now. Ask her, she’ll tell you,” he begged Stevenson.
Stevenson obviously did not relish doing Thornton’s bidding, but he approached Oriel and Kellogg. “Excuse me, madame. I mean, Pardonnez-moi, madame. Connaissez-vous cet homme?” He indicated Thornton, who glared at both of them.
Oriel replied in rapid French, too rapid for Stevenson, apparently. “I’m sorry, I don’t . . .” he said to Kellogg who looked like he wanted to give Thornton a slug himself.
“She says she never saw this man before in her life.”
“She’s lying!” Thornton shouted. “She’s German. She’s staying at the Waldorf. Tell them, Berta!”
Stevenson eyed Kellogg and Oriel in their modest, threadbare garb. Plainly, the staff at the Waldorf would never have allowed them across the threshold. He turned back to Thornton. “So you maintain that this lady”—he gestured to Elizabeth—“cheated you somehow and stole the rifles you told me the army had confiscated?”
“Yes!” Thornton cried in triumph at finally being understood.
“And this lady”—he indicated Oriel, still bouncing her screaming baby—“is actually a German operative who sneaked into this country with a fortune in securities to fund a Bolshevik revolution.”
“Exactly!” Thornton cried.
Devoss made a small sound of frustration. “Stevenson, I can vouch for—”
But Stevenson raised his hand to stop him. “There is no need, Mr. Devoss. Clearly, Mr. Thornton has randomly chosen to accuse these innocent bystanders in order to deflect blame from himself.”
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