by Bill Doyle
Just then my stomach grumbled, letting me know it was time for breakfast.
“Hungry, Teddy?” I asked my bulldog, and almost instantly answered my own question. No! The sandwich bag that Cousin Frederick had packed was in tatters at my feet. Teddy had found it and eaten every last sandwich sometime in the night. There was no more food. Teddy looked up at me with his sad eyes, and I was just about to forgive him when he licked one or two last crumbs from his slobbering mouth.
So far it had not been the best start to the day.
Father had given me money for emergencies, and I had tucked it safely into my left sock. But since I was just hours into the trip, I didn’t want to start spending it already.
Then I remembered I still had the dollar I found. And a dollar can buy a three-course breakfast in the dining car. I thought, I’ll ask the men in the government Pullman if they lost a dollar yesterday on the platform. If they say they don’t know what I’m talking about I’ll keep the dollar. Fair is fair.
“Stay!” I told Teddy, but I saw there was no need. His belly bulging, my bulldog was fast asleep, snoring happily.
Swaying with the rocking train, I walked toward the back of my car. I passed sleeping passengers and others who were enjoying breakfast: delicious smelling meats and bread they had packed (and which bad dogs had not eaten).
The next car back was first class. Here travelers had much more comfort and privacy than in coach. Doorways that led to small compartments lined the hallway that ran the length of the car. Each of these compartments had two padded benches that faced each other–with plenty of room for the passengers inside to stretch out and enjoy meals brought by a porter.
I slid open the rear door of the first-class car and stepped out onto the connecting platform. A coupler joined this car to the Pullman behind it. The area between the two cars was open, and the rushing wind plucked at my cap and threw bits of dirt in my eyes. When I finally cleaned my eyes, I saw a small plaque to one side of the car’s door:
“WE NEVER SLEEP-ER CAR”
PINKERTON PULLMAN
PRIVATE
NO TRESPASSING
AUTHORIZED PERSONS ONLY
If anyone is authorized, I am, I thought. I was on important business. I had a financial transaction to conduct with the government! Besides, I had to go through the Pinkerton car. It was the only way to get to the government Pullman, which was in back of this car.
I opened the hallway door and stepped inside. Luckily for me, a 30-foot-long hallway ran along one side of the Pinkerton car all the way to the other end. It let people pass through the car without disturbing the famous family of detectives. The Pinkertons’ private quarters were on the other side of the hallway wall. They could be accessed only through locked doors at either end of the car. Thick red velvet curtains were drawn across the windows that ran along the outer wall, blocking out most of the early morning sun. Two electric bulbs burned in the middle of the hallway, spreading pools of dim light across the thick red carpet that ran the length of the passageway.
I closed the door behind me–and then froze.
When Killian was still alive, Father would take us fishing. After sitting in the hot sun all day, we’d want to take a dip in the water. Father would always say, “Never dive into unknown waters!” He had meant that the water might be shallower than you thought or you might bang into a submerged rock. But I think that warning works for every situation. Examining a new environment can be important in detective work. You never know what you might discover if you look before you leap.
So I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim light in the hallway. And my patience paid off.
Stretching across the floor, about three inches off the ground, was a thread. It was the color of the carpet beneath it–so it would be hard to see.
I crept closer and saw the thread was made of a very thin fiber. Someone passing through the hallway would snap it easily and wouldn’t even know it. But the broken thread would show that an “intruder” had been there.
I had the feeling I knew who had stretched the thread across the hall–Justine Pinkerton.
So, I thought, Justine thinks she’s a detective, does she? Well, let’s see if her skills match mine. This would be an excellent opportunity for me to get in a little detective training and keep my skills sharp.
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3) On your return, check to see if the feather is still in place, If not, you can assume the area has been infiltrated.
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I started to lift my foot over the thread. Then I stopped. I asked myself: What would I do if I wanted to catch even the cleverest observer?
I answered: I would tie two pieces of thread across the hall, not just one.
With this in mind, I inspected the area near the first thread more closely. Aha! There it was–another thread. This one was several inches from the first, but tied at chest level.
I squeezed between the two threads and breathed a sigh of relief. I walked to the end of the hallway, feeling sure that I had been able to bypass the security devices without triggering either of them.
When I stepped out onto another connecting platform, the wind slammed into me again, and the clacking of the train was deafening.
In front of me loomed the government Pullman with the Great Seal of the United States emblazoned on the door. Eager to get off the windy, noisy platform, I raised my hand to knock.
The door flew open–and a man staggered out! He was a huge man with a sweating face and a giant handlebar mustache. His eyes were blank and rolled about in their sockets. His arms waved as if he were playing a game of blindman’s buff.
But this was no game. Without warning, he lunged at me.
“Stop!” I cried above the roar of the wind. But he didn’t seem to hear me. I leaped to the side and ducked as his meaty hands blindly swept the air over my head.
He took a step forward and teetered at the edge of the small platform. The sharp rocks along the tracks rushed by below like the teeth of a moving saw. One more step and he would tumble off the speeding train!
His right foot lifted and he started to sway. I grabbed for him–and missed! He was going over!
I tried again–this time catching onto a loose piece of his jacket.
Got you! I thought But the large man’s forward momentum was too strong. I couldn’t slow his progress. The weight of his body dragged me toward the edge–and I realized we were both going to fall over the side!
For one horrid instant we each had a foot dangling off the train. Cinders from the locomotive burned my skin and singed my hair.
Suddenly, my free hand latched onto the brass handrail bolted to the Pullman.
With one hand on the rail and another grasping the man, I used our forward motion to swing us back, as if we were the pendulum of a clock. I screamed with the strain and swung the man onto the train. The force sent him banging into the wall of his car, and he slid limply to the floor.
Before I could move away from the edge of the platform, the train screeched over a bit of loose track, and the cars lurched to the side. My arms were pin-wheeling, searching for something–anything!–to grab onto… but my fingers couldn’t find the handrail. I was heading straight over the side!
Lightning fast, a hand shot out, gr
abbed my flailing hand, and jammed it against the rail. I grabbed on with all my remaining strength, pulling myself back onto the platform with such force that I stumbled and landed flat on my back.
I was safe.
Out of breath and shaking, I looked up to see who had saved me. It was Justine Pinkerton! She was leaning over me, grinning, with her hand cradling the back of my head so it did not bang on the hard surface of the train.
“Bully for you! You saved the man’s life,” she shouted above the wind.
“And you saved mine. Thank you!” I stood up, quickly tucking loose hairs under my cap. “He’s unconscious. We’d better get him inside.”
Justine reached inside the compartment and rang the electric button that would call the porter. Then she grabbed the man’s legs. I hooked my hands under his armpits, and working together, we were able to drag him halfway through the door of the Pinkerton car.
“Gads, what’s this man been eating? Rocks?” Justine asked when we set him down and paused to catch our breath. While most of his body remained on the connecting platform between the two cars, at least we had managed to get his head out of the elements.
“Do you know him?” I asked. When Justine shook her head, I reached into the man’s jacket and took out a black leather wallet. Inside was a badge, and I gazed at it in awe. “Say hello to special agent Nathan Howard of the United States Secret Service,” I told Justine Pinkerton.
SECRET SERVICE NOW HIRING!
Want a job with the Secret Service?
Here is what you should know about us:
1865 At the end of the Civil War as much as one half of all U.S. paper money in circulation was counterfeit! We were created to fight this problem.
1867 Our duties now included detecting anyone who commited fraud against the government, This led to investigating mail robbers, the Ku Klux Klan, smugglers, and many others!
1902 A year after the assassination of President McKinley—the third president killed in 36 years—we took full-time responsibility for protection of the president.
If you are ready for challenge,
excitement, and danger—join us!
Who knows? Someday I might work for them!
“Secret Service!” Justine shouted in excitement. I knelt beside Agent Howard and gave him a good shake, but he didn’t wake up.
Just then the tall, skinny porter, William Henry, rushed into the hallway. He looked flustered. “Miss Pinkerton, you have to stop pressing that button–” William Henry stopped and his eyes widened in surprise when he spotted me. “What’s he doing here?”
“Who?” Justine asked, as if she didn’t understand what he was talking about. Then she said, “Oh, him. This is my friend. His name is… his name is…”
“Fitz,” I said. “Fitz Morgan.”
“Your family gave strict orders. There are to be no guests in this Pullman car,” William Henry warned Justine.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” she replied.
William Henry was about to say something, when he finally noticed Agent Howard. “My stars!” he shouted. “There’s a man on the floor!”
“Brilliant deduction,” I said sarcastically, continuing my quick examination of Agent Howard. Lifting one of his hands, I felt a faint, rapid pulse. I also noticed that his fingernails were a bright cherry red. Quickly, I looked at his face–his lips were the same cherry red.
I leaned closer to his mouth and caught the faint whiff of bitter almonds on his shallow breath. Oh no! I thought.
“What happened here? Someone tell me this instant!” William Henry demanded.
“We aren’t sure,” Justine replied. “Maybe he fainted.”
I looked at her. “No. He didn’t faint,” I said. “This man is in a coma. He’s been poisoned!”
DETECTING POISON: CYANIDE CHECKLIST
Is a person showing some or all of the following symptoms?
Sudden collapse or coma
Skin, nails, and lips that are unusually pink or cherry red. This color is caused by the way cyanide blocks oxygen from getting into cells, so the oxygen remains in the blood
Very fast breathing and either very fast or very slow heartbeat
Breath that smells like bitter almonds
I keep this list on me just in close!
April 14, 1906
8:15 AM
Together, the three of us carried Agent
Howard into the Pinkerton Pullman and laid him on a plush, green sofa.
While Justine placed a pillow under his head, William Henry took my arm. He smelled like soap, and his uniform was spotless, but I noticed his hands and fingernails were stained with grease. “Poisoned, you say?” he said doubtfully. “And what would a little boy know about poison?”
There was no time to go into my background with a fool.
“If I’m right, this man has been poisoned by cyanide.”
William Henry gripped my arm harder and scoffed, “You’re out of your mind!”
“Listen,” I said. “Time is of the essence. This man has to get an injection of amyl nitrate quickly.”
“Amyl nitrate? But that’s a very dangerous chemical. It might kill him!”
I was surprised William Henry knew what amyl nitrate was.
“All the antidotes to cyanide are poisons. Once someone loses consciousness, he has to receive an antidote within the first half hour or he’ll die,” I said shaking my arm free of William Henry’s grasp. “This man needs medical attention. And every second counts.”
William Henry’s bright blue eyes turned to Justine. “He’s right,” she told him. “You must get help now.”
“Fine then. I’ll go,” William Henry said, heading to the door. “But I want you to wait in the laboratory until I get back–away from Agent Howard. With that, William Henry rushed to get help.
Surprised, I turned to Justine. “You have a laboratory?”
“Of course,” Justine answered matter-of-factly. Opening an interior door, she gestured for me to follow her.
We left the living area with its gold fixtures and overstuffed furniture, and entered the sleeping area.
“There are four separate sleeping compartments here,” Justine told me, pointing to each of the four doors as we walked down a small hallway. She didn’t seem to be showing off, just stating a fact.
Suddenly she stopped, looked at me, and asked, “Do you really think someone poisoned Agent Howard? It’d be wrong to shout, ‘How thrilling!’ wouldn’t it? Perhaps we should give him some of that new drug called aspirin. Have you heard about it?”
Then without waiting for an answer, she turned and opened another door. We entered the laboratory.
When I saw it, my eyes nearly popped out of my head. It took up about the same amount of space as my coach car, but that’s where the similarities ended.
This laboratory had two electric fans, an electric heater, velvet armchairs, lighters for cigars–all beneath the most beautiful stained glass ceiling. But what impressed me most was that the Pullman was jammed with the most advanced criminal detection equipment in the world.
When I finally finished my survey of the room, I noticed that Justine was studying me.
She said, “I’ve seen that look before. You have detective work in your blood.”
I felt my face flush–I didn’t want her sharp eyes looking too closely at me. And, to tell the truth, I also felt a little jealous. Why should she have access to all this wonderful equipment? She probably didn’t even know what half of it was!
I blurted out, “What does a little girl like you know about detective work?”
She just laughed, not seeming to mind my sharp tone. “You sound like William Henry! But to answer your question, I’m a Pinkerton. I’ve been surrounded by detectives my whole life. My father’s one of them. In fact, he uses this car to solve crimes across the country.”
I examined a modern microscope at the work desk and tried to keep from drooling. “You’re allowed to travel alone?” I asked. I really m
eant. You’re just a baby.
“Of course,” she replied. “I’m wise beyond my years.”
“What does that mean?”
She shrugged and said, “Everyone I meet says it–except my governess. She says she needs a break from me. That’s why she stayed back in New York. My family lives there, but Mother and Father are in Sacramento now.”
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“Is your father working on a case?” I asked, as my eyes wandered to a framed note from the late President Abraham Lincoln. It thanked the Pinkertons for bringing many criminals to justice.
“My parents were returning from the Far East by way of California when my father got a telegram,” Justine said. “He was needed in Sacramento to help solve a string of mysterious bank robberies. Father asked the train company to bring him our Pullman. I came along for the ride. Once we arrive in San Francisco, this car will be attached to another train that will take me up to Sacramento.”
I was only half listening to her. Standing in front of a tall bookcase that took up an entire wall of the laboratory, I was running my eyes greedily over row after row of beautiful books. The leather bindings had titles such as CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION by Hans Gross, FINGERPRINTS by Sir Francis Galton-and hundreds of others. It was the most complete library of crime and detection I had ever seen!
Justine noticed my gaze and said, “I’ve read them all. Well, almost all. I love criminology. Don’t laugh, but my dream is to be the first woman in my family to go to law school.” As if to keep me from teasing her, she quickly continued, “These books helped me set up the hallway alarm you triggered–”