by R. J. Koreto
But it would do her good to make her work for it.
CHAPTER 2
I got up the next morning and decided not to press my luck and cadge a free breakfast from Dulcie. I was in no rush for another encounter with Alice anyway. I ordered bacon and eggs at a little place under the el before heading back to the Caledonia to see what the program was for the day.
A maid let me in. “Miss Alice isn’t ready yet, but Mrs. Cowles would like to see you,” she said, and that was a jolt. She’s not someone you want to cross, and this was the first time we’d be having a conversation. Of course, we knew each other and had exchanged polite greetings. I never failed to take my Stetson off indoors and say, “Yes, ma’am,” but I always felt I was a bit of an intruder.
I was led into the same parlor as last night. Mrs. Cowles was sitting at the desk. She smiled.
“Thank you, Mr. St. Clair, for joining me this morning. Please take a seat.” I focused my attention on her. She was not beautiful and probably never had been, but you could see real intelligence and strength in that face. It wasn’t obvious that she was Alice’s aunt, but I sure could tell she was Mr. Roosevelt’s sister.
“You have a rather interesting job, guarding my niece,” she started. “I’d be curious to know what kind of background you have that prepared you for it.”
“When I was fifteen, I began working on various ranches, including Mr. Roosevelt’s. I wore a badge in Laramie for a while, which is a tough town, until Mr. Roosevelt sent for me to join him in the Rough Riders. Then he was kind enough to get me a place in the Secret Service, and as you know, Mrs. Cowles, I became Miss Alice’s bodyguard after he moved into the White House.”
She nodded. “It seems you have a history of getting into danger. Not of protecting people from it.”
I grinned. “That may be, ma’am, but I’m still here. I must be doing something right.”
She just stared at me for a few moments, then matched me with a grin of her own. “You’re good for Alice in one respect. You can think on your feet. My brother may have chosen well. But I will remind you you’re no longer taking chances with your own safety but with the safety of my niece. And don’t be fooled—she really is quite young.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am, I promise. No man is dearer to me than Mr. Roosevelt, and his daughter’s welfare is of the greatest importance to me.”
I thought that would settle it, but I saw a shadow pass over her face. “My brother and I may differ on what is appropriate in raising a child—but nevermind. You seem to take your job seriously. I’m glad we had a chance to talk.” She looked me straight in the eye. “And I’m sure we will talk further.”
And I knew she was serious about that. Theodore Roosevelt may have hired me, but Anna Roosevelt Cowles was my new boss.
I didn’t get a chance to say any more because Alice stormed into the room. “Mr. St. Clair, they said you were here. I’m almost ready to go. Aunt Anna—I thought we’d see a museum or two and maybe get some shopping done.”
“Very good. I have some meetings myself. Don’t be late tonight.”
“Why?” asked Alice.
“Because I said so,” said Mrs. Cowles, and with that, she swept out of the room.
“First I have you telling me what I can’t do and now my aunt telling me what I must do. This will have to change,” said Alice. “Oh, very well, let’s go.” I knew we’d come back to the Emma Goldman visit. It was just a matter of when and how. It turned out to be pretty quickly.
“I don’t see why visiting one single woman is such a problem,” she said as we walked along Central Park West, next to the park.
“Neither do I. And that’s why we’re not going. Now, where are we headed today?”
“You heard me tell my aunt we were going to the museum.”
“Miss Alice, by now I know there’s a big difference between what you tell your aunt and what we’re going to do.”
She gave me her sly smile. “Very good, Mr. St. Clair. We’re going to the Central Park Zoo.”
“I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”
“It’s what we’re going to do there. Professor Aspinall is a director at the zoo, and he has a collection of snakes. He’s an old friend of Father’s. And he once told me to come by anytime and he’d show them to me and advise me on what kind to get as a pet. He might even have one he could give me.”
“A pet? You want a pet snake?”
“I love snakes,” she said. “Don’t you?”
“We had rattlers in Wyoming,” I said. “Once or twice, I shot and ate them.”
“You ate snakes?” she said with that look she had when she suspected I was lying but wasn’t sure.
“You have to cook them a long time,” I said.
“Well, I haven’t had that pleasure. Anyway, Dr. Aspinall says there are some pythons that make good pets.”
It wasn’t too crowded in the park that day: some young men having a good time and passing around a bottle, a few workingmen using the park to travel between the East Side and West Side, and a handful of couples enjoying the relative privacy of the park in winter. But by then, I knew someone was following us and had been almost since we left the Caledonia.
We passed under one of the bridges, and as we emerged, I leaned down to Alice. “Just keep going,” I said. She can be stubborn, but she keeps a cool head, and she did as I asked. I stepped to one side, out of sight, and Alice kept walking. A moment later, the man who was following us emerged from the dim light of the tunnel. He saw Alice alone, frowned, and turned, but he was too late. I grabbed his jacket lapels, slammed him against the bridge wall, and then searched him, turning up nothing more dangerous than a little pen knife.
“Agent St. Clair, US Secret Service. Why are you following us?”
“I can walk where I want to,” he protested. “That’s not a crime.”
Alice quickly came back and looked at the man with great curiosity. He was dressed in shabby clothes, not like a laborer, but in something a sales clerk in a low-end store might wear.
“You’ve been following us ever since we left the Caledonia. I was onto you after the first block. Now, why were you following us?” Sure, we were used to a certain amount of attention. Alice was already becoming famous. But young men of fashion or ladies hoping to scrape an acquaintanceship were one thing; there was no reason for a man like this to follow us.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he whined. “Now let go of me.”
“I have an idea,” said Alice. “Let’s take him to the Tombs. I haven’t been since I was a little girl.” The Tombs was the nickname for police headquarters, and it contained probably the worst prison this side of the Mississippi. Alice had no doubt seen some of it, anyway, when Mr. Roosevelt was a city police commissioner.
“Oh, God, no,” he said, terror crossing his face.
“Do you know who I am?” asked Alice. “I’m Alice Roosevelt, daughter of the president. My father still has friends downtown, and they will be very displeased to find out that you were threatening me.”
That was entirely unnecessary, of course. I was sure he knew who he was following.
“Now be fair, miss. I didn’t threaten anyone here. I don’t even have a weapon. I was just reporting, like I was told to do.”
“Reporting? You mean you’re a journalist? For a newspaper? I’ve met a lot of them, but none who looks like you.”
“Not exactly, miss. You see, I work for a private investigator.”
“Ooh? Really?” That seemed to excite her, and I watched her eyes shine. This was proving to be even more fun than the possibility of getting a pet snake. “You mean like the Pinkertons?”
“Well, sort of. We’re a smaller outfit. It’s called Barnaby & Associates. Midtown.” He produced a business card from his jacket. “That’s me, Jonas Griffith.”
“Most interesting,” said Alice, and she pocketed the card. “Now, who’s paying you to follow me?”
Griffith seemed
a little more relaxed, as we seemed to accept his story and the prospect of a stretch in the Tombs was receding. “I would tell you if I knew. Mr. Barnaby just gives us our jobs, and that’s it.”
“And when did he give you this one?” asked Alice.
“Early this morning,” said Griffith. “Listen, that’s all I know. Can I go now? I didn’t really do anything.” He looked back and forth between us.
I looked at Alice, and she just shrugged. “You’re the lawman here, Mr. St. Clair.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’m going to let you go. But I don’t want to see you again, is that clear?”
Griffith smiled in an attempt at comradeship, one professional to another. “I know, or it’s the Tombs.”
“No, it’s New York Hospital,” I said. He paled at that. I let Griffith go and watched him walk quickly back to Central Park West.
“See? The day is turning out to be fun after all,” I said. “I let you question a suspect, and we still have time to get you a snake.”
“That was rather entertaining,” she said. “What happens next? Do we go visit Mr. Barnaby?”
“We? We don’t do anything. I’ll leave a message later with Mr. Harris. I doubt if it’s anything serious. Maybe a newspaper has taken to hiring private investigators to help them track down stories. And while we’re on the subject, can we work on a lower profile? There’s no need for loudly voiced public announcements that you’re the president’s daughter.”
“Oh, very well,” she said. “But don’t change the subject. Why can’t we go now? You can’t say it’s dangerous. It’s a private agency with midtown offices. After all, it was me he was tailing. I think I have a right to know why.”
She looked determined, and she did have a point. It might even distract her from asking me again to take her to see Emma Goldman—or having to explain to Mrs. Cowles why we were returning to the Caledonia with a python.
And I was a little curious myself.
“Oh, all right,” I said. She clapped her hands. We walked out of the park and caught one of those new electric cabs downtown. They give a smooth and quiet ride, and it didn’t take long to get there. Alice looked very pleased with herself.
Barnaby & Associates had offices in a small building on a narrow but busy street. The sidewalk was full of office boys, secretaries, and men of business who gave us a few glances but were generally in a rush to get somewhere else. The place card downstairs listed a few businesses—a coffee and tea importer, a dealer in commercial stationery, a firm of surveyors, and on the third floor, Barnaby & Associates, Private Investigators.
Nothing seemed dangerous, so we walked up to the third floor and entered through a wooden door with the firm’s name written in gold letters on frosted glass. A young woman sat at a desk pecking away at a typewriter, and there was a private office just beyond. The place was neat but not fancy, not like some of the places I had taken Alice to. Some battered cabinets and shelves but no pictures on the walls, which weren’t cracked but could’ve used a painting.
I thought of flashing my Secret Service badge and just walking in, but Alice looked like she wanted to take it in hand herself. Her talk with Griffith had seemed to make her happy, so I thought I’d let her have her way.
“We’d like to see Mr. Barnaby as soon as possible.”
“I’ll see if he’s available,” she said, looking curiously at both us. “May I have your name?”
“Alice—” She gave me a sidelong glance. “Just tell him Miss Alice,” she said.
“Very well,” she said, and she got up and went into the private office, closing the door behind her. I hid my grin behind my Stetson, and Alice looked immensely proud of herself.
The door opened a moment later, and we were ushered in to see Mr. Barnaby. He was a prosperous-looking man in his midfifties, wearing a good suit and a gold watch chain across his waist. He stood, greeted both of us, and invited us to take seats.
“Miss Alice? Say, wait a minute . . . you’re Alice Roosevelt, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but we’re trying to keep a low profile, as they say, so please be discreet about our visit. And this is my assistant, Mr. St. Clair.”
I gave a quick salute.
“I’ll get right to the point,” said Alice. “We intercepted one of your operatives this morning—a Mr. Griffith. We were very displeased at being followed like that and would like to know who commissioned you and why.”
He seemed a little stunned, and I didn’t blame him. Alice had put him in a tight place.
Mr. Barnaby started by smiling. “I understand your predicament. However, the actions of my firm are legal, and I’m afraid our client list is confidential.”
“Is it really?” she asked. “Honest citizens are subject to—?” Her eyes darted around and landed on a file cabinet against the wall. She pushed her chair back, got up, and opened the first drawer.
“See here! You can’t do that!” Mr. Barnaby stood up and began moving around his desk.
“I wouldn’t do that. I’m not just Miss Roosevelt’s assistant; I’m also Secret Service.” I showed him my badge. “I’m afraid I can’t let you lay a hand on her.”
“Those are my files. I can’t just let her go through them. You’re a lawman. Stop her.” He looked desperately at Alice, who was frowning as she attempted to make sense of his files.
“I wish I could. You know, her father is one of the smartest and bravest men I ever met, and even he can’t manage her. What chance do you or I have? Better just let her have her way.”
Barnaby looked for something to say, but meanwhile, Alice wasn’t making much progress. “Mr. Barnaby, I can’t make heads or tails out of this. Now, I can spread this out and spend an hour or so looking for what I want. Or you can tell me, and we’ll be done soon. If it helps, I promise not to let anyone know where the information came from.”
Barnaby sighed and gently closed the file drawer.
“Very well. Stay away from my files, and I’ll tell you.”
Alice and Barnaby sat back down. “I was hired by the Great Erie & Albany Boat Company,” he said.
“That’s a company. Do you have a person’s name?”
“No. I just got a request from the corporate secretary.”
“And his name?”
She folded her arms across her chest, and I saw her foot tapping. She was getting annoyed.
“The secretary is just some expensive lawyer in a fine office downtown, a name not in these files, and even if I gave it to you, it wouldn’t do you any good. He’d tell you nothing and wouldn’t even admit to knowing about the Great Erie. But I feel bad for upsetting you, and I will be honest, because I don’t want any trouble with the Roosevelt family or”—he spared a glance for me—“the Secret Service. So I’ll be as open as I can. The Great Erie doesn’t really exist. It’s a financial fiction—just a name on some documents in a bank vault somewhere, a list of directors and shareholders that own other companies. That’s all. And the secretary, this lawyer, sent me a private messenger requesting I have an operative follow you, and if you attempted to visit a Miss Emma Goldman, we were to report back—how long you were there, even if we could figure out what you were talking about.”
“Why did they want you to do that?”
Barnaby shrugged. “I don’t ask why. It doesn’t matter. We just do what we’re paid for.”
Alice leaned back and frowned. The only sound was the clock ticking on the wall, and I let my eyes flash back and forth between the two of them. I didn’t think Barnaby had any more to say, and apparently neither did Alice, because she got up so quickly she startled both of us.
“Thank you, Mr. Barnaby. We’ll be going now.” And she headed out without even checking if I was following.
Barnaby rose. “Mr. St. Clair, may I ask what happened to the man I sent to follow you?”
“I made him in one block. He’s probably in some bar drinking and hoping you won’t fire him.”
Barnaby smiled at that. “If you ever g
et tired of your job, I could use someone like you,” he said.
“Thanks, but I don’t really blend in, and I’d hate to give up my riding coat, boots, and Stetson.” I gave him a quick salute and followed Alice downstairs to the entranceway. She was waiting for me with an impatient look on her face.
“First of all, you don’t leave a room without me like that. That’s the way we do it.” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Second, what the hell was that bit about me being your assistant?”
“I’m questioning. You’re assisting. I didn’t realize you were such a stickler for formality, Special Agent St. Clair of the US Secret Service. Anyway, we don’t have time to discuss this. Now we really do have to visit Emma Goldman. She’s only just downtown off Bowery.”
“What do you mean by ‘have to’?”
She seemed genuinely confused at my question. “Someone cares very much about my visiting Emma Goldman. Why? How can you not want to know why?”
“Miss Alice, like I said, this is something we need to pass on to Mr. Harris back at the office—”
“And he’ll ignore you because they already closed the case. You told me that yesterday. This is important—someone is interested because we’re still looking into a close connection to the McKinley assassination. You’re Secret Service. You can’t ignore this.”
I sighed. “I’m not saying yes. But let’s stop and think. Are you sure you’ve never heard of that company, the Great Erie? All kinds of businesspeople are in and out of your house.”
“No, it was completely new. And you heard what he said—it’s not even a real company. But think on this, Mr. St. Clair—I didn’t even know who Miss Goldman was until last night. So someone discovered my interest in her very quickly.”
“Perhaps the same man who was able to do you a favor precisely because he has a Buffalo and Great Lakes connection—Preston van Schuyler?” I said.
Alice made a face. “You really don’t like him, do you? Why not? Are you still being jealous?”
I shrugged. It was hard to put into words. “Nah. He just seems a little too cocksure.”