by R. J. Koreto
“That’s right, lots of accountants and the like. Not really my line.”
“But you must’ve had some training when you joined. Albert Compton just seems to have geographical records, personnel records. But wouldn’t there have to be some financial ledgers to go with them?”
I thought back. When I joined the Secret Service, I had to go to a general accounting class. It wasn’t that unfamiliar to me. On any ranch, there were practices in place to keep track of cattle. But our instructor showed us how you could keep track of anything, how the big New York companies used ledgers to run businesses that stretched across the country and even across the world.
But the ledgers could lie.
“Yes, Miss Alice. Even criminals need records. If Mr. Compton has records of what the Van Schuylers were up to, somewhere there are ledgers showing the finances of those transactions.”
“So think about this. If the reports Dora Compton stole and sent to her brother differ from the actual ledgers, those would be more than suggestive. They’d be proof of fraud, actual crimes—maybe smuggling or avoiding taxes or something like that? They’re reporting one thing, but the accounting tables in the ledgers show something else. That would be solid proof. Compton has something, but not everything needed for a criminal prosecution.”
“Well, yes, that sounds right—if we got those reports Compton has and if we could get into the Van Schuyler offices and see those ledgers. Just one thing, Miss Alice. We don’t have those ledgers, and I don’t see the Van Schuylers giving them up. No court is going to issue a warrant based on our reasoning.”
“You let me worry about that, Mr. St. Clair,” she said, her good humor restored.
It was back to the University Club. The porter looked a little askance at Alice—this was the third time she had descended on them, and once again she was bringing the hired help with the revolver on his hip. At least we were on the list now.
“I take it you’re looking for Mr. Van Schuyler.” He forced a smile. “I’m sure you know where to find him, Miss Roosevelt.”
“We’d avoid these difficulties in the future if you’d open membership to women,” she said.
“I’ll take it up with the membership committee,” he replied, but he was already speaking to her back.
We found Preston in the usual place. “Alice. Mr. St. Clair. Have there been any developments?”
“Very much so. We need to talk. If there is a private table in that lovely little bar, you can buy us some drinks,” Alice said.
“Buy you some drinks?” he asked, a little mystified.
“I think you’re going to need one. At least one,” I said.
He looked a little nervous but then smiled. “You found something, Alice, didn’t you? What happened after you left Julia? And what happened to Shaw—some sort of problem came up, but he won’t talk to me, so I came back here and have been waiting to hear from you. What is happening?”
“Lots. And when I have time, I’ll give you the details. But there’s more important work for you. Now come—I’d like a brandy, and Mr. St. Clair could use some bourbon.”
Preston looked a little uncertain, but he followed us. Alice led the way to the guest bar and was already getting a waiter to show her to a table before Preston—the one who was actually a member—had even arrived. Alice raised an eyebrow when he hesitated.
A few minutes later, we had our drinks, and Preston was looking up expectantly.
“Preston, we have been very fortunate. It seems that we have come across a Van Schuyler employee, a former employee, who was left very bitter by her experience with the company. She was able to steal some incriminating documents.”
“Do you have them?” asked Preston.
“No. We know who has them but can’t get at them.”
“You can’t—”
“Now, Preston, just listen. We believe this former employee has some records, some sort of reports, that could incriminate your uncle and Shaw. They’re now in the hands of someone trying to use these reports to blackmail them. But I want to get them first. More than that, Mr. St. Clair here thinks that these reports will show different information from your company ledgers. We need you to get the ledgers. And then we can bring down your uncle and Shaw.”
“But Alice, you don’t even have the corresponding records.”
“I’ll get them. One way or another, I will. You handle your end. Get me those ledgers—they cover the past summer. They’d cover the same period as the reports but would show some serious discrepancies. I’m guessing those reports by themselves are damaging and embarrassing, which is why your family wants them back and why this person is trying to blackmail them. But together with the ledgers, I’m sure they will be damning.”
“But I’m not involved in that end of the business. Uncle Henry just has me working on odds and ends, nothing as serious as the ledgers.”
“But you must know where they are.”
“Yes, but—”
“Preston, are you just going to make difficulties? I thought you were serious about challenging your Uncle Henry and about running an honest company. What are you going to do? What do you really want?” She was getting louder and louder, and a few members stuck their heads in the door to see who was causing the commotion. All of them recognized Preston van Schuyler and probably Alice as well. And none of them was willing to intervene in a debate between members of two of the most powerful families in New York, nevermind the fact that there was an armed cowboy in their midst.
I didn’t think Preston cared much about running a company, honest or not, or what his uncle or Shaw were up to. But he cared what Alice thought, that much was clear. I knew he’d do it. He’d do it for Alice.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said without a lot of joy, but it was good enough for Alice, who leaned over the table and gave him a kiss on his cheek.
I waved over a waiter, who didn’t really want to be at my service. “I’m fine, and so is Miss Roosevelt here, but I think Mr. Van Schuyler could do with another brandy.”
“Yes, sir,” said the waiter.
At the time, I felt very superior to Preston. He was doing this purely because he fancied himself in love with Alice, and I was doing it because we might catch an assassin who still posed a threat to the president. And because I was getting paid. But mostly because I missed the old days.
CHAPTER 24
I saw Alice home, and as we entered the apartment, the maid mentioned that Mrs. Cowles would be out until late at a meeting of the Republican Women’s Club of New York.
“That’s right, she told me earlier. Mr. St. Clair, do you have any plans for this evening?”
“If you want to go out again, I can make myself available.”
“No. I meant, were you going to do anything this evening?”
I shrugged. “No. Not really. Maybe see if the night porters had a card game going.”
“There’s a nightly card game here? Any chance that I . . . but no, it would get back to Aunt Anna.”
“Let’s just hope Mrs. Cowles doesn’t find out what you were up to today.”
“But we did nothing wrong. We visited with the Van Schuylers; met Elsie de Maine, a new lady friend; and had a pleasant reunion with an old military acquaintance of yours. Completely aboveboard. But we’re off subject. I was asking to see if you were available to join me for dinner. I don’t like eating alone.”
She asked it a little shyly, as if she was afraid of being turned down. Which I almost did.
“Miss Alice, I don’t think Mrs. Cowles wants to see me in the formal dining room here.”
“If that’s the only problem, that’s easy to take care of.” She pushed her way into the kitchen.
“Dulcie—dinner for two tonight. Mr. St. Clair will be joining me. Oh, and let’s keep it simple. We’ll dine in the breakfast room.”
She rejoined me in the foyer. “All taken care of. I’m going to change and freshen up. I’ll see you later, then? We have a lot to discuss.” She
turned and headed off to her room, leaving me just shaking my head. But before I got away, Dulcie stepped out of the kitchen, waving a dangerous-looking knife.
“You just watch it, mister,” she said, scowling at me.
“Oh, come, Miss Dulcie,” I said, going for my best charming grin. “Are you saying you won’t feed me in your kitchen again?”
“I guess I’m not going to have to,” she said. “You just watch it.” And I headed downstairs to wash up before dinner.
I put a comb through my hair and felt along my chin. I might’ve used a shave, but my hair is fair, so I can usually get away without picking up a razor too often. I looked in my little square mirror. My face had been burned by a lot of hot summers and cold winters. I told myself I wore my riding coat and Stetson to remind myself where I came from, but there was no chance of ever fitting in anyway, no matter how often Alice rented me evening clothes.
I thought of Captain Everton. We’d have our dinner and talk over old times, but whatever dreams he had, we both knew he’d never give up everything to buy a ranch in Argentina. He was from New York. And I was from Wyoming. We wouldn’t change.
At dinnertime, I smoothed out my jacket and made my way up to the Cowles apartment. Alice met me at the door herself. “Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening, miss. I hope that my suit is all right. My evening clothes had to go back to the shop.”
“We’re very casual here,” she said. “I think dinner is ready to be served. You may walk me in.” She raised her eyebrow until I got the hint and took her arm so we could walk into the breakfast room together.
Dulcie made quail that night, which I recognized but had never eaten. But Dulcie had a fair hand with game birds, I’ll give her that.
“I don’t suppose you had quail in Wyoming?” asked Alice.
“Never even heard of it until I came east.”
“But you know how to eat it. You adapt quickly. You were a ranch hand in the West, a lawman in town, a soldier in Cuba, and now a Secret Service agent in New York.”
“I never really thought about it. I just saw it as taking what comes.”
“Do you think I could adapt? I mean, living out West.”
“Your father adapted. And you’re his daughter. Do you want to live in the West?”
She pondered that. “I’m supposed to go to Washington. It’s funny. Aunt Anna was planning to exile you to San Francisco, but I would like to see it. We could all go—I mean, you, me, and Mariah.”
I laughed. “We’d make quite a crew.”
“I think we’d get on pretty well. I like Mariah, and I think she likes me.”
“I think she does, too,” I said. I was going to ask where Preston fit in, but things were going nicely, so I saw no need to get her back up by teasing her again. And the Van Schuylers would come up again soon, I knew.
“Perhaps after this is all over, I’ll speak to my father and make up some sort of reason for us to go to the West Coast. You, me, and Mariah. I bet she’d like to travel. We’ll put her down as a chaperone.”
“You need a chaperone?” I asked.
“Of course. I can’t go on a long train ride with no one but a bodyguard. I need a chaperone, too. And who would be more appropriate than the sister of my bodyguard? Didn’t you have chaperones in Wyoming?”
“No, we didn’t. But as you said, I can adapt,” I said, and Alice laughed.
“It’s settled then. We’ll go West and see St. Louis and Chicago and have ourselves a fine time in San Francisco. But look at us, talking fun. My father would be disappointed, taking care of pleasure before business. We have some papers to get ahold of. And I figured out how to do it.”
“Frightening Albert? If fear of the Van Schuylers won’t get him to give up the papers, then what are you going to scare him with?”
“Oh, he’s scared, and he may come through for us, but I’m gambling that we can find some other source. I don’t think Albert Compton is the only man with access to the documents we need. We need to reach out a little more.”
“Fair enough. But what are the nuts and bolts?”
“I’m still working out the details. And here’s what I thought . . .”
And then the front doorbell rang.
“Is that Mrs. Cowles?”
“No, not this early. And she lets herself in most of the time anyway, but I can’t imagine who’s coming at this hour.”
We heard the maid answering the door. We heard muffled talking, and then the maid led a night porter to the table.
“Sorry to disturb you, Miss Roosevelt, but I have an urgent message for Mr. St. Clair,” he said. “Hand delivered.”
He gave me a plain envelope, and I slit it open while Alice looked on, burning with curiosity.
“Who is bothering to send you a special message?”
There was only one line on the page. I read it and handed it to Alice, who grabbed it out of my hand.
“‘The rail is burning,’” she read. “What does that mean? And if you tell me one more time that it’s called the Secret Service, I’ll hit you.”
“I’m your bodyguard, Miss Alice. I have to follow the rules.”
“Tonight you’re not my bodyguard. You’re my dinner guest. And I’m your hostess. What does ‘The rail is burning’ mean?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you, but I don’t see the harm. That means that the presidential train is about to pull into the station, and soon the president will be arriving.”
“My father is coming? That’s marvelous! But why? I passed on the information about the Van Schuyler ship launch, to see if he wants to come, so maybe that’s it. But he didn’t say anything to me. What do you think?”
“I think that the president may want to join us for pie and coffee.”
It wasn’t long. The cars were waiting and the police escort was standing by to bring him quickly uptown to the Caledonia. In fact, the maid had hardly finished clearing the table when the doorman called from the lobby to say that President Roosevelt was on his way up. Alice stood by the door ready to greet him, and I stood a little behind her.
“Glad to see you, Baby Lee,” he said, giving her a hug, “and St. Clair.” He gave me a strong handshake as usual.
“Good to see you, Mr. President. I trust you are well?”
“Fine, fine, thanks. Is my sister here?”
“Aunt Anna is having dinner at the Republican Women’s Club. She’ll be home later. How long are you here?”
“I leave the day after tomorrow. More men to meet with here, but the main reason I’m here is that tomorrow night I agreed to address the annual meeting of the New York Commercial Society. They’re very prominent in business affairs in New York, which means business affairs in the United States—”
“Which means business affairs in the world,” finished Alice. The president laughed.
“Very good. I’ll have to bring you down to Washington soon to help me.” I could tell Alice was over the moon at his compliment.
“But I thought that you were here for the Van Schuyler ship launch, like I said in my message.”
At that, the president looked a little uncomfortable, something that didn’t happen often.
“I need to talk to you about that . . . and you look like you were going to sneak off, St. Clair. I’d like you to stay.”
“I’m at your disposal, sir.”
“All he was going to do is fleece some local boys over a card game,” said Alice, and the president grabbed me by the shoulder. “Let’s give some of my fellow New Yorkers a break tonight, St. Clair. I’d like to talk to both of you.”
“Mr. St. Clair and I were discussing tomorrow’s plans over dinner in the breakfast room. But I think Dulcie made an apple pie, and there’s coffee.”
The president clapped his hands together in delight. “Bully. Pie and coffee and a conversation.”
The maid was very pleased with herself as she practically fawned over the president. And Dulcie? I don’t think she much cared who she
was cooking for. As she had told me, she was the president of the kitchen.
“So, Baby Lee, how go your investigations—immigrants and all that?”
“Fascinating. I’ve learned so much. Would you like a report?”
“Yes. Write one up, then come down to Washington and we’ll discuss it with some of the boys in the cabinet.”
“I’ll get started right away,” she said, and her eyes shone.
“Now, on to other topics. Anna tells me you’ve been calling a lot on young Preston van Schuyler.”
Alice glanced at me quickly to make sure I wasn’t smiling at that and then answered her father. “Well, yes. We saw a bit of each other this summer, as you well know, and are just continuing our friendship. Are you coming to the ship launching? I know the family wanted you to attend.”
“No, I’m not. And I’m going to trust you with the reason why. You’ve said that you want to be involved, to help me. So I’m going to treat you like a Roosevelt and trust you.” He turned to me. “What do you say to that, St. Clair? Can we trust my daughter?”
“Sir, if you can’t trust Miss Alice, you can’t trust anyone.” I saw her eyebrow go up just a bit and the ghost of a smile.
“Well then. Here’s the situation. The Van Schuylers have been aggressive in pursuing their expansion plans, especially in the Great Lakes. A little too aggressive. You know I like ambitious men, those who rise to challenges and get things done. But you have to play fair, or it’s all for nothing. And I’m sorry to say that Henry van Schuyler and his son-in-law, Shaw Brantley, have not been playing fair. Talks of bribery and vandalism have reached us in Washington. A certain amount of roughhousing is expected—not that I condone any of it—but it seems as if the management of the company is out of control, well beyond what is typical. And you know how I feel about monopolies, perverting the course of capitalism.”
So things had gotten as bad as that. Washington was looking into Van Schuyler affairs. One thing I was sure of: If it had gone this far, the Van Schuylers would already know they were being investigated. They’d start to panic, and there was no telling what they’d do next. Or what the Archangel would do. I caught Alice’s eye, and I knew she was thinking the same thing.