Collis came away from the window and looked at Andy glumly. ‘I don’t think so. Not from what she told me this morning. It’s a pretty idea. But I really believe I’ve lost her for good.’
‘And is that so tragic?’
Collis shrugged. ‘It depends what you mean by tragic. She doesn’t seem to think it’s tragic at all.’
Andy looked at Collis carefully. ‘I’ll bet you dinner at Delmonico’s she does.’
‘Then why did she say she didn’t love me?’
‘Because all women say that, when they’re really smitten. It’s their way of testing a fellow out. They may be deeper in love than a bug in a rug; but they want to know what you feel. And that’s why they’ll say that they never want to see you again, and all of that stuff, just to see what you’ll do next.’
‘All I’m going to do next is get drunk.’
Andy rejected that idea with an irritable wave of his hands. ‘You don’t get drunk. You keep your head. No woman is worth getting drunk over. The only things that are worth getting drunk over are horses, and heavy losses at faro.’
Collis took out a cheroot and offered one to Andy. Andy declined it.
‘Listen here, Collis,’ he said. ‘You mustn’t take this too damn bad. There’s a kind of a soirée up at John Frémont’s house tonight, and I’ve been invited to go along; so there wouldn’t be any harm done if you came along too. You could meet John Frémont and Jessie, which is something I promised you way back on the ship; and from what I hear, Laurence Melford’s going along too, with his family.’
‘Laurence Melford?’ asked Collis.
‘That’s right. Laurence himself, and Althea, and Sarah, and they do say Grant Melford, too. He’s Sarah’s younger brother, just come over from college in Massachusetts.’
Collis lit his cheroot. ‘Really, Andy, my spirits aren’t high enough for that kind of occasion. I think I’ll probably take dinner on my own, and go to bed.’
‘Nonsense! What are you, a hermit? You’ll come along and like it.’
‘Andy, I’m not in the mood.’
Andy looked at him slyly. ‘You care for Sarah Melford, don’t you?’
‘Of course I care for Sarah Melford,’ said Collis. He felt tired, and the thought of the Melfords, with all of their regal posturing and home-grown arrogance, was more than usually disagreeable.
Andy went back around his desk and sat down, with his heels firmly planted on his half-written letter.
‘I think you should come whatever. It will do you good as far as San Francisco society is concerned, and what’s more, Hannah will get to hear that you went, and might change her mind about telling you farewell. There isn’t nothing at all like making a woman jealous, especially when you’re supposed to be jealous about her.’
‘Are you really going to go on like this until I agree to come?’ Collis said wearily.
‘I surely am.’
‘In that case, strictly against my better judgement, I shall. I’m staying at the International. Come around and pick me up whenever you like.’
‘Well, that’s fine,’ said Andy. ‘And now I guess you want to talk about your blankets.’
‘I don’t want to talk about them. All I want to do is sell them.’
Andy thoughtfully ran his tongue around the inside of his cheek. ‘Is this an urgent sale? I mean, do you have to dispose of them while you’re here, on this particular trip?’
‘I must. Leland and Charles are both pressing me hard to pay for my share of Tucker & McCormick. They’ve already assigned me fifteen per cent of the stock, but on the strict condition that I pay them, in cash, before the end of the month.’
‘Did they have any particular month in mind?’
‘Of course they did. November. This month.’
‘November ’57?’
Collis stared at Andy sharply. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked him. ‘Is there something wrong?’
‘Not in particular,’ said Andy.
‘Well, what’s all this hedging about? My blankets are still there, aren’t they? They’re still in the warehouse?’
‘Oh, sure.’
‘Then what?’
Andy took his feet off the desk and planted them firmly on the floor. Then he rested his hands on his knees and frowned somewhere in the middle distance in the classic posture of a man who does most of his constructive thinking in the outhouse.
‘I want you to know that it wasn’t my fault,’ he said, by way of prelude.
‘What wasn’t your fault?’
‘The fire. It wasn’t my fault. It happens all the time in San Francisco. You know, what with the outdoor cooking and the oil lamps and the outlaws and all. I mean, half of San Francisco likes to watch things burn, and the other half spends most of its time setting light to them. So between the two you don’t always stand too much of a chance.’
‘My blankets are burned?’ asked Collis. He felt almost as shocked as if someone had told him his mother had died. ‘All those blankets, all that investment – they’re burned?’
‘Oh, they’re not a total loss,’ said Andy. ‘They’re kind of brown around the edges, like overdone flapjacks, and most of the upper ones have holes, but, well, you could salvage a few. I lost five tons of oatmeal and two hundred gallons of turpentine in the same fire.’
Collis rubbed his eyes, he didn’t know what to say. He could have cried, as a matter of fact, but he’d done enough crying for one day, for something else that had gotten burned. Something more fragile, and far less forgettable, than blankets.
‘What the hell am I going to do now?’ he asked Andy.
Andy pulled a face. ‘Nothing you can do. None of the stuff was insured. You’ll just have to get yourself back to the Eagle Saloon, and see what more you can take from the faro tables.’
Collis lowered his head. He bit at his thumbnail. If this wasn’t the damnedest, most miserable day he’d ever had. It was like a punishment. First Hannah, and now this. And wouldn’t that bristly bastard Teach have a good long laugh about it.
He frowned. Surely Teach should have known about it already. Yet when he’d talked to Teach on the wharf, and later at the Bank Exchange Saloon, he hadn’t given Collis any indication at all that he’d heard what had happened. Collis looked up at Andy. ‘Who knows about this fire?’ he asked.
‘Just about the whole of San Francisco. It was evening, see, and it was a pretty spectacular blaze while it lasted. Did you ever see two hundred gallons of turpentine go up in flames? The engine company thought they were going to lose the Maritime Hotel, and half the damned street.’
‘Does Arthur Teach know about it?’
‘Sure he does. Other people’s misfortunes are every businessman’s business around here.’
‘But did he know my blankets were stored there?’
Andy was about to answer, but he paused, and squinted at Collis with slitted, suspicious eyes.
‘I don’t quite see which way you’re aiming to piss,’ he said cautiously.
‘I just want to know if Arthur Teach was aware that the blankets got burned.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Andy. ‘I doubt if he did. I doubt if anybody did. Why should they?’
‘That’s just what I wanted to hear,’ Collis told him. He stood up. ‘Do you know where Arthur’s office is?’
‘Sure. It’s on California, between Kearny and Montgomery, right opposite the Pacific Club. But I’d certainly like to know what you’ve got on your mind.’
Collis straightened his grey silk hat and tugged at his vest. ‘I’ll meet you tonight, at the International. That’s all I’m going to say.’
Andy watched Collis walk across the office to the half-open door. He watched him raise his hat, bow sardonically, and leave. He stared for a long time at the empty landing. Then he sighed, shook his head, and went back to his crumpled business letter. Outside the window, the fog was gradually fading, and it looked as if the evening was going to be clear. The sky was high, hazy and pale, and there wa
s a wind from the east that promised a warm weekend.
Chapter 8
As five o’clock chimed, Arthur Teach was finishing up his day’s business at Pacific Securities. His office was a memorable example of San Francisco gothic, with high-vaulted ceilings and redwood-panelled walls. The same late daylight that had brightened Andy Hunt’s loft was falling across his parquet floor in monastic shafts.
He autographed his letters with a quick, aggressive squiggle, and thought with growing ferocity of cold champagne and fried scallops.
There was a soft rapping at his door. Through the hammered-glass panel, like a drowned man lying beneath the ripples of a lake, stood Pudgett, his clerk, waiting with his hand on the doorknob for his master’s reply. Arthur said to himself, ‘Damn,’ and then he called, ‘Come in!’
Pudgett put his head around the door and smiled weakly. His hair was combed in five different directions at once, and he wore tiny eyeglasses on the end of his nose. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you so late, Mr Teach, but you have a caller. He says it’s a pressing matter, and won’t wait, but is much to your advantage.’
‘I suppose you forgot to ask his name,’ said Arthur.
‘No, sir, I didn’t forget. McReady, sir. Mr Daniel McReady.’
Arthur signed another letter, sniffed, blotted it, and tossed it into his wooden Out tray. ‘Where’s he from? What’s he want?’
‘He declined to say, sir.’
‘In that case, he will have to make his appointment in the usual fashion. I can’t see people who decline to say why they’ve come. If they decline to say why they’ve come, then I can just as readily decline to be here to see them.’
Pudgett licked his lips. ‘He said I should mention blankets, sir. A particular cargo of blankets.’
Arthur’s hand remained poised over his last letter. The nib of his pen reflected a bright, wavering star. ‘What?’ he said softly.
‘I don’t know what he meant, sir. But he said I should mention blankets.’
Arthur looked down at the unsigned letter. He laid down his pen. Pudgett, from the doorway, watched him with uncertainty.
‘All right,’ said Arthur at last. ‘You’d better show him in.’
Pudgett disappeared, and Arthur waited, without moving, his letter still unsigned and his pen spreading a black blot over the words ‘Cordially yours’. The monastic shafts of light began to dim, one by one, as a screen of clouds passed across the sun.
‘Mr McReady, sir,’ announced Pudgett, and the door swung open as if someone had given it a sharp, bad-tempered push. Across the parquet, with metal-capped shoes that clicked as he walked, came a short, square man in a brown striped suit, a man whose eyes were as pale as opals, and by the look of him, twice as unlucky.
Arthur stood up and extended his hand. Dan McReady jerked his head forward and glared at the hand like a snappish dog. But he took it, and gave it a quick shake, and then he sat down in the studded leather guest chair with almost frightening abruptness.
‘You told my clerk about blankets,’ said Arthur.
‘Yup.’
Arthur turned and looked at him. ‘“Yup”?’ he repeated. His voice was the finest grade of sandpaper.
But Dan McReady was unabashed. ‘Yup I told your clerk about blankets.’
‘I see,’ said Arthur, leaning on his desk. ‘But are you going to tell me about blankets?’
‘Sure. For a price.’
‘What kind of a price?’
McReady stared at him with those pale, expressionless eyes. ‘A fair price, Mr Teach. None other.’
‘Of course,’ said Arthur. ‘As long as we both understand the meaning of “fair”.’
Dan McReady didn’t seem to be impressed by meanings, because he said nothing at all. Instead, he reached inside his coat and produced a well-folded piece of paper, which he tossed on to Arthur’s desk. Arthur walked around and picked it up.
‘That’s a bill of lading from the Aria, sir,’ said Dan McReady. ‘If you can read, you’ll see that it was issued for blankets, twenty-five short tons of five-pound blankets.’
‘Yes,’ said Arthur slowly, reading the bill with care. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what it is. But can I ask how it came into your possession? I thought I knew the owner of these blankets, and it certainly isn’t you.’
Dan McReady shrugged, as if Arthur could think what he liked.
‘Did you buy them?’ asked Arthur. ‘How much did you pay?’
‘They’re temporarily mine, sir, as collateral against a heavy loss at cards. I’m a gambler, you see, by profession. You can ask around anywhere, and folks’ll know me. As it happened, I was playing poker with the original owner of these blankets, and he went down by twelve thousand dollars.’
‘I see. So he gave you the blankets in lieu of the debt?’
‘That’s right, sir. Although the arrangement is, if he can raise the cash by midnight tonight, he can have the blankets back. That’s if I haven’t sold them first.’
Arthur Teach rubbed his moustache. He didn’t speak for more than a minute, and the silence in the office became tense and oppressive. From outside the hammered-glass door, there was the heavy slam of the Salamander safe being closed and locked for the night, and the clatter of inkstands being tidied up and nibs put away.
‘Why did you come to me?’ asked Arthur, at last.
Dan McReady’s opaline gaze didn’t falter. ‘I know what goes on, sir, in the business district, and almost everybody got to hear of the way those blankets were bought from the Aria’s master before she docked.’
‘Yes,’ said Arthur, not particularly pleased. ‘I suppose everybody did.’
There was another, shorter silence. Then Dan McReady said, ‘Do you want the blankets, sir? They’re not much use to me.’
Arthur cleared his throat. ‘As I said before, it depends on the price.’
‘The price depends on the weather, sir, wouldn’t you say? Right now, the weather’s warmish, and almost too pleasant for blankets, so I can’t in all conscience ask for much. Say, two dollars the blanket, just to cover my outlay, and that includes commission, storage, and expenses.’
‘Two dollars?’ Arthur frowned. ‘That’s – what, ten thousand blankets in twenty-five short tons? – that’s twenty thousand dollars.’
‘Yup,’ said Dan McReady. ‘Your arithmetic’s correct, sir.’
‘Impossible,’ said Arthur. ‘Twenty thousand dollars is too much. Why, you got the blankets for twelve. Do you really believe I should pay you eight just for handing them over?’
Dan McReady’s face didn’t register the slightest hint of emotion. He could have been one of those bland, blank outlaws on a wanted poster; or a slightly simple second cousin peering out of the background of a family daguerreo-type.
‘Handing them over is only a part of what you’re paying for, sir,’ he told Arthur, in a whispery, collusive voice. ‘You’re also paying, aren’t you, for the privilege of having them offered you private, without the necessity to bid for them at auction; and the great satisfaction of having your revenge on the original owner.’
The gambler turned his eyes to the window. ‘You know as well as I do, sir, that by January those blankets will be fetching four to five dollars the blanket, more if it’s colder. Even at two dollars the blanket, if you decide you want to buy, you’ll be depriving the original owner out of twenty to thirty thousand dollars, maybe more. And won’t his teeth be gnashing then, by God, and won’t you look the smartest dealer on Montgomery Street, bar none?’
‘Two dollars is still too high,’ said Arthur. ‘Two dollars is out of the question.’
‘It’s up to you, sir,’ replied Dan McReady. ‘I won’t lose nothing, whatever you decide to do. There’s no skin off my nose, even if you let this chance for revenge slip by. Just remember that it’s warmish now, while the sun’s still up, but they say it’s going to grow considerably chiller by midnight, and the price may have to rise, each hour you demur. It’s two dollars now, at twenty after
five, but it could be three dollars by ten o’clock, and three-fifty by eleven.’
He stood up and pushed back his chair. With two straight fingers, he retrieved the bill of lading from Arthur’s desk and held it up.
‘You can see this bill’s authentic, sir, and not forged, and if you want to see the blankets themselves, they’re at Parkinson’s warehouse on Davis Street.’
Arthur Teach stood by the window. The temptation was very great. To have his own back on Collis Edmonds, and at the same time make himself more than half of the profit he had originally expected from the Aria’s blankets – well, it had the ring of justice about it, and it would work wonders for his reputation. It would silence those whispers of ‘poor old Arthur’ and those mock-sympathetic smiles whenever anybody mentioned blankets. It would do his spleen good, too.
He took a deep breath. ‘Will you take a note?’ he asked Dan McReady. ‘Just until the banks open tomorrow.’
Dan McReady shook his head. Slightly, but emphatically.
‘Well, that presents problems,’ said Arthur. ‘I’m not in the habit of carrying twenty thousand dollars in gold around my waist, and quite strictly I’m not permitted to take personal loans out of the office safe.’
Dan McReady’s expression didn’t alter. ‘It’s up to you, sir,’ he repeated. ‘Whatever you want to do, it’s up to you.’
Arthur grimaced, and thought some more. ‘These blankets,’ he asked, ‘they’re pure wool, are they?’
‘Finest money can buy, sir.’
‘And they’re in good order?’
‘All things considered, sir, yes.’
Arthur hesitated a moment longer, but then he leaned across his desk and pinged a small brass bell. After a moment, Pudgett put his head around the door.
‘Pudgett, is the safe locked?’
‘Just this minute, sir.’
‘Well, I want you to open it up again, and bring me twenty thousand dollars, exact, in gold dust. Then I want you to draw up a note for me, covering the company for that amount until the banks are open tomorrow.’
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