“That sounds like good advice.” I was pleased to see Hutchason treating Archibald as a victim of his brothers rather than as a potential conspirator.
“But I saw those men charging around town today,” Archibald continued. “Running around as if they was deputies of the sheriff. I don’t think they’re just gonna use words if they fix to come after me.”
“Hold on a second.” I let myself through the store counter, went to the back of one of the rows of shelves where I stored my goods, and felt along the very top shelf until my fingers touched iron. I took a pistol down from its resting place and, holding the butt end gingerly, laid it on the counter before Archibald.
“Take this. In case the need arises.”
He stared at the gun, motionless. “I couldn’t never shoot it,” he said at last. “I couldn’t never hurt another being.”
“I know you couldn’t. And I’m sure it’ll never come to that. But it can’t hurt to carry the piece with you, at least until things calm down. And if they ever do come to make trouble, none of those men need to know you wouldn’t shoot.”
He thought about this and slowly nodded. He picked up the gun and slipped it into his pocket. “Thank you, Mr. Speed,” he said as he turned to leave. “You’re the only real friend I have.”
As I watched him slip out onto the cold streets, I hoped mightily it wasn’t true.
CHAPTER 10
The next morning, Lincoln and I were speaking about the Trailor brothers as we dressed. Our bedroom was a small, second-floor room perched on top of my store. It was dingy and low ceilinged, with two double beds pressed against opposing walls and a narrow opening in between. Since his arrival in Springfield three years ago, Lincoln and I had shared one of the beds. Hurst and Herndon shared the other.
There was a small looking glass on the wall, which I had affixed at a height appropriate for me sometime before Lincoln’s arrival. Between the cramped open space in the room, which we crisscrossed to find our garments, and Lincoln’s need to bend over periodically to peer into the glass, our dressing routine approximated a two-person quadrille.
“It sounds as if William Trailor, at least, is in a spot,” Lincoln was saying as he contorted himself to stare at his reflection while fastening his necktie. “If he’s been telling people Fisher died and willed him his fortune … well, how can he explain that away?”
“Maybe Fisher died of natural causes. He wasn’t the healthiest-looking man.” While I had no particular brief for William Trailor, I feared that as long as he was under scrutiny, Archibald would be in peril as well. I nudged Lincoln out of the way and stared at the glass. I frowned at my curling dark hair, which nearly fell onto the top of my shoulders, and at my blue eyes. Something was evidently not to Miss Todd’s liking.
“But what about the body?” said Lincoln. Lost in my reflection, it took me a moment to realize he was referring to Fisher’s, not my own.
“What about it?”
“If he died a natural death, as you suggest, then where’s his body? Where was he buried? William Trailor can hardly plead ignorance of the circumstances of his so-called natural death if he’s telling people he inherited money from the man.”
“That’s a fair objection,” I said. “I suppose William Trailor may be another client for A. Lincoln, Esquire. When the sheriff brings him back, he’ll need to hire a local lawyer. You’d be a likely choice, would you not?”
“Perhaps in normal times,” Lincoln replied, shrugging on his topcoat, “but I’ve got quite a busy docket at present, between my regular cases and the work of the legislature.”
Lincoln thrust a bony elbow into my shoulder and resumed his position, bending down before the glass. He had a high forehead, prominent cheekbones, a heavy jaw, and a blunt nose. But his gray eyes were kind, if a little sad, and I had never once seen his smile fail to light up a room with the power of a hundred candles. He licked his palm and pressed it vigorously onto his scalp, trying to get his shiny black hair to stay in place. Eventually he gave up. “Ah, it’s no use. If there’s a homelier-looking man in all of Sangamon County, I don’t want to meet him.”
“You yourself have looked even more homely on occasion,” I offered.
“As always, Speed, you know just the thing to put my mood right.” He slapped me on the back. “Let’s be off.”
As I followed him down the winding stairs that led to my storeroom, he glanced over his shoulder. “I was talking to Ninian last night, at the Lyceum.”
“Oh?”
“Apparently you and his sister-in-law, Miss Todd, had a long conversation yesterday morning in his parlor. You must have encountered her when you went to call upon him. Even though you knew he would not be present.”
“She and I talked for a spell,” I acknowledged, straining to keep my face neutral.
“You know my feelings for her, Speed.”
“And you know I don’t give up without a fight.”
Lincoln frowned and then recollected himself. “So, tell me—how was the fair Miss Todd?”
“I wish I could report she succumbed unreservedly to the Speed charms, but my powers of self-deception do not extend so far. It seems for this week, at least, her heart is set upon another.”
Lincoln swung around swiftly, almost colliding with me. “Oh?” he said expectantly.
“I tried to talk her out of it. I insisted the man would be too busy with his law practice, to say nothing of his overweening political ambitions, to spare her a moment’s thought. But my objections were no use. She appears smitten.” I looked up at Lincoln, trying to gauge if the bait had been set. “So, it seems that … Douglas is the only man she’ll have.”
Lincoln gave a great shout of laughter. “Ha! That’s two for you this morning, Speed.”
We proceeded to the common table of the Globe, where we took our breakfast together most mornings. When we arrived, however, there was another man sitting at our usual place: Belmont, the European banker.
“You two know each other?” Lincoln said as we took chairs on opposite sides of the table.
“We met briefly at the American House gala last week,” said Belmont. He offered me his hand, manfully, and I shook it. “I gather I have you to thank, Speed, for my assignment in Springfield. Had you not caught the bank cashier at his pork speculation game, I doubt the state would have sought our assistance.”
“You’re part of the Rothschild dynasty?” I asked. I tried to catch Saunders’s eye in hopes of procuring a mug of coffee. Alas, I failed, and no coffee materialized.
“In a manner,” said Belmont with a modest smile. He ran his fingers over his immaculate mustache. “I started as an assistant at their main office in the Free City of Frankfurt at the age of fourteen. A few years later they sent me to Naples. Then, when your banks started to have their, er, difficulties—”
“To put it mildly!” snorted Lincoln.
“—we thought,” continued Belmont, “perhaps we could be of assistance in this great country, and so I sailed for the New World.”
Lincoln had set his stovepipe hat down on the table in front of him. “Without Belmont’s assistance,” he said, “there will be no money to support any economic activity in the entire northern half of the state. No money to resume work on the canal, for one thing, but it’s much more than that. There’s no money to pay the Irish navvies for the work they’ve already done on the canal, which means no one has money to pay farmers for the produce they’ve grown, which means there’s no money to pay the merchants in town for their goods. And so on.”
“I witnessed the Irish suffering with my own eyes in Chicago,” I said, thinking back to the desperate mother and her pitiful children.
Lincoln nodded gravely. “Unless the legislature votes to make pork legal tender for the payment of all debts—which might not be a bad idea, come to think—the state’s in debtors’ prison. We’ll remain there until we can replenish the bank’s store of hard currency. Belmont is helping us make bail. Ah, here we go.”
“What’s the disagreement?” I asked, chewing patiently. Each bite of Saunders’s steak required a great deal of patience before it would slide down the throat.
“Douglas and the Democrats want to line their own pockets with Belmont’s gold,” said Lincoln between bites. “Keep it locked in iron boxes to be dispensed by the state to favorites of their choosing. I want to make sure it gets out as quickly as possible to the mass of the people, so economic activity can resume. That’s the essence of what Douglas and I were arguing over at the gala.”
“That, and a certain Miss Todd, it appeared,” interjected Belmont. I frowned; it was the sort of observation I might have made, had the banker not imposed himself upon our breakfasting routine.
Lincoln grinned. “At the end of the evening I told Mary I wanted to dance with her in the worst way. Do you know what her response was?” Belmont and I shook our heads.
“She said, ‘Having seen you on the floor earlier, Mr. Lincoln, I can confirm you do, indeed, dance in the worst way.’”
Belmont shouted with laughter. “She didn’t really say that, did she?” he said, nudging Lincoln in the ribs.
“I swear it’s so,” replied Lincoln, his eyes twinkling.
I glared at Belmont, who affected not to notice. Even if the future of the state hinged on his gold, I didn’t appreciate his interference. Besides, as I thought about it, I spied a problem with the banker’s plan.
“Even if the legislature agrees on the terms of the loan,” I said, “what are you going to do—write out a draft to the State of Illinois? As if your signature on a mere piece of paper will change the economic situation in a stroke.”
Belmont shook his head seriously. “No, it won’t be that at all. The State Bank can only resume its banking activities if it has a sufficient store of gold coins physically sitting in its vault. We’ll have to move all the specie to Chicago.”
“Move it from where? And how?”
“Come now, Speed, you can’t expect Belmont to reveal all of his secrets,” interjected Lincoln. “Back in ’35, when the State Bank at Springfield was first organized, the original bank president personally hauled four huge trunks of silver coins seventy-five miles from Alton to Springfield in the back of his wagon. I imagine we’ll come up with something similar.”
“Have you ever seen fifty thousand dollars’ worth of gold coins?” Belmont asked. His eyes shone at the mere mention of the sum. Both Lincoln and I shook our heads.
“It is a sight both thrilling and disappointing. Thrilling for the power such riches convey to their possessor. And yet disappointing because of the small physical extent of the hoard.” He picked up his silver-handled walking stick and sketched a modest rectangular box in the air. “The coins will fit comfortably in a small traveling trunk, one which could barely carry the wardrobe of a gentlemen for a five-day journey. A man cannot be clothed for a week, and yet a government may be financed for years.” He shook his head. “The disproportion offends me.”
“That shipment will be quite a target,” I said.
Lincoln wiped his mouth on the table napkin and pushed his chair back. “That’s a problem for another day. First, the legislature has to agree on a sensible plan. Let’s be off, Belmont. We need you to explain your terms one more time to my colleagues this morning.”
Lincoln settled his stovepipe hat on his head and turned back to me. “I haven’t forgotten about your inquiry from earlier, Speed. Are you still concerned about Archibald Trailor’s well-being?”
“Very much so.”
“Then my advice is to talk to Big Red himself. After speaking with Ninian last night, it’s clear to me the mayor’s leading the charge against the Trailor brothers. Trying to boost his popularity with the voters, I don’t doubt. As long as he’s on their trail, your Archibald is going to be in jeopardy.”
CHAPTER 11
I decided to follow Lincoln’s suggestion at once. As all of the town’s energies in recent times had been focused on attracting and then constructing the state capitol, no one in Springfield had given a moment’s thought as to where the functions of the mayor might be conducted. Indeed, no one had given a moment’s thought to the idea of having a mayor until a year ago, when Big Red May, having been maneuvered out of his seat in Congress by the scheming Douglas, was in need of the stable salary a new political office would provide.
Thus, there was no “town hall,” as some of the more established cities in the East now featured, and no plans for one. Instead, Mayor May conducted his business from a cramped room on the ground floor of the new capitol building that had originally been intended as a closet to store the wood necessary to fuel the building’s fourteen potbellied heating stoves. I found Big Red in his closet with a case of great distemper.
“No time for you, Speed,” he snapped as soon as I appeared in the open doorway. Since the building architect envisioned that clerks would be entering hourly for wood to stoke their fires, he hadn’t bothered to provide a door for the room.
“I came at Lincoln’s suggestion.”
“No time for him, either.” Big Red made a show of scrutinizing various books of account spread out on the tall desk in front of him. I had the distinct impression he hadn’t even noticed their presence until I arrived.
“I understand you’ve ordered that William and Henry Trailor be apprehended as possible suspects for murder.”
Big Red did not look up, nor did his scowl soften.
“I can’t tell you how relieved I am, as a concerned citizen and long-time merchant in the community, that you’re taking active steps to protect the public’s safety.”
This time Big Red was unable to conceal the distinct hint of pleasure in his growl. His enormous ears rose to half-mast. I was getting close to the right key.
“Sheriff Hutchason’s a fine man, of course,” I continued, warming to the part, “a capable follower of orders. But I don’t think he has the foresight you bring to the task.”
“The people want action,” said Big Red. Then, remembering his distemper, he resumed study of his books.
“I’m sure you’re right.” I chose my words carefully. “I do think we should make sure there’s actually been a murder, before we put someone on trial for one. Right now, all we have is the word of one gossip, in that letter Keyes intercepted. For all we know, Flynn Fisher is still alive. Perhaps he’s merely indisposed somewhere.”
“It’s more than the one rumor,” Big Red insisted. “There’s the matter of William Trailor suddenly having lots of gold to spend.”
“All according to an old gossip, who’s probably got her facts mixed up. I merely suggest we act judiciously. All those other towns that wanted to have the state capital—Jacksonville, Alton, even Vandalia again—all of them are looking for an excuse to take Springfield down a peg. Neither of us, I’m sure, wants our town to look the fool, not when we’ve finally had the triumph of opening the new capitol building.”
Big Red deigned to meet my gaze this time. “There’s been a murder, Speed, one committed by the Trailor brothers. You may depend on it.”
Before I could respond, we heard the sound of several men shouting at once. Soon, four men materialized in the hallway outside the closet, in a tussle, pulling this way and that. As the jostling group pushed past me into the crowded office, I saw a squat, potbellied man in the middle of the melee, his hands bound behind his back. It was Henry Trailor.
“We got him, Big Red!” one of the men shouted jubilantly. Henry Trailor’s captors were some of the vagrants from the town green who had formed yesterday’s search party.
“Caught him leaving his house in his phaeton,” said another. “Had his wife and children loaded up along with three trunks.”
“Fleeing the county,” said the third. “It’s practically an admission of guilt.”
Henry Trailor stood defiantly against the back wall of the closet, scowling at Big Red. His gaze had passed over me quickly; it was apparent that in this very different context he didn’t recognize me from the single evening I’d spent at his table several months ago.
“I insist you release me,” Trailor said in his high-pitched screech. “These men have detained me unlawfully.”
“They’ve detained you on my authority,” replied Big Red steadily. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Flynn Fisher.”
“Utter nonsense!” Trailor shouted, and he took two long strides to flee from the room. But his captors quickly grabbed each arm. After a brief struggle, Trailor was pinned against the wall again. The prisoner contented himself with spitting on the floor near the mayor’s feet and unleashing a torrent of epithets.
“Why’d you do it?” asked Big Red, when Trailor’s tantrum had subsided. “And what did you do with the body?”
“Like I’ve been telling these bastards all the way here, I didn’t do anything. I demand to see a judge.”
“You’ll be brought in front of him soon enough,” replied Big Red, “but only after you admit what’s happened.”
“There’s nothing to tell. I swear it.” Trailor stood erect against the brick wall, his face crimson with indignation.
“Why did you kill Flynn Fisher?”
“I did nothing of the sort!”
“Why’d you kill Fisher?” repeated Big Red, more insistently this time. His ears were flapping, and he jammed a forefinger into Trailor’s stomach.
“I’m telling you, no one killed anyone. Flynn Fisher was alive and well the last I saw him.”
“Then where is he?”
Trailor tried to gesture, but with his hands still tied behind his back, his body merely twisted unnaturally. “Dunno,” he said. “I’m not his keeper, am I?”
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