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“No. I’ll leave private cars to the presidents of the Crocker and Wells Fargo banks. When I go on bank business, I’ll travel as a simple passenger so my depositors will know I have their best interest at heart and am not squandering their money.”
Marion rose to her feet with a rustle of her skirts. “I’ll see to it.”
As soon as she returned to her desk, she picked up her telephone and in a low voice, nearly that of a whisper, asked the operator for the Van Dorn Detective Agency. When Marion gave the receptionist her name, she was immediately put through to Bell.
“Isaac?”
“Marion? I was just going to call and ask you out for dinner and a play.”
She felt pleased that he was happy to hear her voice. “I have some information for you,” she said seriously. “Jacob is going out of town.”
“Do you know where?”
“Los Angeles,” she answered. “He’s going to attend the National Conference for Community Banks. It’s a forum for bankers, to exchange the latest in banking operations.”
“When does it take place?”
“The twenty-eighth to the thirtieth of this month.”
Bell thought a moment. “He’d have to be on a train tomorrow if he was going to make Los Angeles by the twenty-eighth.”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Marion. “As soon as I ring off, I have to make his reservations. He’s traveling in a coach, as an ordinary passenger.”
“Not like your boss to save a buck.”
“He claimed it would impress Cromwell depositors by not squandering the bank’s assets.”
“What do you think, Marion? Is this trip legitimate?”
She did not hesitate in answering. “I do know there really is a National Conference for Community Banks on those dates in the City of Angels.”
“I’ll see that one of our agents is with him all the way.”
“I feel soiled going behind his back,” she said remorsefully.
“Do not regret it, sweetheart,” Bell replied tenderly. “Jacob Cromwell is an evil man.”
“What time should I expect you?” Marion asked, happy to get off the subject of Cromwell.
“I’ll pick you up at six so we can have an early dinner before making the play.”
“Are we going in your red racer?”
“Do you mind?”
“No, I enjoy the exhilaration of speed.”
He laughed. “I knew there was something about you that attracted me.”
Marion hung up the phone, surprised to find her heart beating at a rapid rate.
ON GUT INSTINCT, and the knowledge that Bell and his agent Irvine had been nosing around before he killed them, Cromwell made elaborate plans to cover his tracks even more thoroughly. He was certain that with the loss of two of his agents, Van Dorn would add fuel to the investigation by probing ever deeper into every lead. He could expect more agents to come around asking more questions about the stolen money that had been dispersed through merchants and other banks around the city.
Just to be on the safe side, Cromwell called the chief dispatcher of the Southern Pacific and informed him that he was sending in a written request to move his disguised freight car, now serial number 16455, sitting at the abandoned warehouse, to a new location across the bay in Oakland. Within minutes, the order was received by the yardmaster, who sent a switch engine that was coupled to the car and pulled it onto a boxcar ferry.
Cromwell also ordered a special train, a private Pullman car pulled by an engine and tender; destination: San Diego. The order went through the O’Brian Furniture Company of Denver, which had a long-standing account and was a respected customer of the Southern Pacific Railroad Company.
Only then did he sit back in his chair, light an expensive cigar, and relax, totally self-assured that he was once again ten steps ahead of any remote suspicion that might be held by Van Dorn or any other law enforcement agency.
