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BELL
“Write it down, son.” The tall detective turned away to hide his grief.
The boy patted his empty pockets in sudden panic.
Bell said, “Son, never go anywhere without a pencil. If you’re going to become a detective, you have to write down your thoughts and observations. What’s your name?”
“Apprentice Detective Adams, sir. Mike Adams.”
“Here, Mike, use mine.” Bell lent him his pencil and gave him a sheet of paper from the desk he had commandeered.
Apprentice Adams wrote the message, read it back, and ran.
Isaac Bell turned to the window and stared down at busy First Street, barely seeing the parade of streetcars, autos, trucks, wagons, and a squad of helmeted police on bicycles.
Joe Van Dorn pushed into the office without knocking.
“I just heard. I’m sorry, Isaac. I know you liked him.”
Bell said, “The evidence of the Acrobat’s ruthlessness was right before my eyes. I saw him throw his own man into the sea to conceal his identity. What made me think he wouldn’t murder Art Curtis for the same reason?”
Joseph Van Dorn shook his head emphatically. “I saw Art once in a gunfight. Most men lose perspective when the lead starts flying. Not Art.”
“I appreciate the thought, Joe. I know Art could handle himself. Nonetheless, he was working for me.”
Van Dorn said, “You are, of course, authorized to pull out all stops until we get who did it.”
“Thank you.”
“Until Bronson learns otherwise in Berlin, we have to presume he was gunned down by Krieg.”
“Or the German Army.”
“Don’t you wonder what he learned that got him killed?” Bronson marveled.
“He learned a name,” said Bell.
“How do you know?”
“He cabled me the day before yesterday asking for more money. He said we’d have the money back — or a name — in two days.”
“What did you cable back?”
“‘Blank check.’”
“Well, if he got the name, he took it to his grave.”
“I’m afraid so,” said Bell.
“Now what?” asked Van Dorn.
“Short of a lucky break walking in that door,” said Isaac Bell, “I’m starting from scratch.”
There was a knock at the door. The front-desk man, wearing a scarlet vest and matching shoulder holster, called, “Mr. Bell — Oh, there you are, Mr. Van Dorn. Police chief’s phoning from Levy’s Cafe, wondering what happened to you?”
Van Dorn tugged out his watch. “Telephone the restaurant I’ll be there in ten minutes. Lunch with the chief,” he explained to Bell and rushed out, saying, “Then I’m on the Limited to Chicago. Keep me posted.”
“Mr. Bell, there’s a fellow to see you. Hebrew gent. Has one of those funny caps on his head.”
