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“You look like hell,” he greeted Bell in a strong voice.
“You look better,” said Bell. “Much improved.”
“Hospital sprung me. That’s something.” Van Dorn hauled himself to his feet, steadied himself on the arm of the wheelchair, and reached for Bell’s hand. “Well done, Isaac. Well done. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Wait until you get the bill for my airplane.”
“Airplane?”
“And you’ll want a new bow and motors for the agency express cruiser. Don’t worry, you can afford it. Texas Walt is raking it in hand over fist out in Detroit.”
“He’s still in business?”
“At least until we get the Coast Guard contract back.”
Bell turned to Pauline. “Is Ed O.K.?”
“Ed’s fine. They stitched him up. It was a vein, not an artery . . . Isaac, I must speak with you.”
“What’s up?”
“Marion has given me a wonderful idea.”
Bell glanced at Marion. “She’s good at them.”
“I want to take young Asa for my apprentice.”
“To Germany?”
“With his parents’ permission, of course.”
“I believe he’s an orphan.”
“All the better. So am I. Isaac, make it so.”
The chief investigator of the Van Dorn Detective Agency turned to its founder.
Van Dorn said, “Your call.”
Bell locked eyes with Pauline and shared a private smile. “Based on how your apprentice handled a machine gun this afternoon, you might consider allowing him to carry a small pistol.”
“All in good time,” said Pauline. “Thank you, Isaac. And thank you, Marion.”
Van Dorn eased himself back down into his wheelchair and rolled toward the door. “We’re shoving off. Dorothy wants me home in bed.”
They agreed to talk in the morning. “Afternoon,” Marion corrected them. “Late afternoon.”
A freshly scrubbed Asa Somers appeared in a bathrobe with Band-Aids plastered on his brow. Pauline spoke quietly to him and they headed out the door.
• • •
“ALONE AT LAST,” said Marion. “Is your arm all right? You’re favoring it.”
“Just a little sore. Where are they going in bathrobes?”
“I got them a room upstairs.”
“One room?”
