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“He would not be the first murderer without a conscience. Could it simply be that he’s not afraid because he doesn’t feel guilty?”
“Or can’t imagine getting caught.”
“Delusions of grandeur?”
“It’s almost as if he’s enjoying himself.”
Van Dorn’s eyes narrowed at the sight of a well-dressed gentleman who pushed through the swinging doors. He shot a glance across the busy barroom at the floor manager. The floor manager followed Van Dorn’s warning nod, belatedly recognized the new arrival for the type of grifter who preyed on out-of-town customers, and guided him out to the sidewalk.
Van Dorn said, “I want to know why the assassin takes such chances. Among others, he left his rifle—a unique weapon. Any progress tracing it?”
“I’m about to interview a gunsmith the boys found in Bridgeport.”
“Took them long enough.”
Bell leaped to his people’s defense. “They investigated eighty-four gunsmiths across the continent.”
“I was not aware there were so many. I’ve been stuck in Washington.”
Bell said, “If the assassin is not afraid, maybe he wants to get caught.”
Van Dorn snorted like a walrus. “Subconsciously? You’ve been reading that Viennese blather . . . You know,” he added after a moment of reflection, “there is such a thing as luck. Luck is real. For a while. So far, he’s been lucky.”
“He’s pushed his luck every kill.”
“You’ve been lucky. This man who had hit a dime at seven hundred yards has missed you three times. Why does he miss you?”
Isaac Bell grinned. “Maybe he likes me.”
Van Dorn did not laugh but answered soberly, “He won’t miss if you ever manage to put his back to the wall.”
“When I do, I won’t miss either.”
The underage probationary apprentice Eddie Tobin slipped quietly through the saloon doors. Van Dorn gave a brisk nod and the boy approach
ed. “Message from Mr. Warren for Mr. Bell.”
Bell slit open the sealed envelope and read quickly.
“Tell Mr. Warren I said good work and thank you.”
Tobin left as unobtrusively as he had arrived.
Bell said to Van Dorn, “Bill Matters made it back to New York.”
“What? How’d he get here as fast as you did?”
“The Kaiser Wilhelm holds the Blue Riband.”
“He was on your ship?”
“According to Harry Warren,” Bell answered, face grim.
“You never saw him? Where was he hiding? Steerage?”
“I had Rockefeller persuade the purser to show me the manifests. I walked the ship night and day. I checked every man in First Class, Second, and double-checked Steerage.”
“Did he stow away?”
