The Race (Isaac Bell 4)

Whiteway agreed. “Excitable foreigners like the French and Italians have a flair for flying.”

“Phlegmatic Germans and Britons are making a go of it, too,” Bell observed drily.

“With war brewing in Europe,” Van Dorn chimed in, “their armies offer enormous prizes for feats of aviation to be employed on the battlefield.”

Whiteway intoned solemnly, “A terrible gulf yawns between warlike kings and autocrats and us overly peaceable Americans.”

“All the more reason,” said Isaac Bell, “for ‘America’s Sweetheart of the Air’ to vault our nation to a new level above the heroic exploits of the Wright brothers and aerial daredevils circling crowds of spectators on sunny days. And as Josephine advances the United States, she will also advance the brand-new field of aviation.”

Bell’s words pleased Whiteway, and Van Dorn looked at his chief investigator admiringly for deftly flattering a potential client. But Isaac Bell meant what he said. To make aeroplanes a fast, reliable mode of modern transportation, their drivers had to tackle wind and weather across the vast and lonely American landscape.

“Harry Frost must not be allowed to derail this great race.”

“The future of air flight is at stake. And, of course, the life of your young aviatrix.”

“All right!” said Whiteway. “Blanket the nation from coast to coast. And to hell with what it costs.”

Van Dorn offered his hand to shake on the deal. “We will get on it straightaway.”

“There is one other thing,” Whiteway said.

“Yes?”

“The squad of detectives who protect Josephine?”

“Handpicked, I assure you.”

“They must all be married men.”

“Of course,” said Van Dorn. “That goes without saying.”

BACK IN BELL’S AUTO, roaring down Market Street, a beaming Van Dorn chuckled, “Married detectives?”

“Sounds like Josephine traded a jealous husband for a jealous sponsor.”

Isaac Bell left unspoken the thought that the supposedly naive farm girl had made a swift transition from a rich husband to pay for her airships to a rich newspaper publisher to pay for her airships. Clearly, a single-minded woman who got what she wanted. He looked forward to meeting her.

Van Dorn said, “I had a strong impression that Whiteway would prefer Frost hanged to being locked up.”

“You will recall that Whiteway’s mother – a forceful woman – writes articles on the immorality of divorce that Whiteway is obliged to publish in his Sunday supplements. If Preston desires Josephine’s hand in marriage, he will definitely prefer hanged in order to receive his mother’s blessing, and his inheritance.”

“I would love to make Josephine a widow,” growled Van Dorn. “It’s the least that Harry Frost deserves. Only, first we’ve got to catch him.”

Isaac Bell said, “May I recommend you put Archie Abbott in charge of protecting Josephine? There’s no more happily married detective in America.”

“He’d be a fool not to be,” Van Dorn replied. “His wife is not only remarkably beautiful but very wealthy. I often wonder why he bothers to keep working for me.”

“Archie’s a first-class detective. Why would he stop doing what he excels at?”

“All right, I’ll give your friend Archie the protective squad.”

Bell said, “I presume you will assign detectives to Josephine, not PS boys.”

Van Dorn Protective Services was a highly profitable offshoot of the business that supplied top-notch hotel house detectives, bodyguards, valuables escorts, and night watchmen. But few PS boys possessed the spirit, vigor, enterprise, skill, and shrewdness to rise to the rank of full-fledged detective.

“I will assign as many full detectives as I can,” the boss replied. “But I do not have an army of detectives for this job – not while I’m sending so many of my best men abroad to set up our overseas offices.”

Bell said, “If you can spare only a limited corps to protect Josephine, may I recommend that you comb the agency for detectives who have worked as mechanicians?”