“It could take a while.”
“I’ll be at the Sage Gun Company in two hours. If you don’t know by then, wire me care of Washington when you do. And pass it straight to Archie, and Weber & Fields, Wish Clarke, and Texas Walt.”
Bell shipped his Locomobile back to New York in a freight car and booked the first train to Grand Central. Hurrying across Manhattan to the ferry to New Jersey, he stopped at the Sage Gun Company on West 43rd, where he opened his carpetbag and handed Dave McCoart the Savage 99 and a narrow felt-lined box. McCoart removed a long, finely machined steel tube and whistled. “Where’d you get this?”
“The assassin’s gunsmith.”
“You can’t buy a better telescope than Warner & Swasey.”
Bell handed him the Savage 99. “Mount it on this, please.”
“I’ll get right to it.”
“I found Beitel’s notebook.”
It was bound in black leather. The pages were filled with drawings and formulas written in a precise, artistic hand.
“Turn to the end, last four pages.”
McCoart read slowly and carefully, tracing drawings with a blunt finger.
“What’s he up to?” asked Bell.
“I think the guy is designing an exploding bullet.”
“Like an artillery shell?”
“In principle. But a heck of a lot smaller. I mean, this could be chambered in a .303.” He glanced up at Bell. “Like this Savage . . .”
“Do you think it will work?”
“If he’s able to execute what he’s drawn, yes. Judging by his quality work on this”—McCoart assembled the Savage’s chamber and barrel with a flick of his wrist and broke it down as swiftly—“the man is very, very good.”
He scanned the drawings again.
“Grisly imagination. A near miss with one of these would not be a miss. As for a ‘flesh wound,’ call the gravediggers.”
“More likely, the assassin’s imagination.”
“Did he happen to say how far he’s gotten with it?”
“He’s dead. His lathe grabbed his tie. Broke his neck.”
“Damned fool wearing a tie around a lathe.”
“He meant to kill himself.”
“There’s loyalty, for you,” said McCoart. He handed Bell back the notebook. “Well, at least he’s not going to finish this awful thing.”
“I reckon he already has.”
“Did you find any fulminate of mercury?”
“Plenty.”
“Did you find any cartridges?”
“There are none in the shop.”