“I don’t think you will.”
“How can you say that? Won’t you miss me?”
“Not right away.”
“Why are you grinning like a baboon?”
“I had an interesting talk with Mr. Van Dorn.”
“Oh, Isaac! Did he make you Chief Investigator?”
“Not yet. But the Boss fears that some Black Hand could still be hanging about. So he has assigned you Van Dorn protection all the way to San Francisco. This inside door connects to your personal bodyguard’s state room. If you’re ever frightened, all you have to do is knock.”
Bell stepped through the door and closed it behind him. The porter had already unpacked the bag and hung his suits he had sent ahead. A bottle of Billecart-Salmon Brut Rosé sat uncorked on a table in a sterling silver bucket.
Forty minutes later, as he was taking off his shirt, the 20th pulled into Croton-Harmon to exchange its electric city locomotive for a fast steamer. Bell heard a knock at the door. He opened it with growing anticipation. Marion had changed into the silk robe she had worn for him in her San Francisco cottage.
He wasted no time with words. He pulled Marion toward him and kissed her. Then he swept her into his arms and carried her into his bedroom.