“You’re too kind, Osgood. I studied in Leipzig, but only music.” She stuffed her needlepoint into a satin-lined bag. Then she rose from her corner chair, saying, “Please don’t stand, gentlemen,” and left the parlor.
They sat awhile, puffing cigars, sipping brandy.
“Well, I think I’ll turn in,” said Isaac Bell.
Kincaid said, “Before you go, do tell us how your hunt for the so-called Wrecker is going.”
“Damned well!” Hennessy answered for him. “Bell’s stopped the murdering radical at every turn.”
Bell rapped his chair arm with his knuckles. “Knock wood, sir. We’ve caught some lucky breaks.”
“If you’ve stopped him,” said Kincaid, “then your job is done.”
“My job is done when he hangs. He is a murderer. And he threatens the livelihood of thousands. How many men did you say you employ, Mr. Hennessy?”
“A hundred thousand.”
“Mr. Hennessy is modest,” said Kincaid. “Factoring in all the lines in which he holds controlling interests, he employs over one million hands.”
Bell glanced at Hennessy. The railroad president did not dispute the enormous claim. Bell was struck with admiration. Even engrossed in the titanic effort to build the cutoff, the old man continued to extend his empire.
“Until you do hang him,” Kincaid asked, “what do you think he intends next?”
Bell smiled a smile that did not warm his eyes. He was reminded of the last time he’d jousted with Kincaid, trading table talk over their game of draw poker. “Your guess is as good as mine, Senator.”
Kincaid smiled back as coolly. “I would have thought that a detective’s guess is better than mine.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“My guess is, he’ll take a crack at the Cascade Canyon Bridge.”
“That’s why it’
s heavily guarded,” said Hennessy. “He’d need an army to get near it.”
“Why would you guess that he would attack the bridge?” asked Bell.
“Any fool can see that the saboteur, whoever he is-anarchist, foreigner, or striker-knows how to guarantee the greatest damage. Clearly, he’s a brilliant engineer.”
“That thought has crossed several minds,” Bell said drily.
“You’re missing a bet, Mr. Bell. Look for a civil engineer.”
“A man like yourself?”
“Not me. As I told you the other day, I was trained and able but never brilliant.”
“What makes a brilliant engineer, Senator?”
“Good question, Bell. Best put to Mr. Mowery, who is one.”
Mowery, ordinarily talkative, had been very quiet ever since Bell had spoken with him in the shadow of the bridge. He waved Kincaid off with an impatient gesture.
Kincaid turned to Hennessy. “Even better put to a railroad president. What makes a brilliant engineer, Mr. Hennessy?”
“Railroad engineering is nothing more than managing grade and water. The flatter your roadbed, the faster your train.”
“And water?”