The Wrecker (Isaac Bell 2)

Bell disembarked at Liberty Street and walked quickly to nearby Wall Street. On the corner of Broad stood the white marble headquarters of J. P. Morgan amp; Company.

“Isaac Bell to see Mr. Morgan.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Bell opened his gold watch. “Mr. Joseph Van Dorn arranged our meeting for ten this morning. Your clock is slow.”

“Oh yes, of course, Mr. Bell. Sadly, however, Mr. Morgan had an abrupt change of plans. He is on the boat to England.”

“Who did he leave in his place?”

“Well, no one can take his place, but there is a gentleman who might be able to help you. Mr. Brooks.”

A messenger boy led Bell into the bowels of the building. He sat for nearly an hour in Brooks’s waiting room, which offered a view of a nickel-clad, steel-barred vault guarded by two armed men. He passed the time by working out the details of two foolproof robberies, a day job and a night job. Finally, he was ushered into Brooks’s office.

Brooks was short, compact, and curt. He greeted Bell irritably, without apology for keeping him waiting.

“Your meeting with Mr. Morgan was arranged without my knowledge. I’ve been instructed to answer your queries. I am a very busy man, and I cannot imagine what information I can impart to a detective.”

“I have one simple question,” said Bell. “Who would gain if the Southern Pacific Railroad Company went bankrupt?”

Brooks’s eyes gleamed with predatory interest.

“Do you have information to support that inference?”

“I infer nothing,” Bell retorted sternly before inadvertently injecting a fresh element into the endless battle to consolidate the railroads, and undermining Hennessy’s reputation in the marketplace. “I am asking who would gain if that event were to occur?”

“Let me get this straight, Detective. You have no information that Osgood Hennessy is in a weakened position?”

“Absolutely none.”

The interest slid out of Brooks’s eyes.

“Of course not,” he said sullenly. “Hennessy has been impregnable for thirty years.”

“If he were not-”

“If! If! If! Banking is not a business of ifs, Mr.”-he pretended to glance at Bell’s card as if to jog his memory-“Bell. Banking is a business of facts. Bankers do not speculate. Bankers act upon certainties. Hennessy speculates. Hennessy blunders ahead.”

“And yet,” Bell said mildly, “you say that Hennessy is impregnable.”

“He is crafty.”

Bell saw he was wasting his time. Closemouthed, and angling for profit, bankers like this one would give nothing to a stranger.

Brooks stood up abruptly. He stared down his nose at Bell, and said, “Frankly, I don’t understand why Mr. Morgan would waste his time answering a detective’s questions. I suppose it is another example of his overly kind nature.”

“Mr. Morgan is not kind,” Bell said, containing his anger as he rose to his full height. “Mr. Morgan is intelligent. He knows that he can learn valuable information by listening to another man’s questions. Which is why Mr. Morgan is your boss and you are his flunky.”

“Well! How dare-”

“Good day!”

Bell stalked out of J. P. Morgan’s building and across the street to his next meeting.

Half an hour later, he stalked out of that one, too, and if another banker had rubbed him the wrong way at that exact moment, he would have punched him in the mouth or simply shot him with his derringer. The thought provoked a rueful grin, and he stopped in the middle of the crowded sidewalk to consider if it would even be worth it to keep his next appointment.

“You look perplexed.”