“You shot one of them! Is he dead?”
“Don’t rightly know.” He walked over to the still form and pulled off the hood. Dead eyes stared back at him through the man’s glasses. “Looks like he’s had it.”
Reverend Lomax joined him, looked down at the dead man and moaned. Swayed and almost fell. Choked out the words.
“You’ve done it… you done shot and killed him. That’s Mr. Jefferson Davis there. You shot him dead.”
A PERILOUS PURSUIT
Pinkerton agent Craig was more than a little annoyed with himself. Yes, it had been late — and after his dinner hour as well. But Allan Pinkerton had always said that being one of his agents was a twenty-four hour job. And Craig had always agreed with this. But just this once he had forgotten the boss’s creed. No one else knew about his lapse — but he did. If only he had waited a little bit longer, he could have followed the clerk. Maybe he might even have prevented the murder. Well, no point in reproaching himself for what he didn’t do. It was time now to do something positive. Like finding that murderer. He looked at the picture again; it was sure a good likeness of the Scotchman. He spun the cylinder of his Colt.44 revolver; all the chambers were full. He pushed it under his belt, just next to the buckle, pulled on his jacket and left. He had no specific orders. But he would not be able to find the Scotchman by sitting in his office. He had to find him — and he had a pretty good idea of where he might be.
Craig recognized two Pinkerton agents at the train station; they ignored him just as he did them. They were on the lookout for the fugitive. If the man were still in the city he would not be leaving by train from this station. These agents would see him, recognize him — and take him.
But what if he was already gone? He might be in New York, but Craig felt sure that he wasn’t. Why take the extra time to go there if he was leaving the country, when the port of Baltimore was close to hand? The docks in Baltimore — that’s where Craig felt he should be. If the man they were seeking really was a foreign agent, why he would accomplish nothing by staying in the capital. If he had obtained the important information from the dead clerk, as seemed to be the case now, then he would surely be taking it, or sending it, to his employers. By ship. It was Baltimore then. Agent Craig boarded the train just as it was leaving.
His first stop when he reached the city’s docks was the harbormaster’s office. He took out his badge and called the clerk over.
“Never seen one of them before,” the man said, staring wide-eyed at his silver-plated badge.
“Take a good look and remember it. Then you’ll always know when you are talking to a Pinkerton agent. I want to show you something.”
He unfolded the drawing and laid it flat on the counter. “Have you seen this man?”
“Don’t reckon so. But I don’t get out of the office much. Along the docks, that’s where you got to look. What’s he done?”
“I just want to talk to him. Any ships sail today?”
“Nothing since midnight that I know of.” He flipped through a sheaf of papers. “Got two of them due to leave tonight. One, the City of Natchez, bound for New Orleans, but I think that she might be already gone.”
Craig thought of wiring ahead, have the ship searched when it arrived. Then changed his mind. It was more than a hunch — the fugitive would have to be going in the other direction with his priceless information. “What’s the other ship?” he asked.
The clerk ran his finger down the large ledger. “Yep, here she is. Due to sail out of here in a couple of hours. Spanish ship name of the Xavier Margais. Dock eighteen.”
“Going to Spain?”
“Guess so. By way of Rotterdam. Got a cargo for that port.”
Craig was turning away, rubbed his jaw and turned back. “Passenger ship?” he asked.
“No, just an old freighter. Came in under sail for engine repairs.”
“Any other ships leaving tonight?”
“Them is the only ones.”
“Thanks.”
It didn’t sound promising. But he wanted to check the waterfront in any case. Check the freighters and then the passenger ships. He strolled down towards the docks, noting that there was another agent at the main entrance gate. He stopped and leaned against the wall behind him, coughed and talked into his hand.
“Anything?”
“Nothing. But I only been here an hour. Relieved Eddie.”
“What time did he come on?”
“A little after noon.”
And the clerk was killed last night. With no guard on the docks the fugitive could very possibly be on one of the ships here.