The Wrecker (Isaac Bell 2)

A familiar figure lugging a suitcase was sprinting through the maze of rails, jumping switches, and dodging locomotives.

“Stop the train!” Bell ordered, yanking open the door so the conductor could hear him.

Locomotive, tender, dining car, and Pullman sleeper ground to a stop. Bell grasped the outstretched hand which was wet with rain and perspiration and pulled James Dashwood into the vestibule.

“I found the bl

acksmith.”

“Why didn’t you wire?”

“I couldn‘t, Mr. Bell. You’d think I was a lunatic. I had to report face-to-face.”

A fierce glance from Bell sent the conductor quickly retreating inside the car, leaving them alone on the platform.

“Did he recognize the sketch?”

“He admits he was drunk the night he made the hook for the Wrecker. But he thinks that the man he saw might have been a very important personage. So important, I can’t believe it. That’s why I have to report face-to-face.”

Isaac slapped Dashwood’s shoulder and shook his hand. “Thank you, James. You have made thinkable the unthinkable. Senator Charles Kincaid is the Wrecker.”

49

“HOW DID YOU KNOW?” JAMES DASHWOOD GASPED.

The moment Isaac Bell said it, he knew it was true. Senator Charles Kincaid was not the Wrecker’s spy. Kincaid was the Wrecker himself.

Charles Kincaid raced from attack to attack on a senator’s railway pass. (“Oh, he gets around, sir,” said the conductor on the Overland Express. “You know those officeholders, always on the go.”)

Charles Kincaid had penetrated Hennessy’s inner circle. (Hanging around pretending to court Lillian Hennessy. Toadying to her father. Recruiting intimate functionaries like Erastus Charney.)

Charles Kincaid was a civil engineer who know how to extract the most damage from every attack. (“Look for an engineer,” he had taunted.)

“How did you know?”

The crestfallen expression on the boy’s face prompted Bell to answer kindly.

“James, I could never have said it aloud if you hadn’t told me what you learned. Well done. Mr. Van Dorn will hear about you … Conductor! Back the train to the dispatcher’s office. I want his telegraph.”

The dispatcher’s office occupied a wooden building in the middle of the busy train yard. The floor shook as switch engines shuttled trains past with only inches of clearance. Bell dictated a telegram to Archie Abbott at the Cascade Canyon Bridge: “ARREST SENATOR CHARLES KINCAID.”

The telegrapher’s eyes popped wide.

“Keep writing! ‘KINCAID IS THE WRECKER.’

“Keep writing! ‘TAKE EVERY PRECAUTION. DO NOT FORGET-REPEAT-DO NOT FORGET-HE GOT THE DROP ON WISH CLARKE AND WEBER AND FIELDS.’

“Send it!”

The telegrapher’s key started clicking faster than a belt-fed Vickers. But he got no further than the word ARREST. His hand froze on the dash knob.

“What are you waiting for?”

“The wire’s gone dead.”

50

“WE’VE BEEN HAVING TROUBLE ALL DAY.”