“I THOUGHT YOU were dead,” Gatling said when he opened the door and saw Fallon sitting in the colonel’s office. “Kane’s death was written up in all the newspapers. A Sergeant William Fallon, among others, was listed as dead.”
The colonel gave out with his barking laugh. “As you can see, Gatling, Mr. Fallon is a hard man to kill. I must say I’m very pleased with the outcome of this nasty business. You did fine work, old man. Congratulations to you too, Mr. Fallon. Your Service must be proud of you.”
“They don’t like to praise us too much, Colonel.” Fallon turned to Gatling. “Officially I’m dead. Sergeant Fallon is. It wasn’t too hard to arrange—not by me, of course. Another agent came from San Francisco. So many bodies were burned beyond recognition, and a sergeant isn’t very important.”
The colonel beamed at Fallon; here was a man after his own leathery heart. “And it saved a lot of bothersome explaining, eh? What matters most is Kane is dead and can do no more evil.”
“Somebody just as bad will come along,” Gatling said. “Not tomorrow maybe, but he’ll be along.”
“Then we’ll just have to send you back to Butte, won’t we?” The colonel thought that was funny.
“I’ll never go back to Butte. It was a dirty job, and I won’t do another like it. Kane was as bad as they come, but the bosses have to take a lot of blame for him. If they treated the miners like human beings, there wouldn’t be a Kane.”
The colonel raised his head. “Spare me all that, if you will. If it will help to salve your newfound conscience, Mr. Maxim has assured me that he will look into the working conditions in the mines.”
“Bullshit!” Gatling knew the colonel was lying. “You haven’t sent my report yet.”
The colonel began to stuff his pipe. “All right, Gatling! I’m sure he’ll take an interest when he reads your report. But we mustn’t lay it on too thick. No one dictates anything to Mr. Maxim.”
Turning his hat brim between his fingers, Fallon said, “The Government may conduct an investigation into how the mines are run. Washington will keep the mine owners and what’s left of the Labor League under close scrutiny.”
“But they’ll take a harder look at the miners than the bosses?”
The colonel became stern. “Stow it, my dear fellow. You don’t want to join the Salvation Army and ring an alms bell on some corner.”
“They have pretty good soup. I’ve eaten it a few times when I was on the bum.”
Smoke clouded up from the colonel’s pipe. “Such balderdash from a grown man!”
“I read that Chief Boyd got killed,” Gatling said to Fallon. “Right in his own house, a couple of miles from the burning and shooting. Any idea who did it?”
The easy answer came as Gatling expected. “Kane’s men, probably.”
“They went that far out of their way?”
“If Kane gave the order they would.”
Gatling said, “Lieutenant Evans got killed too. Shot in the back, the paper said. Who’s the new chief of police? The other lieutenant?”
“No. The Mayor brought in a very tough man from Leadville, Colorado. Cecil Ambrister. You know him?”
“I know of a Clubber Ambrister. He was cock of the walk in Leadville until the miners threatened to burn the town if they didn’t get rid of him. The miners meant business, so Clubber and his club had to retire. Maybe he’ll have better luck in Butte. Why shouldn’t he? He’ll kiss the bosses’ asses and kick the miners’.”
Fallon shrugged and the colonel said wearily, “Can’t we get on to some subject less wearisome. I take it the Silent Assassin met with success?”
The colonel brightened up, as he always did when he spoke of weapons. “A bit of all right, eh?”
“You can start taking orders from assassins. It worked fine.”
“We can do without your sarcasm, Gatling. For your information, the Silent Assassin, in this country, will be placed at the disposal of the Secret Service.”
Gatling stood up abruptly. “I have to be going. I’ll be at the Sherman a few days if you want to get hold of me.” Gatling put his report on the colonel’s desk.
“I’ll walk down with you,” Fallon said.
It was May 1st, but there were no flowers or gamboling lambs on the Lower East Side. A gray sky pressed down on the grimy warehouses on Crosby Street. “I could do with a drink,” Fallon said.
“I don’t want a drink,” Gatling said.