CHAPTER FOUR

They quickly received a wide variety of replies from all over the country. Most of these could be just as quickly eliminated:

SIRS: THEODOSIA BURR, AARONS ONLY DAUGHTER, NOT LOST AT SEA. AM TRYING TO ESTABLISH CLAIM TO THE VAST BURR ESTATE AS GREAT-GRANDSON OF ILLEGITIMATE SON OF THEODOSIA AND SLAVE ON ALEX. HAMILTON’S JAMAICA ESTATE WHERE SHE RAN TO HIDE FROM HER FATHER. WATER INTERESTS OUT TO STOP ME. LIQUIDS TRUST SPIES IN EVERY GLASS AND JAR. NOT FOR ME, AGAINST ME. NEED TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS TO PURSUE CASE. REPLY IMMEDIATELY. CODE NAME BLUE.

JACKSON HAMILTON ADAMS BURR

CABLE ADDRESS JHAB

Gentlepersons,

I perused with fascination your brief epistle in the Abalone Morning Tribune this past Thursday. How you found out about me I do not know, but it is obvious that you did; else why should you have an advertisement in such a backward, out of the way town as Abalone?

Yes, it is true, although I do not know how you discovered it. I am the woman for whom Aaron Burr refused the presidency and went off with to Mexico. They said it was treason, but it was love.

It all seems so long ago now. To look at me today, you would hardly believe that I could have provoked such passion in a man. But I was considered a beauty in my youth, and possessed of great charm and wit. Napoleon thought so, as did the Duke of Wellington, a very gracious man.

You will want to interview me. That I can, at long last, allow. But no pictures, and no persons from the press.

I await with sincerity your reply,

Bessie VanArwitt Lee

“—Do I have two-oh-two-three-oh-one-three-eight-five-six?

—That’s right.

—I have a collect call for anyone from Mr. Dittle Parsons.

—Who?

—Mr. Dittle Parsons (tell him it’s about Burr) Mr. Parsons says it is about—was that Burr? (that’s right, Aaron Burr)—it is about Aaron Burr.

—Where’s the call from?

—New York City.

—I’ll accept the call.

—Go ahead please.

—Hello?

—You the people who want information about Aaron Burr?

—That’s right. My name is Romero. What can I do for you?

—You got it wrong. It is I who can help you. I got the goods on this Burr.

—The goods?

—Right. You want info, and info I got. State your price.

—What sort of information do you have, Mr. Parsons?

—What’s it worth for a look? Just let me tell you that I have all the Tammany records. All of them.

—I see, Mr. Parsons. Leave your number with my secretary, and we’ll get back to you.

—Right. But you guys better make it fast. You’re not the only ones interested, you know.

—Thank you for calling us first, Mr. Parsons.”

But some of them proved of immediate interest:

Gentlemen,

I am a History teacher at DeWitt Clinton High School in New York City. The Bronx, to be precise. My son, Richard, is a stamp collector. He is only twelve years old, and has a limited allowance, so his collection is of necessity limited.

He recently obtained, at a high school fair, a fragment of brown wrapping paper containing three stamps. The stamps were hand-cancelled with a wavy-line pattern and a circle that reads GENERAL POST OFFICE NEW YORK CITY 4 JUNE 1923 PM. The three stamps are identical: light green printing on white paper. In the center of an oval is a head facing three-quarters forward with curly hair and a tight smile. Around the top of the oval are the words UNITED STATES POSTAGE. Around the bottom: Aaron Burr. Straight across the bottom: ONE DISME.

As you probably know, the United States Post Office has no record of ever issuing an Aaron Burr stamp.

Does this fit into the definition of “unusual information or document”? If so, what do you consider “Highest Prices” to be? My son would like to keep one of the stamps, but would be willing to sell the other two to help finance his collecting.

Sincerely yours,

Albert E. Gorey

Ves called up Mr. Gorey, negotiated a suitable price with his son, Richard, for one of the stamps, and had them mail it to him. It seemed to fit into the pattern, although what the pattern might look like was still unknown. It wasn’t like doing a jigsaw puzzle, but more like trying to sort out the pieces to one puzzle from a box containing a dozen.

That evening, Nate and Ves were sharing an after-dinner brandy in Ves’s study when Mrs. Montefugoni announced a caller. She described him as a ‘gentleman’, and this was a term that she used rarely, so they awaited his appearance in the study doorway with interest.

“Mr. Romero?” the caller asked, standing in the doorway and looking from one man to the other. He had a finely-chiseled, patrician face with a strong nose and a thin mouth which did not look pleased. His impeccably-tailored clothing would have made him one of the best dressed men at the inauguration of President Warren Gamaliel Harding.

“I am Mr. Romero,” Ves admitted. “Come in, sir. What can I do for you?”

“I called this afternoon,” the visitor said, “but you were out. Your, ah, housekeeper suggested that I try this evening. It is, ah, in reference to your advertisement of three days ago in the New York Herald. Or was it the Times?”

“The New York Herald has been out of existence for about fifty-sixty years, I think,” Swift said. “It became part of the Herald-Tribune, then expired.”

The visitor looked at him with a chilling glance. “Ah, yes?” he said. “Then it clearly must have been the Times.”

“You come in answer to the ad?” Ves said. “You have information for me? Unusual documents concerning Aaron Burr?”

“No, sir,” the stranger said. “Allow me to clarify my position. I have no current knowledge or documentation concerning the whereabouts or intentions of that traitor, Burr. I seek, rather, some information from you, and am prepared to pay for it, and pay well.”

Swift was about to make some angry reply to this, but Ves shut him up with a glance. “What sort of information can we give you?” Ves asked.

The man strode into the room and stopped in the center. He was not the sort of man you asked to sit down: he clearly sat or stood at his own pleasure. “Tell me who your client is,” he said. “Tell me what his interest is, and tell me what you have discovered.”

Ves nodded approvingly. “Concise,” he said.

“It reminds me of a final I had in Psychology,” Nate said. “ ‘Describe what you now know on this subject.’ It certainly covers the ground.”

The stranger glared at him. “Have you some objection to this particular ground being covered?” he demanded. “Do you side with the Cataline? The forces are gathering, the sides are being picked. Choose carefully, young man!” His voice resounded with the powerful tones of the expert public speaker, and his stature seemed to grow as his voice rang out.

“You should know I can’t do that,” Ves said mildly. “You’re asking me to betray the identity of a client—if I have a client; to release confidential information, and reveal my sources. No self-respecting private detective would behave in such a fashion. Not if he expected to stay in business.”

“I know nothing about the ethical considerations of your profession,” the man said. “That is, if I may call it a profession. But your logic is specious. Your advertisement asked to purchase information of others, and this is fine and honorable. I ask the same of you, and you use words like ‘betray’ and ‘reveal’. My gold is as good as the next man’s.”

“Gold?” Ves asked.

“If you wish,” the man said. “Specie or paper. I have a strong interest in this matter, and will pay well for your help.”

“I think we speak at cross purposes,” Ves said. “I don’t believe I have any information that would interest you.”

“I will pay to be allowed to decide that for myself,” the man insisted. He took a coin out of his pocket “An eagle to know who employs you. A second to know what you have discovered.”

Nate’s gaze fastened on the gold coin. “I’d like to see that coin,” he said.

The stranger closed his fist around it. “Earn it!”

Nate stared at Ves, who considered carefully for a minute. “I cannot tell you who we are working for,” he told his guest. “That would be breaking confidence. But I will let you examine photocopies of the only two, ah, documents we have as yet uncovered.”

“Fair enough, sir.” The stranger flipped the coin over to Ves.

Ves picked two sheets of paper from the coffee table in front of him, turned them right side up, and handed them to his guest. One contained a front and back view of the Mexican coin, and the other a likeness of the one disme stamp.

The stranger stared at them. ‘This?” he asked. “These are your documents? You jest, sir, surely you jest.”

“I told you that I didn’t think I had anything that would interest you,” Ves said. “That’s it. We may, of course, receive any number of documents in response to our ad. If you’ll tell me what in particular you are interested in discovering, perhaps I could call you if we find out anything.” He pocketed the coin.

“I assumed you knew, sir,” the stranger said. “The tenor of your advertisement… is it possible that you are unaware? Does the term ‘prime time’ mean anything to you?”

“You mean TV?” Swift asked.

“TV?” the stranger repeated, as though it were a completely foreign term.

“Yes, the networks—”

“Exactly!” The stranger pounced on the term. “The network—prime time; you do know. I thought you must. Well, sir, I am the Great Antagonist.”

He stood there in the center of the room, a little puffed up, waiting for the proper response. The look he saw on the faces of the two men must have satisfied him. “I see you are surprised, eh? Never thought to meet me, eh? Well, I’m human, gentlemen; I’ll tell you that. I’m human. And your little advertisement intrigued me. Pure luck that I’d happen to see it, of course. But I just happened to be here. Won’t be for long, though; have to travel elsewhen soon.” He paused and thought for a second.

“If you do find anything,” he continued, “I’ll leave a number that will eventually reach me. Remember: my pay is liberal. And if you can ever find it in your ethical heart to reveal who employs you and why, I should be most fascinated. Most.

“I must take my leave. You can reach me here.” He scribbled a number onto a pasteboard card and twirled it onto the table in front of Ves. “I thank you for your time, gentlemen.” He bowed slightly and exited abruptly. A second later they heard the front door open and close.

Swift went suspiciously into the hall to make sure that their guest had, indeed, departed. When he returned, Ves had fished the gold eagle from his pocket and was examining it under the light.

“Well?” Nate demanded. “Whose picture is on this one?”

“A lady with a turban,” Ves said. “Name of ‘Liberty’, it says here. Get me my handbook of U.S. Coins, will you? In the reference shelf over there—toward the bottom.”

Nate retrieved the indicated book and Ves flipped through it. “Here we are,” he said. “Hm. Hmm.”

“What?”

“It’s a real coin, so says the book,” Ves said.

“That’s a relief,” Nate said.

“Dated 1797,” Ves said. “Very common thing to carry around.”

“Eccentric,” Swift said.

“According to the handbook,” Ves said, “this little circle of gold goes for over two grand these days.”

“What?”

“Two thousand dollars,” Ves said. “I’ll buy dinner. Except that we’ve already eaten dinner. Tomorrow I’ll buy dinner.”

“Crazy,” Swift said. He bent over and picked up the pasteboard the stranger had left.

“I have the faint glimmerings of an idea,” Ves said, “but it’s too nebulous and too insane to discuss just yet.”

“Perhaps this will help,” Swift said, holding the pasteboard card up before Ves’s eyes.

A phone number was neatly printed in ink on the back. On the front:

ALEX: HAMILTON
Attorney