Jonas McGahey, a dour little man with a bitter mouth framed by graying stubble, arrived on the train from Baltimore a week later. A threadbare black suit, frayed overcoat and a bowler hat pulled down over his brow added to his seedy appearance. An abdominal scar he bore from a bayonet wound inflicted on him at the Old Capitol Prison caused him to slouch to the left when he walked. McGahey had obtained his released from the jail after an exchange for a Union officer held as a prisoner of war by the Confederates. An argument with a Union soldier, a guard at the prison, over the vermin which infested his cell led to a vicious stab inflicted by the guard who lost patience with McGahey’s complaining and his attempt to keep his cell door open after lights out. Sepsis had set in and it appeared he might die when the bayonet wound McGahey suffered seemed not to heal in the filthy and disease-ridden building that housed civil detainees as well as Confederate prisoners of war.
Nate Boyer met him with a horse and buggy at the Canal Street pier when McGahey debarked from the Hoboken Ferry with his scant belongings. The ferry had taken him across the Hudson after the Baltimore and Ohio line deposited him at the terminal on the New Jersey side.
“Need something decoded, do you?” McGahey asked.
“That’s why the boss sent for ya,” Nate answered.
“Think you have a spy in your midst?”
“Don’t know. If ya can decipher the gibberish on the note I caught him hidin’, we’ll find out.”
Nate guided the buggy through the teeming streets of Lower Manhattan toward the warehouse. They completed the rest of the drive in silence. In Simeon’s office, McGahey introduced himself and took a seat opposite Simeon’s desk. Nate stood at the door to insure privacy. Simeon produced Johnny’s coded message. McGahey held up a hand, palm toward the aged counterfeiter. “Before we begin, there’s the matter of my remuneration.”
“Why certainly …” Simeon started to answer.
McGahey interrupted again. “I get reimbursed for the railroad fare – both ways. I get a room paid for, and meals, and my fee for the service you want is fifty dollars.”
“I intended …” Simeon began again.
“Didn’t you exchange telegraph messages about this with the Society in Baltimore before you sent for me?” McGahey snapped.
“I didn’t realize …”
“Who do you think pays for all this?” A wracking cough gripped McGahey. His face contorted and he clutched at his left side. His features had taken on a chalky pallor while he struggled to regain control of himself. “Excuse me, that damned prison has left me half an invalid.” He pushed a soiled handkerchief to his mouth, cleared his throat and began again. “As I was saying …”
“Can we get you something, Mr McGahey? A glass of water, perhaps?” Simeon asked, starting to rise from his chair behind the mahogany desk.
“Yes, a little water would do nicely,” he breathed between coughs.
“Nate, please fetch our guest a glass of water.”
Nate scowled and turned to open the door.
Letitia stepped through the open door and sidled around Nate’s bulky form. “Grandfather, I believe the last load for today has left with the wagon. What should we do with the crews? Do we dismiss them for the day?”
“Before we do that, Letty …”
Letitia stopped to regard the stranger sitting near her grandfather’s desk with the handkerchief to his face.
“Letty, this is a guest from Baltimore. He’s had an attack of coughing. Would you render a kindness and get him a glass of water? A decision about the work crews can wait for the moment.”
With another glance at the little man sitting hunched over with his spasms, she stepped across the office to take an empty glass from Simeon’s desk and left. Nate closed the door.
“Mr McGahey,” Simeon restarted the conversation, “I fully expect to pay for your services. I just didn’t realize the cost at first. Please gather yourself and we’ll get on with our business.”
McGahey regained his composure and said: “The cost of the railroad tickets, the first night’s lodging and …” he said with emphasis, “and – my fee in advance, if you please, Mr Barr.”
Simeon glared with watery blue eyes at the agent from Baltimore. Nate took a step toward him. Simeon extended a palm. “Nate, that will be fine.”
Simeon rose from his chair. “I must go into my inner office for a moment.”
He returned with a handful of cash. He began to count it out. “You said fifty dollars for your fee, plus the railroad ticket. The room with your meals will be five dollars – say I give you seventy-five all together.”
“A caution, Mr Barr, I know what your business is about. Every last cent better be legitimate currency.”
“I think we’re getting off on the wrong foot, Mr McGahey …”
The door opened again, Letitia entered and handed the water to the sickly man.
“Thank you, Miss,” he gasped.
“Grandfather – the work crews?”
“Yes, my dear, hold on to them for a while. There’s something I require before they leave for the day. I’ll be with you momentarily.”
Nate remained blocking the door, his arms folded. He glowered at everyone in the room. Letitia shot him a disdainful look and he stepped aside to let her pass. She closed the door behind her.
“As we were saying Mr McGahey, here’s your money. You may examine it if you like.”
“I know what funny money looks like. I will check it before we go a step further.”
He took a few moments studied each bill closely, stuffed them into his inner jacket pocket and looked at Simeon. “All seems to be in order. These bills will be examined further when I return to Society headquarters. Woe betide if there’s anything wrong.”
“Please, Mr McGahey, may we proceed with our business?”
“Hand over this note or whatever it is,” McGahey rasped.
Simeon slid the paper across the desk, the flimsy sheet by now wrinkled and finger-soiled.
McGahey unfolded it, read for a moment and refolded it. “I’ll take this with me. I’ll have something for you by tomorrow morning. Please have someone take me to my lodgings. I’m tired after my long train ride.”
Simeon glanced at Nate.
“Carriage is all ready and hitched,” Nate said. He looked down at McGahey. “Fetch yer belongings and we’ll be off.”
McGahey rose stiffly, touched the brim of his bowler to Simeon and said: “Until tomorrow.”
“Good day to you, sir,” Simeon’s voice took on a formal tone.
Letitia waited on the loading dock for word from her grandfather as to the disposition of the loading crew. She made a studied attempt to inspect the roof of the building across the way rather than engage Johnny’s eyes. He stood aside and watched the foot and carriage traffic along the Bowery. Nate Boyer and Jonas McGahey emerged from the darkened interior of the warehouse and headed for the buggy with the horse tethered to a railing. While they clambered into the two-seat carriage Nate murmured to McGahey: “The youngster with the cloth cap and the shabby brown jacket, that’s the one who wrote the message.”
McGahey paused to look at Johnny who kept his eyes focused on the middle distance. He did not notice the rumpled little man who regarded him so closely.
McGahey leaned over toward Nate as they took their seats. He whispered: “That kid, I’ve seen him someplace before. I know I have.”
He looked back over his shoulder to glance a second time at Johnny’s profile. Johnny turned slightly, shifting his feet. He looked toward McGahey. Johnny did not recognize the man regarding him so intently with his bowler jammed down on his head and his collar upturned against the chill.
“Give me a while, I’ll remember who that kid is,” McGahey said. “I know it’s nothing good. It was a kid like that got me thrown in the Old Capitol, snoopin’ around while we were talkin’ about ambushin’ Lincoln.”
Nate flicked the reins and the horse started forward. “All I know about him is he showed up one day lookin’ for work and claimin’ to be a Copperhead. There’s somethin’ about him I don’t trust,” he said with a harsh rasp.
“It’ll come to me,” McGahey murmured half to himself. “It’ll come to me.”
Further down along the Bowery, Detective Donellan waited in his one-horse carriage, partially hidden behind a delivery wagon off-loading burlap sacks of lumpy coal to the tenements and merchants that lined the crowded road. When Nate Boyer and his passenger appeared on the loading pier the detective observed a short conversation take place between the two. During this brief pause the man in the bowler hat made an obvious study of Johnny who stood nearby awaiting dismissal from work for the day. The delay in releasing the crews and the appearance of a stranger who took an interest in Johnny, gave rise to suspicion on Donellan’s part. When Nate drove away from the warehouse door with his passenger, Donellan touched the reins to the horse’s back and started after them. He remained a discreet distance behind while Nate navigated the crowded thoroughfare. At a rooming house near Houston Street, Nate stopped and McGahey alit from the carriage. With barely a wave of his hand toward Nate, the little man shuffled through the door carrying his cloth travel bag, exhibiting a decided list to the left side. Donellan sped by. He made a mental note to return and ask the clerk in which room the untidy stranger stayed.
When Nate and McGahey departed, Letitia walked back to Simeon’s office.
He said: “Letty, tag along with that Sullivan kid after you dismiss the men. Butter him up. See if you can get any more out of him about these notes and the girl he’s meeting,”
Letitia twisted her face, showing her chagrin at having to get close to Johnny again. She began to protest: “Grandfather …”
“Now, Letty,” he said, “I need to find out whether he’s up to no good. I keep telling you not to let your emotions get the better of you. Our enterprise here may be at stake. For the sake of everything for which we’ve worked, for our cause, set aside your feelings and try to get some hint of what he’s up to. You know how to do that.”
Letitia pulled her shoulders back, took a breath and turned for the door. She showed her profile for a moment, chin uptilted in a dramatic pose. “Of course, Grandfather,” she said, and left.
Out on the loading dock Letitia announced the end of the work day to the loading crews. They began to drift away.
“Johnny Sullivan,” she called. “Wait a moment.”
Johnny paused. “Yes, Miss Letty?”
“I thought I’d walk a ways with you. Headed for the river again?”
“No, Ma’am, just thought I’d amble along to my boarding house.”
“Why do you insist on being so formal with me? I thought after the other night we would be friends.”
“Sorry, it’s hard for me to break old habits.”
Letty said: “So, you have a secret girl friend you exchange silly notes with.”
“Well, yes, we’ve known each other since school days.”
“She live around here?”
“Not far, just a few blocks away.”
”There you go again, Johnny,” Letty snapped. “Why are you so vague? It’s a simple question. If you don’t want to talk to me, just say so.”
Johnny exhaled: “Actually, she lives over on Mulberry, I’m not sure of the house.”
“Do you meet her often?”
Johnny suddenly on guard, tried to steer the conversation away from discussion of Deirdre. “It’s just a game we play. Her Mama doesn’t care for me much. We just meet to talk. How far are you walking, Miss Letty?”
Letitia placed her gloved hand in his. “Are you sweet on this girl? If you’re not, maybe we could become closer friends. What’s her name, anyway?”
“Her name is Deirdre and we’re just friends,” Johnny said with a touch of exasperation.
Letitia stopped and disengaged her hand from his. “I can see you don’t prefer my company. I’ll just head back to the warehouse.”
“It’s not that, Letty. It’s just …”
“Just what, Johnny Sullivan? You don’t like me, it’s plain to see. Good evening to you.”
Letitia turned and stalked away, headed back to where they had started. Johnny stood and watched her for a moment and resumed his journey back to the rooming house. A threefold disturbance roiled in his head. He hated to treat this woman who evoked such strong emotions in him so rudely. Johnny also recognized the need to force himself to keep Deidre uppermost in his mind, while through it all remember he had duties that should countervail all attachments until he had completed his mission.