CHAPTER 4

The exchange had been overheard and made the rounds of office gossip, causing much sneaking laughter at James’s expense.

Gunnison, though, didn’t much enjoy the levity, because he was immersed in worry again about what had happened to Kenton. It was terribly hard to know that Kenton had faked his death and not be able to tell anyone … especially now that he was worried. There was no one in whom he could confide, no one from whom he could seek advice. Kenton had made him vow not to tell anyone, even his wife. He’d kept his promise … mostly. Roxanne did not know Kenton still lived.

But Gunnison had told one other person. It had simply been impossible not to do so, for the sake of his own mental health.

Perhaps there were steps he could take toward finding his answers without further compromising the promise he had made. He thought hard, then stood and went to the shelf for his notepad. He sat down and put his feet upon his desk and began to write, balancing the pad on his crossed legs.

Fifteen minutes later, James lowered the temperature of the room simply by entering the door.

“You’re working, I presume, on the introductory piece for the next edition?”

“It’ll get done, James.”

“It was due, you are aware, three days ago.”

“It’ll get done.”

“Your father entrusted the job to you … a job on which he never ran late.”

“It’ll get done.”

“So that is what you’re working on?”

“No. I’m writing your dismissal letter. It’s very satisfying work.”

“You … my … uh, are you joking with me again, sir?”

“Go ponder on it awhile. Close the door as you leave.”

James turned and walked away, chin up and steps a little too fast. He closed the door … hard. Gunnison shook his head. Poor James! He’d be glad to be friendlier to him if only he would quit being so blasted uppity.

James was right that Gunnison was behind on his work, and no doubt he would hear about it when his father returned from his travels. But just now Gunnison didn’t care. He was writing a letter to Scotland Yard, inquiring about Kenton.…

But as he wrote, his enthusiasm faded. A letter would take a long time to reach England and a longer time again to be answered, if ever it was. This was merely an exercise in activity for the sake of feeling better, and that was all.

Gunnison ripped the paper off the pad, wadded it, and threw it across the room into the rubbish bin, just as the office door opened again and Billy Connery stuck his head in.

“You know, Alex, I’ve been thinking of coming up with some sort of game in which the object would be throwing a ball into a basket of some sort.”

“Nobody would be interested, Billy.”

Billy Connery, Irish-born illustrator who was five years Gunnison’s junior and an employee of the Illustrated American since mere days after Kenton’s supposed death. It hadn’t taken long for him to become Gunnison’s closest friend … and not much longer to become the one living person to whom Gunnison had betrayed the truth about Kenton’s “death.”

Connery entered the office and closed the door behind him. “Having trouble finishing that introductory column, are you?”

“I’ve not started it.”

“What? But it was due days ago!”

“I know that, Billy.”

“Sorry … it’s not my place to point out deadlines to my own boss.”

“That’s not why I’m irritable. I’m just worried.”

“About your wife?”

“No … although I do miss her, very badly.”

Connery lowered his volume significantly. “About Kenton, then.”

“Yes. It’s been too long, Billy. I should have heard from him by now.”

Connery looked at him seriously. “You should tell your father.”

“I can’t. Kenton made me promise firmly. He was very specific that my father in particular was not to know he’s alive.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. He has a strong sense of duty to my father.… Maybe having Father believe he is dead gives him a sense of freedom from that duty, so he can concentrate all his attention on finding Victoria. Whatever the reason, I made a promise to him.”

“You already broke it once, when you told me.”

“I know. I don’t claim to be consistent. I just don’t know what to do, Billy.”

“You’re going to have to go after him, I believe.”

“I’ve been thinking that.”

“You could probably find a professional pretext for going, so that no one would know the true reason for it. And you could take your Irish illustrator friend with you.”

“You’d want to come?”

“It would be a welcome trip for me. And I’m the only person around who can help you, because I’m the only other one besides you who knows.”

“I heard something last night that surprised me,” Kenton said. “I was told that Kenton has been seen in Colorado, in some little mining town I don’t know the name of.”

“It’s not surprising. As famous as Kenton’s face is, there’s bound to be people thinking they see him. They say everyone has someone else who looks like them.”

“Maybe that’s all it is. But I’d heard something similar from someone else earlier.”

“But it’s impossible. Kenton would have contacted you had he returned to the United States.”

“Yes … unless something was very wrong. Unless he had to hide so thoroughly that he couldn’t. Unless things had gone so badly that he cut himself off from everyone he knew before.”

“These are some substantial suppositions to be making on the basis of some rumors, Alex.”

“I realize that. But I’ve got a bad feeling, Billy. Something is wrong … and somehow I’ve got to find out what it is.”

“It does seem something should have been heard by now, I do confess.”

“I think maybe I really will have to go to England.”

“If you do, I truly would like to go with you.”

“We’ll see. I don’t think I’ll make any big decisions. Not until Roxanne gets home.”

“You’ll be glad to see her, eh?” Connery smiled brightly and winked.

“I will. And not just for the reasons you’re obviously thinking about.”