CHAPTER 18

“Beg your pardon, sir.”

Connery turned. The man who’d been reading the newspaper was behind him, smiling in that uncertain way of those who are approaching strangers. It was just the kind of smile Connery would probably have on his face when the door swung open at the Livingston mansion.

“Well, hello. What can I do for you, sir?”

The man laughed, almost a giggle. “You’ll have to pardon me, sir, but I was sitting back on the porch at the telegraph office, and I swear I think I heard you say your name is Billy Connery.”

“That’s right.”

“Oh! Oh, my! Well … that’s something. It is indeed. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, you understand. It’s just that the door was open, and—”

“That’s all right. Do I know you, sir?”

“Oh, no. No. But I think I know you. My name is Jim, Jim Grant. And I’m quite a reader, you see, and my favorite reading has always been Gunnison’s Illustrated American. Me and a million other people, huh? And I have to ask you if you might just happen to be the Billy Connery who works for the Illustrated American. And if you’re not, I’m going to be as embarrassed as a man can be.” The nervous giggle again.

Connery was astonished. Never before had he been recognized by anyone. Among the journalistic stars of the Illustrated American, he shone the dimmest.

“I am with the Illustrated American, yes.” Now it was Connery who wore a silly grin.

“Oh, my. My goodness. I thought it was you. When I heard your name, and heard you say the name of Alex Gunnison, I thought that it really might be you. Oh, my! This is exciting. You’re a talented man, Mr. Connery. I’ve admired your work.”

“I’m surprised you’ve even noticed it.”

“Well, I’ll tell you, sir—”

“Please, call me Billy.”

“Billy, yes. I’ll tell you, Billy, I’m not the average reader. When I get interested in something, or someone, I really get interested. A bit of a fanatic about things, I’m afraid. Get a little obsessed.”

“I see. I’m flattered that you like my work.”

“You know, I think I like your work better than Alex Gunnison’s. I wouldn’t want you to tell him that, though. Was that the Alex Gunnison you were sending a wire to?”

“That was the one.”

“Oh, my. That’s something! Alex Gunnison. I never got the chance to meet him. But I did meet my hero, the greatest one of all.…”

“Brady Kenton?”

“Yes. He even signed a copy of the magazine for me. I have it in a frame now.”

“When did you see him?”

“It was five years ago, in Chicago.”

“Oh.”

“I was so sorry to hear when he died.” The man paused, licking his lips and frowning strangely. “I … I didn’t want to say this … it sounds very foolish … but do you know that I think I’ve seen Brady Kenton … since he died? How’s that for strange?” The giggle was even more nervous-sounding this time.

“Wait.… When did you see him?”

“Well, day before yesterday.”

“Up there?” Connery pointed toward the Livingston mansion.

“No, no, not there. In a boardinghouse dining room, across town. I’d gone in to see if they had a room for my brother, who’s coming to visit week after next, and there he was, sitting at the table and eating. He looked a little different, and I had the impression he didn’t want to be recognized. But I swear it was him! Though I know it couldn’t be, because he’s dead.”

“Can you show me this boardinghouse?”

“Surely … but why?”

“I don’t want to say just now. Do you mind showing me the way?”

The man grinned widely. “It would be an honor!”

“Thank you, Mr. Grant.”

“Please call me Jim.” He stuck out his hand for Connery to shake.

And when he did so, his leather coat gapped open a little and Connery saw that he wore a gun belt. Surprised him; Grant just didn’t seem the kind to be carrying a hidden weapon. But Connery himself had a pistol, and he probably wouldn’t seem the kind to go armed, either. He dismissed the half-second of caution about going off with this stranger.

“What do you do for a living, Jim?” Connery asked as they walked off together.

“I’m a baker,” Grant replied. “Here, turn into this alley.”

The alley was narrow and shadowed. “What is this, some kind of shortcut?” Connery asked.

“That’s right, a shortcut.”

They went into the alley.

“A baker, you say. I’ve got a friend back in St. Louis who’s a baker.”

“Oh, yes. J. R. Randwick. I met him.”

Connery, who was just ahead of Grant, stopped and turned. “You met J. R.?”

“That’s right. But he didn’t know me as Jim Grant. I told him my real name. McCurden.”

“Who the devil are you?” Connery asked, reaching under his jacket for the shoulder-holstered pistol.

McCurden was ahead of him, though. His own pistol came out much more quickly, and he slammed Connery hard on the temple.

Connery collapsed, stunned but not unconscious. McCurden knelt and quickly removed Connery’s pistol from its holster and stuck it under his belt.

“Who am I, you ask? Well, starting right now, I’m you. I’m Mr. Billy Connery. Because you’re no longer going to be around to play that role in the little stage play we call life. I’m honored to be your understudy. You’ve never met Kenton, have you? You were hired after his supposed death. Which means Kenton doesn’t really know you.” He clicked back the hammer of his pistol and aimed it at Connery’s forehead.

But he didn’t fire. He frowned and shook his head. “Nah. Too loud. We’ll do it quietly.”

He put away the pistol and pulled out a long-bladed folding knife. It opened with a click and locked into place.

Connery’s consciousness faded as the knife went up. He was oblivious to it altogether when it descended swiftly toward his chest.

*   *   *

The telegraph operator was dozing in a chair leaned back against the wall when McCurden entered the station.

“Up at attention, Red!” McCurden bellowed, startling the moon faced operator out of his chair so fast he knocked it over. “Got a message to send.”

The operator ran a hand through his hair and tried to regather his dignity. He picked up the chair, dropped it, picked it up again.

“Yes, sir. A message.” He sat down at the key. “What is the name of the recipient?”

“Kevington. Dr. David Kevington. He’s in St. Louis at the moment.” McCurden grinned. “But when he gets this wire, I can assure you, he’ll cut a fast trail to dear old Culvertown.”

The operator had no notion of what any of this meant. He picked up his pad of paper and a pencil.

“You can dictate your message now, sir.”

*   *   *

The message, broken down into pulses of electricity, made its way across the wires to its destination in St. Louis.

Dr. David Kevington was not there to receive it. He had moved on already, following what had seemed a strong but ultimately proved to be a false lead indicating that Brady Kenton and Victoria were in Denver.

The message, though, was picked up by one of two hired investigators who had been instructed to remain behind in St. Louis and keep a close eye on the offices and personnel of the Illustrated American, just in case Brady Kenton decided to come home.

They’d also been instructed to maintain a close vigil on the telegraph wires, in case any other promising information came through from other hired agents such as McCurden, who was following his own leads elsewhere.

The other agents knew that their British employer, virtually a stranger to them, put much stock in McCurden. The man had a record of success as a manhunter and was known to be willing to do whatever it took to achieve his purposes.

McCurden’s wire from Culvertown was in the hand of one of the agents an hour after it arrived and forwarded on to Dr. David Kevington in Denver immediately afterward.

It was delivered to Kevington’s hand as soon as it arrived.

Kevington, a tall, lean, intense man with a thick and unmoving mass of gray hair atop his head and eyes that could cut holes through anyone he chose to glare at, began his preparations for travel as soon as he’d read the wire.

The arrival of this wire at this time and place was a sign, surely, an indication that fate was on his side. Kevington had made a fruitless trip to Denver, following a lead that had petered out to nothing. But now the journey had proven itself worthwhile after all. Being already in Colorado, Kevington would be able to reach Culvertown much more quickly than if he were starting from St. Louis.

And the quicker the better. McCurden’s wire said he had found Brady Kenton and Victoria, too.