The Remittance Kid Part 5

Reaching the small, but clean and respectable establishment at which the Rebel Spy was staying had presented time-consuming difficulties. It was not the kind of place where an unmarried female guest could entertain - no matter how innocently, or for what worthy a cause - a member of the opposite s.e.x in her room after night had fallen. Her unconventional attire had ruled out the possibility of them hailing one of the few cabs they had seen in the comparatively low-rent district they were traversing. Instead, they had behaved - with the Kid resuming his Irish accent - like an ordinary couple out for a stroll. If the way they had kept in the shadows, avoiding other pedestrians, had been noticed as they were retracing the route by which she had made her way to the theatre, it aroused no comment and was probably thought to be for another reason. On reaching the hotel, they had been compelled to wait outside until granted an opportunity to slip in un.o.bserved.

'Now,' Belle said, after her instructions regarding the seating arrangements had been carried out. 'What do you know about this business, Rem?'

'I haven't been formally introduced to any of them, fortunately,' the Kid replied. 'But I've heard the Gorr-Kauphins are well thought of in some theatrical circles. That chappie Fourmies, or some such froggie name, is an artist; although I must say his work's not to my well developed taste. I don't know anything about art, dear girl, but I do like a painting to look what it's supposed to be.'

'Mercy, doesn't his work?' Belle inquired, exuding what appeared to be genuine naivete and feeling certain that, despite his drawlingly bored tones, the Englishman knew far more than he had implied.

'From what I've seen of it, I think he's trying to prove an old saying we have in the Rifle Brigade, to whit, "Bull - excreta - baffles brains",' the Kid answered, as if imparting serious information. 'I'm afraid I can't tell you much about the Colonial priest, but perhaps you can enlighten me?'

'I'm sorry, Rem, but I can't,' Belle said, sitting on the dressing-table. 'There are priests and even one or two higher in the Catholic Church's hierarchy actively engaged in supporting Irish Republicans, but I can't remember having heard his name mentioned among them. Is there any more you can tell me about the others?'

'The Gorr-Kauphins, Fourmies and a Belgian chappie called Marcel Tinville are prominent in anarchist circles in Europe,' the Kid obliged, having sufficient respect for the girl to accept she had spoken the truth with regards to her lack of knowledge where 'Father Devlin' was concerned. 'When word reached us in Was.h.i.+ngton that they were coming, it was decided that I should toddle along and see if I could find out to what your country owed the honour. Missed them in New York, though, and when I arrived here, they were a.s.sociating with our reverend friend. Been loafing around this part of the jolly old city ever since, spending the British tax payers' money rather lavishly to help me make a few friends.'

'You'd have to spend money to make friends if you will insist on wearing that horrible nose,' Belle warned with a gravity she was far from feeling. 'Seeing it was how I recognised you.'

'I'll have you know, dear girl, that nose has been in our family for generations,' the Kid protested. Then, with scarcely a change in his tone, he became serious and returned to business. 'Anyway, it helped me to learn about tonight's little entertainment and I managed to get myself invited.'

'Did you enjoy it?' Belle inquired, thinking how much the Englishman's dry sense of humour, banter and other sterling qualities resembled those of two young Texans, the Ysabel Kid and the boy whose only name was Waco,1 with whom she had been involved - not for the first time in either's case2 - during the strange events centred around the Island Mission on the Rio Grande which had been responsible for his presence in the United States.

'I've had more enjoyable experiences,' the Kid admitted. 'Such as the time I caught the Malta Dog - ?'

'The what?' Belle could not prevent herself from saying.

'The Malta Dog, dear girl. It's a nasty little tummy upset one gets in the Mediterranean if one isn't careful what one eats and drinks. Makes one go very frequently and with a need for haste when it strikes.'

'I wish I hadn't asked.'

'You wouldn't have needed to ask if you'd ever had it, old thing,' the Kid stated with feeling, being aware of what it was like to be afflicted by the mild form of dysentery known to British travellers in the Mediterranean as the 'Malta Dog'. 'Anyway, I sat through a message-impregnated play, which I must say the rest of the audience found as incomprehensible and boring as I did. Its epilogue was what should have been a rousing "hate the British aristocracy" speech by Miss Gorr-Kauphin, except that it was spoiled when some blighter pointed out that she happens to be both British and an aristocrat.'

'I always thought you might be a "blighter",' Belle smiled, knowing that beneath the levity and almost bored way of speaking, Great Britain had few better, more loyal, resourceful, or courageous servants than the Remittance Kid. 'Whatever that may be.'

'One does one's humble best, dear girl. And, having done it, I decided to slip silently away.'

'Because you're so humble?'

'Partly. But mainly because I thought it might spoil the effect I'd created if somebody had an opportunity to point out I'm English, if not too aristocratic, myself?'

'What about your aunt, isn't she the Dowager d.u.c.h.ess of Brockley?'

'Oh she's aristocratic all right,' the Kid admitted, so soberly they might have been discussing a matter of the greatest importance. 'But, unfortunately, I'm from a very cadet branch of the family.'

'And - ?' Belle prompted, after the Englishman had made the explanation and relapsed into silence for a few seconds.

'And what, dear girl?' the Kid countered, oozing a lack of comprehension which was almost convincing, but not quite.

'I can understand why you would want to leave before you were identified, dear boy,' Belle elaborated. 'But, having seen them helping that man of Branigan's from the alley and remembering where you were making for when we met, I wondered if you might have been coming to find out whether Tinville had told you the truth about what was in Vera's dressing-room.'

'I don't like to raise the matter, old thing, but it isn't done to call a chap "dear boy",' the Kid warned. 'It could get him talked about in a rather nasty way. Who's this "Tinville"?'

'You mentioned him by his Christian name just now,' Belle pointed out, showing no annoyance at the other's pretended ignorance. 'Which is more than I knew about him when we first met. I decided he was worth cultivating when I saw he wasn't on the best of terms with Fourmies and Father Devlin. It seemed Fourmies and he didn't see eye to eye on who should be Colin Gorr-Kauphin's best friend and the Father didn't appreciate or treat him with sufficient respect. Anyway, to cut a long story short, he offered to sell me information which my "gennelman friend" who's a burglar could use and fix things so he could get inside the theatre to make use of it.'

'Did he tell you what the money was to be used for?' the Kid inquired.

Being aware of the Rebel Spy's ability to make contacts and elicit information, the Englishman was not surprised that she had located Tinville. Nor that she had convinced him of her 'criminal gentleman friend's' existence as a means of winning his confidence.

'I insisted on it. As I told him, my loving man surely wasn't about to hand over no thousand lil ole Yankee dollars unless he knew what he was getting into,' Belle replied, her voice changing to the accent of a Southron from a much lower social level during the explanation and suggesting the part she had played. Resuming her normal tone, she went on, 'He said it was money collected to help Irish rebels throw the British out of Ireland, but that Father Devlin and Vera Gorr-Kauphin intended to keep it for themselves.'

'He told me pretty much the same, except that he thought I was an Orangeman who was spying on them,' the Kid remarked. 'But I got the feeling there might be more to it than he was saying.'

'So did I,' Belle confessed. 'And I decided it would be advisable to go and see if I could find out for myself what it might be, rather than frighten him off by trying to make him tell me. I also thought that, if nothing more, I'd be able to take the money away with me; but Colin Gorr-Kauphin came in and spoiled that notion.'

'I had something along those lines in mind myself, old thing,' the Kid declared. 'But, being a mere visitor in your fair country, I wasn't able to equip myself as well as you have done: That was quite a conflagration you started. Would it be impolite if one asked what you used?'

'A Greek fire concoction containing pieces of phosphorous which ignite when exposed to the air,'3 Belle answered, having no doubt that the British Secret Service used similar aids to incendiarism, but she did not offer to say from where she had obtained the supply. 'It's an effective combination. By the time they managed to put it out, the banknotes would have been destroyed completely and the majority of the coins so badly marked they'll be easy to identify no matter where they show up.'

'What will the United States Congress have to say when they hear about your little effort?' the Kid inquired, and the concern in his voice was not a.s.sumed. 'There are members with the Irish vote to consider who might feel you've exceeded your authority.'

'I won't mention it to them and neither will General Handiman,' Belle replied. 'Some of your own politicians might not be too happy over what I've done, if it comes to that.'

'Some of them might not,' the Kid admitted. 'But it wouldn't have stopped me doing as you did if it had been necessary. I've spent quite some time in Ireland and I like the Irish people, they're among the most friendly, hospitable, good hearted and generous in the world. And I'd be the last to pretend there aren't oppressions being carried out, even if nowhere near as many as dear Vera would have everybody believe. But I can't see how a b.l.o.o.d.y civil war costing hundreds, if not thousands, of lives on both sides will solve anything. So, no matter what any blasted politician might want, regardless of his motives, I'll do all I can to stop it.'

'Speaking of motives,' Belle said, realising that only genuine sincerity would have caused the Englishman to drop his laconic pose and therefore concluding that she no longer needed to wonder whether their interests in the affair would be compatible. 'Why do you think the Gorr-Kauphin crowd are involved?'

'You know what their kind are like, dear girl. They're going to build a brave new world they can rule and make it a better place for the likes of you and I.'

'I doubt whether they would consider you and I as suitable to live in it, dear boy - sorry, new habits die hard too. Are they active in Irish affairs?'

'They, or some like them, have a finger in every pie.'

'That's true,' Belle admitted. 'But I'd have thought they would be able to achieve more in either England or Ireland.'

'Possibly,' the Kid replied. 'But it's safer to be an agitator over here - And more lucrative too, by all accounts.'

'That's true,' Belle conceded, knowing that - particularly in Chicago with its large Irish population - there was much support and considerable fund raising for the cause of liberating Ireland from British rule. So agitating in the city would be less dangerous than in either home country. However, she was convinced the matter went deeper than that. 'Anyway, I don't see why we should sit here trying to decide what they're up to. There's one person who might be able to enlighten us.'

'Tinville?' the Kid suggested, having arranged to meet the young Belgium actor and pay the rest of the sum which had been demanded for the betrayal if the information proved correct, and surmising the Rebel Spy had a similar arrangement.

'I was thinking of Colin Gorr-Kauphin,' Belle corrected, with the mild and innocent aura which those who knew her realised meant she was at her most deadly. 'After all he's been through tonight, I'm sure he'd appreciate a soothing hand on his brow and then, out of grat.i.tude, he might be willing to bare the secrets of his guilty little soul.'

'If I was a betting man, a folly to which I must confess I'm not addicted,' the Kid commented. 'I'd take the odds I could say whose soothing hand it will be. Unless, of course, somebody else has the same idea.'

'Not Captain O'Halloran, surely?' Belle asked, standing up. 'I can't see him making a competent investigation, even if Father Devlin and dear Vera would want him to.'

'I wasn't thinking of him, old thing,' the Kid objected. 'Rather of them. They know her brother far better than we do and I doubt whether they will consider him staunch or reliable. So, knowing that if he lives, he'll talk, they could decide to make sure he won't be able to.'

'It isn't likely,' Belle stated. 'I don't doubt they would kill him, or that she would be influenced by him being her brother if it was necessary. But, with O'Halloran in charge of the investigation, they won't think they have anything to fear. At the most, she'll go to the hospital and stay with him until he recovers and make sure he knows what to say if he should be asked."

'Then she might be there when we arrive,' the Kid pointed out.

'Possibly,' Belle answered. 'But Tinville told me my "boy friend" would have to do the robbery tonight as the money was to be removed after the show and I doubt whether Vera would trust even a priest to do that unless she was with him. Anyway, I think it's worth going to the hospital and seeing what we can learn.'

'So do I, dear girl,' the Kid seconded. 'But are you suitably dressed for doing it?'

'As a very good friend of mine would say,' Belle drawled, glancing down at her masculine attire; although the contours of her slender body removed any suggestion of there being a person of the male gender in it. 'What's wrong with the way I'm dressed?'

'Not a thing, as far as I'm concerned, dear girl,' the Kid replied, in a tone that contrived to be both laconic and emphatic, wondering to which friend the Rebel Spy was referring and drawing an erroneous conclusion over the s.e.x of the unnamed arbiter of feminine costume.4 'But it's hardly what one would expect of somebody, even a lady as lovely as yourself, to wear while laying a soothing hand on one's brow.'

'I yield to your superior wisdom, kind sir,' Belle smiled, crossing the room and opening the wardrobe. 'Let's see if I can find something more suitable.'

'Do you want me to leave while you change?' the Kid inquired, watching the beautiful young woman unlocking a large trunk and removing some of its contents.

'That won't be necessary,' Belle replied, placing the items of feminine clothing and a hat box on the bed. From the latter, she lifted a natural looking fiery red wig, a small bottle of spirit gum and a small container which proved to hold pieces of adhesive plaster. 'You're such a gentleman I don't even need to ask you to turn your back.'

'I'm not sure that was a compliment,' the Kid protested, after the Rebel Spy had completed the alterations to her appearance. 'Shall we go, dear girl?'

'One can hardly wait, dear boy,' Belle answered and picked up her parasol.

1 New readers can find details regarding the careers of the Ysabel Kid and Waco in the author's CIVIL WAR, FLOATING OUTFIT and WACO series. J.T.E.

2 New readers, see APPENDIX ONE, Footnotes 7,8,9,10, and 11. J.T.E.

3 Alvin Dustine 'Cap' Fog's records establish that the 'Greek fire concoction' was based upon the composition of benzole, crude petroleum, coal tar, turpentine, residium and coal oil used in the 'Sh.e.l.l, Liquid Fire' projectile patented by Alfred Berney of Jersey City, New Jersey, on November the 11th, 1862 (Patent No. 36,834). The No. 76 S.I.P. (Self Igniting Phosphorus) gla.s.s bottle hand grenade issued to the British Armed Forces and Home Guard during World War II employed a similar method of detonation. However, its additives were benzine - a colourless derivative of petroleum - and the compound of jellied aluminium soap powder and oil known as 'napalm'. J.T.E.

4 The ident.i.ty of Miss Boyd's friend is disclosed in: THE WHIP AND THE WAR LANCE. J.T.E.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

I STARTED THE FIRE.

'We've come to ask how that poor Mr Gorr-Kauphin's getting on, sir,' Captain Patrick Reeder informed the uniformed porter who was standing behind the reception desk in the entrance hall of the Streeterville Munic.i.p.al Hospital. For the visit, he had reverted to speaking with a County Londonderry accent. Claiming that it complemented Belle Boyd's wig and clothes, he had donned his false nose before leaving the Carrick Hotel. 'Sure and wasn't it the terrible thing that happened to him?'

When the Rebel Spy and the Remittance Kid had entered by the open double front doors they had found the hall well illuminated, but deserted except for the porter. Although she was now wearing a black jacket and skirt which had been carefully padded to give the impression that she was a much bulkier woman, in order to conceal the masculine attire she had retained, she also wore the Kerry coat. She had not worn the two-piece costume when visiting O'Malley's Grand Emerald Isle Theatre because, despite the garments having been made to meet with the special requirements of her work, she had antic.i.p.ated there could be a need for greater freedom of movement than they would permit. In view of what had happened, she considered that the omission had been justified.

'Are you friends of his?' challenged a voice from behind the couple, causing them to turn and sending the Kid's right hand beneath his jacket in the same casual-seeming manner that had misled Shamus O'Toole.

A single glance at the two men who were coming into the hall from a side entrance supplied Belle with all the information she required. She recognised the burly, heavily moustached driver of the buggy which had followed Captain O'Halloran's rockaway coach for what he was, a detective. More important, she identified his companion.

'Is your poor back still hurting, honey?' Belle inquired solicitously, reaching with her left hand to close over the Englishman's jacket in a way that would prevent him from being able to draw the Webley R.I.C. revolver. However, she did not take her eyes from the more slender of the new arrivals and went on, 'Why land's sakes a-mercy! Aren't you-all Cap'n Dusty Fog's good friend, Lieutenant Edward Ballinger of the Chicago Police Department, sir?'

'I am,' Ballinger admitted, having observed the Kid's action and drawn an accurate conclusion as to what was going on. He had learned various aspects of practical gun handling from the noted authority on the subject whose name had just been mentioned by the beautiful young woman.1 He found her as intriguing as the possibilities raised by her companion's apparently innocuous behaviour. While her clothes did not appear to be of better quality than might have been expected in the area, she spoke with the accent of a well-educated Southron and her question was clearly intended as a warning. Walking closer warily, he continued, 'And, like I said, are you friends of Mr Gorr-Kauphin?'

'More like admirers, your honour,' the Kid corrected, taking the hint and bringing his empty hand into view. 'Sure and after all the good and enjoyable doings at the O'Malley's, we thought it only right we should call in and ask after himself's health as we was pa.s.sing.'

'Then I reckon you'd better come across to that office over there and tell me what good admirers you are,' Ballinger stated, holding himself in a position of readiness which would allow him to draw the Webley Bulldog revolver from its forward tilted holster on the right side of his waist belt.

'If that's what you're wanting, sir,' the Kid a.s.sented, taking note of the lieutenant's posture and realising what was meant by it.

'We do,' Ballinger confirmed. 'Don't we, Sergeant Molloy?'

'That we do, lieutenant,' the burly detective seconded, clenching two ham-like fists.

'Sure and haven't I always been the one to do anything a police officer was wanting me to do,' the Kid declared. 'Would you lead the way, sir?'

'After you' Ballinger countered with a faint grin.

'Whatever you say, sir,' the Kid replied, taking Belle's arm and escorting her towards the door that had been indicated. 'Don't be worrying now, Bridget-darlin', there's no cause for alarm.' Lowering his voice, he went on, 'Is he good?'

'He was trained by Dusty Fog,' the Rebel Spy answered, also sotto voce, deducing correctly that her companion was referring to Ballinger's ability as a gun fighter rather than a detective. Her voice implied that she believed no better recommendation was needed, but she added a compliment. 'And, as I didn't want either of you to get hurt when there's no need for it, I thought a word to the wise was required.'

A lamp was lit in the small office to which the lieutenant had directed Belle and the Kid. Following them in, he asked them to take the two chairs at the far side of the desk. As they obeyed, he perched his rump on the desk and Molloy leaned a shoulder against the side of the door.

'All right, who are you?' Ballinger inquired. 'That nose's good, mister, but it's not the one you were born with.'

'Land's sakes, I should hope it wouldn't be,' Belle put in, before the Kid could reply. She was aware that he had donned the nose as much because of her earlier derogatory comments about it as to change his appearance. 'But I wish the gentleman I work for was here. He'd be a handy man to have around at a moment like this.'

'Would he be a general handy man, or a special one?' Ballinger asked, stiffening slightly and looking with even greater care at the girl.

'The special one,' Belle confirmed, delighted at the way in which the craggy-faced detective had drawn the requisite conclusion.

'Do you reckon you could get us some coffee, Rory?' Ballinger requested, looking over his shoulder.

'Shouldn't be too hard, lieutenant,' Molloy answered, showing no surprise. 'Terry Nolan behind the desk there and we walked a beat together before he retired. Is there any rush for it?'

'Nothing special,' Ballinger replied and, after the sergeant had left, closing the door as he went, swung his gaze to the couple. 'It's not that I don't trust him, but I reckon anybody who works for that "general handy man" wouldn't want too many people knowing about it. Mind telling me who you are?'

'My name is Belle Boyd,' the Rebel Spy introduced, having noticed that the lieutenant had continued to make the play on her superior's name into three separate words. 'But I'm afraid I can't offer you any verification of it.'

'I've heard tell about you, Miss Boyd,' Ballinger answered, sounding almost casual. Then, thinking of his theory regarding how Colin Gorr-Kauphin had been injured, he added, 'They reckon you're pretty good at that French foot fighting, savate or however it's called.'

'I know something about it,' Belle admitted.

'More than just something, according to what Betty Hardin2 told me,' Ballinger corrected. 'She reckons you're as good at it as Dusty Fog is with those fancy fighting tricks he learned from Ole Devil's Chinese valet.'

'General Hardin doesn't have a Chinese valet,' Belle pointed out, sensing that the comment had been worded as a test for her veracity. 'Tommy Okasi claims he is "Nipponese" and was brought here by General Hardin's father from j.a.pan.'3 'By golly, you're right, he does!' Ballinger conceded, but nothing in his demeanour gave a clue as to whether or not he regarded the correction as proof of the Rebel Spy's bonafides. 'Without seeming nosey, except that doing it's my duty, you've only answered half of my question.'

'This is Captain Patrick Reeder of the Rifle Brigade,' Belle introduced hoping the Englishman would realise that their only hope of obtaining the grim-faced, very competent detective's co-operation was by being frank.

'I've heard of you, Colonel Boyd,' Ballinger declared, the use of the Rebel Spy's official rank combining with the tone of his voice to suggest that he approved of whatever information he had received. However, there was a noticeably less cordial timbre to his words as he turned his attention to the other man. 'Pleased to meet you, Captain Reeder. Only I don't recollect ever having heard of a Rifle Brigade - in the U.S. Army.'

'Neither have I, old boy,' the Kid admitted, once again following his companion's lead in how to treat the detective and reverting to his British upper cla.s.s manner of speaking. 'And, even if there is one, I don't have the honour to serve with it. We are the 95th Regiment of Foot and I hold my commission from Her Britannic Majesty, Queen Victoria.'

'And you're over here on a vacation, I reckon,' Ballinger commented.