Nathaniel gathered members of the local police and the ship’s crew and described the man who worried him. “He’s around five foot ten and between sixty and seventy years old, carrying a canvas satchel and a plaid coat. He’s white, with a receding hairline and a stocky build.” He surveyed the four crew members who’d gathered to help. The oldest and least intimidating of the lot was an elderly man wearing a steamboat uniform and a nametag identifying him as Josiah Wilbert. “I want to detain him, and I want you to do it, Mr. Wilbert.”

“Me?” the old sailor asked in surprise.

Nathaniel nodded. “You’re in a uniform for the steamboat, so you won’t alarm him like a police officer might. Tell him he has been selected for a special meeting, and there’s a free meal for him at the embarkation port. I don’t care how you persuade him to come, but I need him back there, and I don’t want him to be alarmed. Can you do it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Be respectful. He hasn’t done anything wrong yet, but I need to know why he’s following us.”

Nathaniel and Sullivan quickly put a plan together, and then he spun the cylinder on his pistol to confirm it was fully loaded and holstered the weapon. The McKinleys were in a secure location, and he gave permission to lower the gangway.

Mr. Wilbert was the first one out, with Nathaniel following a few steps behind. The scowling man was at the front of the crowd, and Mr. Wilbert headed toward him, Nathaniel loitering behind.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Mr. Wilbert said.

The scowling man said nothing, just gave a brief nod of acknowledgment.

“A handful of guests have been selected to be treated to a meal in the canteen, and you’re on the list. Would you care to follow me?”

The scowl vanished, replaced with a look of hopeful optimism. “Did the president ask to meet me?”

“I’m not sure how you got selected,” Mr. Wilbert hedged. “Please follow me.”

The scowling man followed Wilbert toward the canteen, and Nathaniel arrived a few minutes later. It was cooler inside the open-air restaurant, with fans overhead to keep the air moving. A slight breeze came in from the river running alongside the canteen. Most of the tables were already occupied, but Mr. Wilbert found an open table for the scowling man.

Nathaniel gestured for Mr. Wilbert to leave with a quick flick of this head. He counted a dozen heartbeats, then approached the man’s table. “It looks as if we’ll be sharing this table,” he said companionably as he took a seat across from the stranger. “I’m Nathaniel Trask. And you are?”