Brown said, “A few old squirrel rifles, a Civil War pistol or two, a couple of one-bang shotguns. Like that.”

Rountree leaned forward, squinting, as if to bring their words into focus. “No organization? No leaders? No plan to take the polling places?”

Smith scratched his head with the sharp end of the pencil. “Somebody’s been filling your head full of tall tales, Mr. Rountree. Sure, there’s a half-dozen hotheads, big talkers. Winged some stones at streetcars after Mr. Dowling’s tour, then ran like hell. Maybe one of ’em will get up the nerve to throw a rock through your window some dark night. Maybe.”

“But we understood there were hundreds—”

“They had a church meeting. You know how they do—jump up and razzle-dazzle around. Ain’t no harm.”

“Didn’t come to nothing,” Brown agreed. “Lot of hot air. One fellow with a big mouth, preacher man, but I’ve seen his kind before. When things get hot, they turn tail and skedaddle. Couple of Sunday-school teachers with birches could keep that whole Darktown buttoned up.”

“So you’re not expecting a riot?” Rountree asked. He had to be sure they were all talking about the same thing. Colonel Walker Taylor would want to know. So would Hugh MacRae.

Smith chuckled. “Not unless you start it.” He flipped open his notebook. “You don’t believe me, look it up. Times, dates, places. All the places where nothing was happening, all the times when nobody was up to anything. It’s yours, anyhow—you paid for it.” He tossed the notebook onto Rountree’s polished desk.

“Names?”

“All the names of all the coloreds who weren’t up to no good,” Brown interjected, grinning.

“You’re looking for the bogeyman, Mr. Rountree,” Smith said. “Well, he don’t live in Brooklyn. All you got in Brooklyn is a whole lot of factory niggers who just want to be left alone.”

“You agree with this report?” Rountree said to Brown.

Brown shrugged. “Don’t know how you-all did it, but you’ve raised the tamest collection of niggers this side of the grave. They’ll sit still for anything, long as you let ’em work. My advice is leave ’em be.”

Rountree showed the Pinkerton men out. Was this good news or bad news? One thing was sure: it surprised him. He had been preparing to defend his home and city against hordes of black vandals with guns. According to the Pinkertons, they could take this thing easy. Turn down the flame a bit. All those guns and speeches—maybe they’d overreacted.

This would take some hard thinking. The whites were lathered up, and the blacks were lying down. Keep Waddell in check, Rountree thought. Let it roll on nice and easy. Think about Raleigh, the statehouse, a bigger world than this.