“At least we know he isn’t infallible.”

Bronson grunted. “He’s about as close as you can come.”

Bell poured himself a cup of coffee from a pot sitting on the conference table.

“Our edge is that he doesn’t know his every move is being watched. You will have to be very careful and not make him or his sister wary. If we can stay on his tail the next time he leaves town for a robbery, we have a chance of bringing his crime wave to a halt.”

Bronson looked around the table at his agents. “It looks like we have our job cut out for us, gentlemen. I’ll let you work out your surveillance shifts among yourselves. I received a telegram from Mr. Van Dorn. He said to pull out all the stops. He wants the Butcher Bandit caught, whatever the cost, whatever the effort.”

Bell said to Bronson, “I wonder if you could do me a favor.”

“You have but to name it.”

“Call Cromwell’s office and ask for Marion Morgan. Tell her you’re calling in the strictest confidence and she is to say nothing to no one, including her boss. Tell her to meet you at the northeast corner of Montgomery and Sutter Streets, a block from the Cromwell Bank, during her lunch hour.”

“And if she asks me the purpose?”

Bell made a crooked smile. “Just be vague and tell her it’s urgent.”

Bronson laughed. “I’ll do my best to sound official.”

AFTER THE CONFERENCE, Bell and Carter took a cab to the Southern Pacific freight warehouse. They checked in with the superintendent, looked over the car for damage, and, finding none, signed off the necessary transport paperwork.

“She’s a beauty,” Curtis said admiringly, gazing at the bright red–painted automobile with its gleaming brass radiator topped by a custom-sculpted bronze eagle with wings outspread and a temperature gauge in its chest. Behind the radiator was a barn-roof-cut hood. A big cylindrical gas tank sat mounted behind the two seats. The narrow tires were moored to huge wooden spoked wheels that had sped over the twisting roads of Long Island during the Vanderbilt Cup race.

Bell climbed into the seat behind the big steering wheel, mounted on its long shaft, turned the ignition switch on the wooden dashboard, set the throttle lever on the steering wheel, and moved the spark lever to retard. Next, he took a hand pump and pressurized the fuel tank, forcing gas to the carburetor. Only then did he walk to the front of the car, grip the big crank with his right hand, and heave vigorously. The engine coughed and kicked over on the second try, with a thunderous roar from the exhaust pipe.

Then Bell, joined by Carter, sat in the red leather driver’s seat and advanced the spark as he eased the throttle to an idle position. After releasing the brass hand brake, he pushed in the clutch and pulled the shift lever into first gear. Next, he moved the throttle lever and released the clutch, having attracted a crowd of warehouse workers who cheered as the rakish car rolled forward.