“Now that the cat is away, how about the mouse coming out and play—say, for lunch?”

“I’m game.”

“I’ll pick you up in front of the bank.”

“I’ll meet you where we met before,” she said without hesitation. “I don’t want our relationship to be obvious. If any of the employees see me getting in your flashy red car, they’re liable to talk, and it will get back to Jacob.”

“Same time, same place,” he said before he hung up.

Later that morning, a Western Union messenger came running into the office. “I have an urgent message for a Mr. Horace Bronson,” he said to the receptionist, gasping because of his dash from the Western Union office.

Bronson, who was coming back from the bathroom down the hall, said, “I’m Bronson.

I’ll take it.” He flipped the messenger a coin and tore open the envelope. As he read the message, his lips tightened and his forehead turned into a hard frown. He rushed through the office until he came to Bell.

“We’re in trouble,” he announced.

Bell looked at him questioningly. “Trouble?”

“My man lost Cromwell.”

Bell faltered, taken completely off balance. “How could he lose him on a train?”

“Cromwell must have gotten on the train and immediately jumped off the opposite side without being seen.”

“Your agent should have alerted us sooner,” Bell snapped, anger flaring.

“The train had departed the station and he couldn’t get off until it stopped in San Jose,” Bronson explained. “He sent a telegram from there.”

“He could have saved thirty minutes by using the telephone.”

Bronson shrugged helplessly. “The phone lines are unreliable and in constant repair.”

Bell sank into a chair, stunned and furious at having the rug pulled out from under him. “He’s going to rob and kill again,” he said, his face flushed with frustration.

“The bastard is rubbing it in our faces.”

“If we only knew where,” said Bronson, overcome with defeat.

Bell walked over to the window and looked across the roofs of the city buildings.

He stared without seeing, lost in thought. Finally, he turned. “Cromwell is taunting us,” he said slowly. “He expects us to run around like chickens with our heads cut off, wondering where he went.”

“He’s obviously heading in the opposite direction he told his secretary.” Bronson gave Bell a hard stare. “Unless she’s lying.”

Bell didn’t meet his stare. The possibility crossed his mind, too. He merely shook his head. “No, I’m certain Marion told the truth.”

Bronson walked over to a map of the United States hanging on one wall. He stared at it, perplexed. “I doubt if he’ll head north into Oregon or Washington. He probably doubled back to the Ferry Building, crossed the bay, and took a train heading east.”

A smile slowly began to curve and spread across Bell’s face. “I’ll bet my Locomobile Cromwell is still heading south.”

Bronson looked at him. “Why would he continue south if he literally threw us off the track?”