Even her chauffeur was on hand to drive her home, waiting in the Rolls-Royce out front, parked in a zone where no vehicle was allowed. A court magistrate miraculously appeared to sign the necessary release papers. It seemed to a reporter, who happened to be present covering a burglary case, that Margaret’s arrest and almost-instant release were a staged formality.

Meanwhile, Bronson and his agents had driven the ambulance carrying Cromwell onto the ferry that took them across the bay to Marin County. After moving off the dock, they drove to the state prison at San Quentin. As Bronson had claimed, the warden was very cooperative and even proud to have the famous Butcher Bandit in his prison until Bell and Bronson could orchestrate an arraignment.

After Bell left the telegraph office, he walked to Cromwell’s bank. He took the elevator up to the main office and approached Marion’s desk. “Get your hat,” he said without preamble in a no-nonsense tone. “You’re taking the rest of the day off.”

She faltered, taken completely off balance by his sudden appearance after three days. Her sensual feelings toward him came flooding back. She could see that there was no arguing with him, yet she said, “I just can’t leave when I feel like it. I could lose my job.”

“Your job is already lost. Your boss is behind bars.” He walked around her desk and pulled her chair out so she could stand.

She rose slowly and stared at him, dazed. “What are you saying?”

“The show is over. I’m holding Cromwell until we obtain the necessary warrant for his arrest and documents for an indictment.”

Almost as if she were moving in a fog, she retrieved her hat and purse from a cabinet behind her desk and then stood there unsure of what else to do. Her eyes slipped away and she stared hesitantly at the floor, disbelieving. She had never thought it possible that Jacob Cromwell, regardless of his crimes, was vulnerable.

Bell had seen Marion’s cheeks blush before and he was always taken by the demure reaction. He took her hat from her fingers and placed it on her head at a jaunty angle. “I like that,” he said, laughing.

“Well, I don’t,” she said with womanly irritation in her voice as she straightened the hat to its proper position on her lovely head of hair. “Where are you taking me?”

“Down to the beach, where we can walk in the sand and have a long talk about recent events.”

“Are we taking your fancy automobile?”

She was surprised at the pained look that crossed his face. “I’m afraid we won’t be taking it anywhere anytime soon.”

35