The stranger shook his head and grinned. “It took an act of God to get Jack out of bed and the United States Army to get him to work.”

The soldier also tried to put Bell to work picking up bricks from the street, but again Bell showed his Van Dorn identification and moved on. By now, the crowds had scattered and the streets were nearly empty, except for soldiers on horseback, and a few sightseers, who lingered to watch the fires.

In the time it took Bell to walk another eight blocks to Cromwell’s bank, the heart of the city on both sides of Market Street was burning fiercely. The wall of fire was only half a dozen blocks away from the bank when he reached the steps leading up to the huge bronze doors. A young soldier, no more than eighteen years of age, stopped Bell and menaced him with the bayonet on the end of his rifle.

“If you were going to loot the bank, you’re a dead man,” he said in a voice that meant business.

Bell identified himself as a Van Dorn agent and lied, “I’m here to check on the bank, to see if there are any records or currency that can be saved.”

The soldier lowered his rifle. “All right, sir, you may pass.”

“Why don’t you accompany me? I might need some extra muscle to remove anything of value.”

“Sorry, sir,” said the soldier, “my orders are to patrol the street ahead of the flames to prevent looting. I don’t suggest you spend much time inside. It’s only a question of about an hour before the fire reaches this area.”

“I’ll be careful,” Bell assured him. Then he walked up the steps and pushed open one of the doors, which Cromwell fortunately had left unlocked. Inside, it appeared as though the bank were closed for Sunday. The tellers’ windows, desks, and other furniture made it look as if they were just waiting for business to resume on Monday morning. The only apparent damage was to the stained-glass windows.

Bell was surprised to find the vault door open. He entered and quickly saw that most of the currency was missing. Only silver and gold coins, along with some bills, their denominations no higher than five dollars, were still in the tellers’ drawers and in their separate bins and containers. Jacob Cromwell had come and gone. The time Bell had spent helping to save the little boy had kept him from catching Cromwell in the act of removing his bank’s liquid assets.