Two hours later when they stopped to change engines in a brightly lighted, cacophonous rail yard in East Buffalo, a Van Dorn detective was waiting to take Bell to the yardmaster’s office. Bell queried him for the latest while the long-distance telephone operators completed the connections.

“Near as we can make out from all the witnesses, Scully was talking to a well-dressed redhead. A football comes flying though the air and hits him on the shoulder. College boys horsing around run up and surround him, apologizing. Someone yells their train is leaving, and they run for it. Scully’s lying on his back like he’s got a heart attack. Bunch of people crowd around to help. Cop comes along, shouts for a doctor. Then you come running up. Then a kid from the New York office. Then you ran after the Limited, and some woman sees the blood and screams, and then the cop is telling everybody to stay where they are. And pretty soon there’s a bunch of Van Dorns running around with notebooks.”

“Where’s the redhead?”

“No one knows.”

“Well-dressed, you say?”

“Stylish.”

“Says who? The cop?”

“Says a lady who’s a manager at Lord and Taylor, which is a very high-tone dry-goods store in New York City.”

“Not dressed like a floozy?”

“High-tone.”

Just when Bell thought he was going to have to run to catch his train, the telephone finally rang. The connection was thin, the wire noisy. “Van Dorn here. That you, Isaac? What do you have?”

“We have one report of a redhead wearing the sort of paint, clothes, and hat you’d expect in an opium den, and another of a redhead dressed like a lady, and both were seen with Scully.”

“Was Scully partial to redheads?”

“I don’t know,” said Bell. “All we ever discussed were lawbreakers and firearms. Did they find his gun?”

“Browning Vest Pocket still in the holster.”

Bell shook his head, dismayed that Scully had been thrown so off balance.

“What?” Van Dorn shouted. “I can’t hear you.”

“I still can’t imagine anyone catching Scully flat-footed.”

“That’s what comes from working alone.”

“Be that as it may—”

“What?”

“Be that as it may, the issue is the spy.”

“Is the spy on that train with you?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“What?”

Bell said, “Tell them to hold on to John Scully’s gun for me.”

Joseph Van Dorn heard that clearly. He knew his detectives well. Now and then, he even thought he knew what made them tick. He said, “It will be waiting for you when you get back to New York.”

“I’ll report from Chicago.”