“I’ve heard of such arrangements,” Bell assured him. “What exactly did she say?”

“This German she was with suddenly blurted out something to the effect that the innocent should not die. She asked what he meant. They had been drinking. He fell silent, then blurted some more, as drinkers will, saying that the cause was just, but the methods wrong. Again she asked what he meant. And he broke down and began to weep, and said—and this she claimed to quote exactly—‘The dreadnought will fall, but men will die.’ ”

“Do you believe her?”

“She had nothing to gain coming to me, except a clear conscience. She knows men who work in the yard. She doesn’t want them to be hurt. She was brave enough to confide in me.”

“I must speak with her,” said Bell.

“She won’t talk to you. She doesn’t see any difference between private detectives and cops, and she doesn’t like cops.”

Bell pulled a gold piece from inside his belt and handed it to the saloonkeeper. “No cop ever paid her twenty dollars to talk. Give this to her. Tell her I admire her bravery and that I will do nothing to endanger her.” He turned his gaze sharply on Del Rossi. “You do believe me, Angelo. Do you not?”

“Why do you think I came to you?” said Del Rossi. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Is it enough money?”

“More than she clears in a week.”

Bell tossed him more gold. “Here’s another week. This is vitally important, Angelo. Thank you.”

Her name was Rose. She had offered no last name when Del Rossi arranged for them to meet in the back of his dance hall, and Bell asked for none. Bold and self-possessed, she repeated everything she had told Del Rossi. Bell kept her talking, probing gently, and she finally added that the German’s parting words, as he staggered from the private booth they had rented in a waterfront bar, were, “It will be done.”

“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“I should think so.”

“How would you like to become a temporary employee of the Van Dorn Detective Agency?”

NOW SHE WAS CRUISING the shipyard in a summery white dress and a flowered hat, pretending to be the kid sister of two burly Van Dorn operatives disguised as celebrating steamfitters. A dozen more detectives were prowling the shipyard checking and rechecking the identities of all who were working near the Michigan, particularly the carpenters driving the wedges directly under the hull. These men were required to carry special red passes issued by Van Dorn—instead of New York Ship—in case spies had infiltrated the offices of the shipbuilding firm.