"He may be an anarchist."

"I know. But why kill so many people? In fact," he mused, "it's almost as if he is trying to sow terror. But what does he gain by sowing terror?"

Marion answered, "The public humiliation of the Southern Pacific Railroad Company."

"He is certainly achieving that," said Bell.

"Maybe instead of thinking like a radical or an anarchist or a madman, you should think like a banker."

"What do you mean?" He looked at her, uncomprehending.

Marion answered in a clear, steady voice. "Imagine what it is costing Osgood Hennessy."

Bell nodded thoughtfully. The irony of "thinking like a banker" was not lost on a man who had turned his back on an obligatory career in his own family's powerful bank. He touched her cheek. "Thank you," he said. "You've given me a lot to ponder."

"I'm relieved," said Marion, and teasingly added, "I'd rather you ponder than get into gunfights."

"I like gunfights," Bell bantered back. "They focus the mind. Though in this case we may be talking about sword fights."

"Sword fights?"

"It's very strange. He killed Wish and another man with what appears to be some kind of sword. The question is: how does he get the drop on a man with a gun? You can't hide a sword."

"What about a sword cane? Plenty of men in San Francisco carry sword canes for protection."

"But just unsheathing it, drawing the blade out of the cane, would give a man with a gun all the time he needed to shoot first."

"Well, if he comes after you with a sword, he'll be sorry. You fenced for Yale."

Bell shook his head with a smile. "Fenced, not dueled. There's a big difference between sport and combat. I recall my coach, who had been a duelist, explaining that the fencing mask hides your opponent's eyes. As he put it, the first time you fight a duel, you are shocked to meet the cold gaze of a man who intends to kill you."

"Were you?"

"Was I what?"

"Shocked." She smiled. "Don't pretend to me you've never fought a duel."

Bell smiled back. "Only once. We were both very young. And the sight of spurting red blood soon convinced us that we didn't really want to kill each other. In fact, we're still friends."

"If you're looking for a duelist, there can't be too many of them left in this day and age."

"Likely, a European," mused Bell. "Italian or French."

"Or German. With one of those horrible Heidelberg scars on his cheek. Didn't Mark Twain write that they pulled the surgeon's stitches apart and poured wine in their wounds to make the scars even uglier?"

"Probably not a German," said Bell. "They're known for the plunging blow. The thrust that killed Wish and the other fellow was more in the style of an Italian or a Frenchman."

"Or the student of?" Marion suggested. "An American who went to school in Europe. There are plenty of anarchists in France and Italy. Maybe that's where he became one."