Kisley and Fulton caught up with Bell in the spartan Van Dorn office, one large room on the wrong side of Twenty-fifth Street, which was a wide boulevard divided by electric-streetcar tracks. The side of the street that served the legitimate needs of railroad passengers using the station was lined with restaurants, tailors, barbers, soda fountains, ice-cream parlors, and a Chinese laundry, each shaded by a colorful awning. Van Dorn's side housed saloons, rooming houses, gambling casinos, and hotels fronting for brothels.

The office had a bare floor, ancient furniture, and a single window. Decoration consisted of wanted posters, the newest being the two freshly printed versions of the lumberjack's drawing of the Wrecker, with and without the beard, noted by the sharp-eyed Southern Pacific ticket clerk in Sacramento.

Kisley and Fulton had regained their spirits, though Fulton appeared exhausted.

"Clearly," Wally remarked, "the boss doesn't waste money on office space in Ogden."

"Or furnishings," Mack added. "That desk looks like it arrived by wagon train."

"Perhaps it's the neighborhood that appeals, located within spitting distance of Union Depot."

"And spitting they are, on our sidewalk."

Continuing in Weber-and-Fields mode, they went to the window and pointed down at the crowded sidewalk. "Perceive Mr. Van Dorn's genius. The view from this window can be used to instruct apprentice detectives in the nature of crime in all its varieties."

"Come here, young Isaac, gaze down upon our neighboring saloons, brothels, and opium dens. Observe potential customers down on their luck earning the price of a drink or a woman by panhandling. Or, failing to kindle charity, sticking up citizens in that alley."

"Note there, a mustachioed fop luring the gullible with shell games on a folding table."

"And look at those out-of-work hard-rock miners dressed in rags, pretending to sleep on the pavement outside that saloon while actually laying in wait for drunks to roll."

"How long was the man dead?" Bell asked.

"Better part of a day, Doc thinks. You were right about the stabbing. A narrow blade straight through his neck. Just like Wish and the Glendale yard bull."

"So if the Wrecker killed him, he could not have left Ogden before last night. But no one saw him buy a ticket."

"Plenty of freights in and out," ventured Wally.

"He is covering mighty long distances in a short time to rely on stealing rides on freights," said Mack.

"Probably using both, depending on his situation," said Wally.

Bell asked, "Who was the murdered man?"

"Local owlhoot, according to the sheriff. Sort of a real-life Broncho Billy--our chief suspect ... Sorry, Isaac, couldn't resist." Fulton nodded at the wanted poster.

"Keep it up and I won't resist asking Mr. Van Dorn to post Weber and Fields to Alaska."

"... Suspected of knocking over a stagecoach up in the mountains last August. The cinder dicks caught him robbing a copper-mine payroll off the Utah and Northern ten years ago. Turned in his partners for a lighter sentence. Looks like he knew Jake Dunn from prison."