"And Mr. Moser of Providence, the mill owner, whose son sits in the Senate, sir."

"Capital fellow," said the Wrecker. "His father's textile interests are in good hands."

The conductor beamed, basking in the proximity of such celebrated plutocrats. "I am certain that they would be honored if you would join them for dinner."

"I'll see how I feel," he answered casually, adding with an almost imperceptible wink, "Any talk of a little game of draw?"

"Yes, sir. Poker after dinner in Judge Congdon's stateroom."

"And who else is aboard?"

The conductor rattled off the names of cattle barons, western mining magnates, and the usual complement of railroad attorneys. Then he lowered his voice to confide, "There's a Van Dorn detective got on at Ogden just before you, sir."

"A detective? Sounds exciting. Did you catch his name?"

"Isaac Bell."

"Bell ... Hmm. I don't suppose he is sleuthing 'undercover' if he told you his name."

"I recognized him. He travels often."

"Is he on a case?"

"I don't know about that. But he's riding on a pass signed by President Hennessy himself. And the orders came down that we are supposed to give Van Dorn agents anything they ask for."

The Wrecker's smile hardened as a wintery light filled his eyes. "What has Isaac Bell asked of you?"

"Nothing yet, sir. I presume he is investigating all those Southern Pacific wrecks. "

"Perhaps we can make things expensive for Mr. Bell in our friendly game of draw." The conductor looked surprised. "Would a detective have the blood in him for your gentlemen's game?"

"I suspect that Mr. Bell can afford it," said the Wrecker. "If he's the same Isaac Bell who I've heard rumored is a wealthy man. I've never played poker with a detective. It could be interesting. Why don't you ask him if he would care to join us?" It was not a question but an order, and the conductor promised to invite the detective to join the high-stakes poker game after dinner in Judge Congdon's stateroom.

The way a man played poker revealed all there was to know of him. The Wrecker would use the opportunity to size Bell up and decide how to kill him.

ISAAC BELL'S STATEROOM WAS in a Pullman car that had a gentleman's washroom at the front end with beveled mirrors, nickel fixtures, and massive marble sinks. There was room for two easy chairs. A potted palm in the room swayed in rhythm with the train, which was speeding along the Weber River, drawn by its powerful locomotive, up the one percent grade into the Wasatch Range.