He snorted loudly: Mein Gott, the naivety of youth! “The Black Hand is a time-honored tradition, Will. How effective would it be if the recipient could not trust the sender? No, we must pay. I shall handle everything—including the boxing of my former student’s ears for his lack of judgment! For now he has tipped his hand; the Camorra knows of our special prize and even now must be marshaling every illicit resource at its disposal to find it!”
He rose, shoving the cigar into the breast pocket of the robe monogrammed with his initials, AVH. “I love him as my own son, but your master is the most maddening of human conundrums, young Will: at once calculating and headstrong, astute beyond measure and obtuse without equal.”
He rang the bell to summon his butler. I said, “I will handle the delivery of payment, Meister Abram.”
“No, no. You are too young to—”
“And you are too old.”
He stiffened; his bushy white brows crowded against each other; his chest expanded, parting the fold of the robe to reveal a profusion of curly white hair.
“The letter was addressed to me,” I went on quickly. “And for all we know, the clerk at the hotel is in on the deal.”
He nodded, clearly impressed with my reasoning. “Return this afternoon; I shall have the funds ready. But tell me—ach, there is so much that crowds the weary mind!—how did it go last night? Smoothly, I pray?”
“Had to size the refuse to fit the containers, but otherwise no problems.” I gave a little laugh. “Well, Sir Hiram’s assistant nearly took a tumble into the East River—luckily, Mr. Faulk was there to catch him.”
Von Helrung was nodding slowly, and his eyes were bird bright and watchful. “You know he is related to royalty. Fourth or fifth cousin to the Queen, I believe.”
“Who? Mr. Faulk or Mr. Isaacson?”
“You make a jest. Ha! Go now, and come back at three. Tell no one else of this! Particularly Mr. Faulk. I believe that man would sell his own mother for a dollar and a dram.”
“Oh, no, you’re wrong, Meister Abram. Mr. Faulk is a capital fellow, worth twice his weight in T. cerrejonensis venom.”
“Do not say such things!” he exclaimed, and then for some reason crossed himself.
FOUR
I returned to the hotel intending to catch an hour or two of much-needed sleep, but I was too distracted and anxious about the unexpected kidnapping of my master to snatch more than a few minutes of restless slumber. I gave up finally and telephoned Lilly’s house.
“Three things are easily cracked and never well mended,” I said when she came on the line. “China, glass, and what is the third?”
“You are calling me at six in the morning to pose a riddle?”
“Reputation,” I said, raising my voice to overcome the incessant crackle of the connection. “I had a most interesting discussion with the Queen’s fifth cousin last night.”
“Who?”
“Samuel.”
“Who?”
“The mediocrity!”
“Oh!” Then silence.
“Lilly? Are you there?”
“Did you mean to imply a correlation between someone’s reputation and a conversation with Mr. Isaacson?”
“I meant to ask you to lunch.”
“But that isn’t what you did.”
“I did—I just have.”
“I have a prior engagement.”
“Break it.”
She may have laughed or it may have been static. Then I heard: “. . . demanding.”
“The doctor has been kidnapped!” I shouted.
“Kidnapped! Was it the Irish?”
“The Sicilians.”
“Sicilians!”
“I’ll pick you up at twelve.”
I disconnected the call before she could reply. From across the room, Mr. Faulk lowered his copy of the Herald. “Yes, that Lilly,” I told him.
“You want for me to come?” he asked.
I laughed. “For her protection or mine?”
Through the window behind him I saw Central Park glowing: The rising sun had broken through the clouds, and the park shimmered in a golden autumnal haze.
“Have you ever been in love, Mr. Faulk?”
“Oh, yes. Many times. Well, once or twice.”
“How did you know?”
“Mr. Henry?”
“I mean, did you know in the same way you know that red is red and not, for example, blue?”
He looked off into the distance, lost in memory or pausing to give my question its proper due.
“Been my experience you don’t know till after the fact.”
“After the . . . ?”
“When it’s gone.”
“I don’t think I love her.”
“If you don’t think it, then you don’t.”
“But I would have killed him if she had—or they had—he had . . .”
“I’d say that’s more blue than red, Mr. Henry.”
“Do you think it means anything that I’ve murdered three times before I’ve fallen in love once?”
“About you or people in general?”
“Both.”
“More deserve death than love—but that’s just my opinion.”
I laughed. “Mr. Faulk, I had no idea you were a philosopher.”
“I’d no idea you were a killer.”
FIVE
Lilly was not as charmed as I by my new companion.
“Who is that brute?” she murmured, slipping her arm through mine as we stepped off the trolley at Delmonico’s.
“Mr. Faulk is an old friend of the doctor’s, a kind of honorary member of the fraternity.” I held the door open for her and we stepped inside. Mr. Faulk remained on the sidewalk, leaning against the building with his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his peacoat.
“What fraternity?” she asked.
“The fraternity of indispensable men.”
“You have a bodyguard now?”
The entryway was crowded, forcing us to stand nearly chest to chest, and I could smell her hair and her hair smelled of lilacs. She wore a dress the color of topaz and carried a small matching purse. The men noticed her almost at once, but the women sooner; that is the way with beauty.
“Not exactly,” I said.
“Too bad your doctor didn’t have a not-exactly one last night.”