Chapter 23: General Alert

Chris Hardy was in a good mood, and not without reason, for he was on his way to what promised to be a highly profitable meeting. Moreover, though prepared to cope with the odd surprise, he was confident that he could have written in advance much of the script for the coming interview, including practically all of the part that mattered. He knew why he had been summoned, and was aware that the man who had sent for him was ignorant of that fact.

Like the rest of the dying breed of former range detectives, Hardy had been obliged to widen his scope when the cattle rustling problem diminished. Now the few men left in the business tackled wrongdoing on a broad front. Hardy knew of only four men of his kind in the Southwest. Three of them – himself, Jack Shaw and Tom Nevins – met from time to time to exchange notes. The fourth, William F. Pullman, remained largely aloof from the others. Hardy had met him only once. The most successful of the quartet, Pullman was not inclined to divulge much about his methods, nor did he seem to feel the need to gather information from the others.

The man now awaiting Hardy’s arrival was the redoubtable Major-General Michael Colbert. In earlier days, Colbert had been regarded by many as the army’s most dashing and ingenious officer. Now, ten years after the end of his soldiering career, the master of strategy and tactics had carved out for himself as distinguished a place in business as he had had in military service.

Hardy had received the summons at his El Paso home, insofar as he thought of the place as a residence. He owned no real estate, preferring to live in a single room – albeit the best one – in a small hotel, keeping the place on a long-term basis, paying for it whether he was there or not. The hotel owner, an elderly widow, stood in awe of her slim dark-complexioned black-haired – well, greying slightly – quasi-permanent guest. Hardy had no desire to be tied down by property. His measure of wealth was strictly cash, of which he had more than most men but never enough to satisfy him.

Having alighted from the train at Blundell, Hardy had hired a horse and buggy for the four-mile ride to General Colbert’s fastness. He had arrived at the station early in the afternoon and intended to catch the westbound evening train for the return journey. Now he was travelling due east and had almost reached his destination.

There was no mistaking the general’s home. Situated on rising ground south of the straight east-west trail, it was marked by the owner’s surname in raised letters on a varnished wooden plaque by the open entrance gates. A long straight drive led through extensive grounds to a huge antebellum house. Hardy had no interest in architecture or horticulture, so he merely noted that the surroundings seemed commensurate with the standing of the man he was about to meet. It seemed that his approach had been watched, for as he came to a halt, a front door that would have done justice to a cathedral swung open. A short portly balding man in a black suit appeared “Mr Hardy?” he asked.

“That’s right. I believe I’m a little early.”

“Perfectly in order, sir. The general is in his study. If you’d follow me, I’ll inform him you are here.” He showed the visitor to a waiting room, then strode off in the way only men in his position – Hardy had correctly assumed that he was the butler – seemed able to do. It was three minutes before he returned, resuming the ‘please walk this way’ routine. They went to the rear of the house, where the man knocked on a door, went in, announced the visitor and retreated.

Hardy’s immediate impression was that a man who needed a study this size must have a good deal of thinking to do. The room was about thirty by twenty feet, with a ceiling twelve feet high. Hardy had entered by the only door, at the end of the room remote from a massive desk, situated between the two windows in the short outer wall. The other long wall, opposite the door, also had two windows, one on either side of a large stone fireplace.

To Hardy’s left was a low circular walnut table surrounded by six chairs, in an arrangement that seemed designed for informal meetings. There were no fireside chairs and no evidence of books anywhere. The walls held an array of landscape paintings. A deep-piled plain grass-green carpet covered most of the floor. In front of the desk were two handsome visitors’ chairs of studded brown leather, and behind it a much larger one in the same style, in which Colbert was sitting.

The general didn’t speak, but crooked a beckoning hand. Hardy set off across the indoor lawn, thinking that a scythe might have been useful. Before he reached the desk, his host stood, revealing himself as about the same height as his guest’s five-eleven, but of much heavier build. The large square fleshy face was clean-shaven, the grey eyes clear and penetrating. Colbert had a full head of hair the colour of iron filings. He was dressed in a black suit, not unlike Hardy’s. His posture suggested that the decade since his retirement from the army had done nothing to affect the ramrod stance of earlier years.

Remaining silent, Colbert waved a hand at the visitor’s chair to Hardy’s left. Wondering at his host’s continued silence, the detective matched it, sitting quietly. The wordless encounter continued for a further ten seconds, then Colbert spoke. “They say you’re good, Mr Hardy.”

“That’s nice of them.”

“Yes, I’m told you’re smarter than the others. What do you say to that?”

“Can’t tell. I don’t know all of them.”

“Good answer. I like that. Now, as you’re here and presumably available, you’ll just have to be good enough, won’t you?”

Hardy was becoming irritated by the general’s odd way of conducting a conversation. Concluding that it was an invitation to him to behave likewise, he said: “Tell me, General, are you making a special effort for me, or do you treat all your business callers this way?”

The general smiled. “Can’t tell. I don’t meet all of them.”

Hardy simulated a yawn. “That must be frustrating for the unlucky ones. I guess we’re about even now. Was there something you wanted of me, or are we just enjoying a joust?”

For a long moment, the two pairs of eyes locked, the minds behind them wondering if there was any point in further banter. Then, by mutual consent, both men began to grin, the general first by a split second. “Excellent, Mr. Hardy,” he said. I must ask you to excuse my unorthodox approach, but I’ve found that it saves time. A little exchange like this tells me more than an hour of verbal fencing.”

Hardy chuckled. “It’s your time and your money, General. If that’s the way you want to spend both, it’s all right with me.”

“Well spoken, Mr. Hardy. I think we’ll get on. Now, I’m being pestered and I hear you’re the right man to investigate the matter.”

“Who told you that?”

“It was an odd coincidence. I give my domestic staff a good deal of free time. Most of them spend it at one of the saloons in Blundell. My butler, Harris, is different. I must tell you that he’s not only a butler, but also something of a confidant. He rightly considers himself a cut above the others and he takes his afternoons off at the hotel, where he’s a crony of the manager and the barman. Now, a short time ago a man stopped off there briefly, on his way back from a job east of here. He was recovering from a gunshot wound and a broken arm. Apparently, he’s in the same line of work as you. His name is Jack Shaw?”

“Oh, yes. A good man, I believe.”

“Do you know him personally?”

“We met once, but only for a matter of minutes.”

“Well, he seems to know a lot about you. Praised you to the skies. When my problem arose, I consulted old Harris – he’d already mentioned that he had spoken with this Shaw fellow, and happened to have established where he lived. I had Harris make contact again, but it seemed that Shaw needed time to recover from his wounds. He said he couldn’t oblige me, but he suggested that you might be willing to step in.”

“That was thoughtful of him. What’s the problem?”

“Harassment. I have industrial and commercial interests beyond the imagination of most men. I own six companies outright. Three of them are mines, working respectively gold, silver and copper, with some overlap. Then there’s a lumber company, a furniture-making concern and a shipping line. Also, I have stockholdings, in some cases controlling ones, in over a dozen other enterprises – railroads, banks and so on.”

“So you haven’t wasted your time since you left the army.”

“No, but enough of that. The reason I approached Shaw was that I got news of attacks on some of the businesses I own. There were explosions at all three mines in quick succession. Fortunately, and I think intentionally, the incidents occurred between shifts, so nobody was hurt anywhere, but two of the operations had to be halted temporarily. That’s expensive. Also, shortly after those incidents, the offices of the lumber company were blown up, then the furniture place was almost destroyed by fire. Mr. Hardy, someone has declared war on me.”

“So it seems. Where are these places?”

The general opened a drawer, pulled out a map and unfolded it on the desk. “You’ll see I’ve marked them all.”

Hardy studied the layout for a few minutes, asking several questions, then sat down again. “Thank you, General. Anything else?”

“Yes. A day after the last mishap, a man handed in a letter to the freight depot in Blundell, which serves as our post office. I tried to get a description, but it wasn’t helpful – middle age, middle height, middle everything. Nobody here knew the fellow and he vanished immediately after making his delivery. This is what he brought.” Colbert pushed a single sheet of paper across the desk. The message was written in a small precise hand on the unlined white paper. Hardy read:

Major-General Colbert, I was sorry to hear of the unfortunate events at your various places of business. Sadly, this is a sign of our times. However, you may feel the need of some reliable assistance. I am in a position to help you, but regrettably cannot do so cost-free. My associates and I deal only in cash, so if you could amass $50,000 in untraceable bills of denominations no higher than $50, I would be happy to act for you. I fear I cannot reveal my identity, but you may be sure that should you be favourably disposed to my intervention, I have resources sufficient to ensure that no further similar misfortunes will befall you.

If you accede, I suggest that you gather the sum mentioned within ten days from the date of this letter. Should you fail to respond positively, I really cannot say what might happen, save that whatever occurs will certainly be detrimental to your interests, as I am convinced by information received that certain parties are intent on engineering your downfall. I adjure you to be circumspect with regard to enlisting the aid of the law. The forces ranged against you are powerful and totally unscrupulous. I hope that I have made myself clear and shall contact you again.

A Wellwisher.

Hardy tossed the paper back onto the desk. “Polite, isn’t he?” he said.

Colbert picked up the letter and dropped it into a drawer. “What do you make of that? Mysterious, isn’t it?”

“No, General. I think it’s plain enough.”

“What? You mean you understand?”

“I believe so. This has the hallmark of a Lawrence Drake job.”

“Lawrence Drake? I think you’d better explain.”

“Let me put it this way. When you were an army man, you had the reputation of being a genius in your line, right?”

Colbert spread his hands. “It’s true that some people exaggerated my achievements,” he said modestly. “What of it?”

“Only this, General. I’m aware that there are military masterminds. They have their counterparts in the criminal world.”

“I imagine so. Go on.”

“Look, you’ve spent your time on the right side of the law and you’ve been considered a wizard. I don’t want to minimise your efforts, but just think how much brighter a man has to be to get a similar reputation on the other side. With every hand against him, he has to be brilliant. Lawrence Drake is just that, and this sort of approach is typical of him.”

“Well, good God, if he’s a crook, why isn’t he locked up?”

“Because as I just said, he’s a genius in his way. Oh, he’s not the first. There was a fellow named Jonathan Wild in England over a hundred and fifty years ago. He was caught and hanged eventually, but in the meantime he controlled an underworld empire. Drake’s from the same mould but even cleverer. Offhand, I’d say that half the illegal activity in the Southwest could be laid at his door.”

“I see. And I suppose the official forces of law and order would tell me that they can’t do much because they’re short of manpower, eh?”

Hardy nodded. “Right. They have limited resources. Also, they have to go by the book. I don’t. They have their views about Drake, but they can’t prove anything. As I told you, the man’s a master in his field. He arranges things and rakes in a percentage without involving himself in the rough stuff. This time, maybe he’s finally made a mistake. He wants it all. Usually he sees that jobs are done, then takes his share. And don’t get any illusions about the man. He rules his world with a rod of iron. There’s only one penalty for crossing him, and not many people want to chance that.”

“As a matter of interest, where is he?

“He has several locations. In fact one of them isn’t far from where I live. He does a little horse-breeding there.”

“Hardy, you’re going into a world alien to me. You say this fellow is an arch criminal, just living openly. He must be brought to book, mustn’t he?”

“You might think so, but he operates a system of cut-outs and blind alleys. No trail ever leads back to him. Take your case, for example.”