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moment, then blew it out.
But he had seen enough. He knew what he had. Carefully he took up the
blackened piece of metal, held it tightly in his hands.
He had held a piece of steel like this once before, in a different time and
place. That had been in the
Smithsonian Institute, in Washington.
The two pieces of metal were identical.
What he was holding now was the trigger plate of a Sten-gun.
Chapter 28
It was dawn before the fire was completely out. Streamers of smoke still
drifted up from the blackened ruins, while soot-smeared and weary men stood
about in small groups, or sat sprawled on the ground.
Wes McCulloch kicked at a burned timber in the workshop and cursed savagely
under his breath. Bad, but it could have been worse; the fire had been stopped
in time and none of the machinery had been seriously damaged. It would all be
working again as soon as the place was cleaned up and the leather belts
replaced. The storeroom had had the worst of it, but even there nothing
irreplaceable had been destroyed.
'This is terrible, colonel, terrible,' the fat man said, picking his way
delicately through the rubble. His spotless clothing and polished boots were
sure indications that he had had no part in fighting the fire, no matter how
great his concern now. 'Do you know how it started?'
'No, senator, I don't,' McCulloch said. 'But you can see over there, on the
wall, where the centre of the fire was. It appears to have been located near
the forge. Perhaps a stray spark from that, smouldering, you know how these
things are.' He turned as he heard the horses gallop up outside. 'Excuse me,
senator. We had better both get outside, it's not too comfortable in here.'
McCulloch waited until the senator had started talking to some of his friends
before he waved the two hard-looking men over to him.
'Hicks, I want you and Yancy to get over to the Blue House hotel. Do you know
the Scotchman, Shaw, the man who was with me yesterday?'
'Shore do, colonel. Little fancy feller.'
'Get him. Wake him up, tell him I have to see him at once. If he argues with
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you, why, take him anyway. I
want you to get him back to the house then lock him up. Use that cell in the
slave quarters. He's involved in this fire. But don't let on about that until
you get him away from the hotel. I want to keep this a private matter, because
after we talk to him I think that he is going to vanish, quiet like.'
'You think he set it!'
'No but his nigger did. So look around for the black bastard before you stir
up Shaw. I don't think that he'll still be there, but look anyway. If you
don't find him, why this Shaw will tell us where he can be found. I'll see to
that myself. You just keep him locked away until I get back. That won't be
until later today. Now get him.'
McCulloch watched as they kicked their mounts around and galloped away.
Troy Harmon
. He breathed the name under his breath like a curse. It was a curse. The jig
had followed him after all! He never would have believed that a creature like
that would have had the guts. Not guts, just stupidity, animal reflex like a
snapping turtle hanging on after it was dead. Well, that didn't matter now. He
was here, causing trouble.
And that newsman had brought him right to his door. Shaw was going to pay for
that. If only his mind hadn't been so occupied with the pressing matters to
hand, if he had only recognized the jig when he had first appeared. Only later
had the resemblance begun to worry him; the possibility had always been there
that he might be followed. That was why he had taken precautions. The trap he
had set had been a good one, had almost worked. But the jigaboo must have
suspected something, found out some way. Well, that didn't matter now.
Everything else was progressing on schedule. All the plans had been made and
things were going forward without a hitch. Except for this little setback. So
be it. You had to take your losses in war. A few lost battles didn't count.
The final victory did. And that was the one that he was going to win.
As soon as the factory manager showed up, McCulloch put him in charge of the
salvage, then rode home. It was almost seven o'clock. Plenty of time to wash
and change, even have some breakfast. The food would have to make up for the
sleep that he had missed. Coffee, and some of the bourbon. He must remember to
take a flask with him as well. The meeting was set for ten. If he rode out by
nine he would be there with plenty of time to spare.
A fresh horse, saddled and bridled, was waiting outside by the time McCulloch
had finished breakfast, then gone up to the safe in his bedroom. It had been
specially made for him in London; the locks had been fitted in his presence.
There were three of them, situated one above the other, and only a single set
of keys for them in the entire world. He inserted the keys, one by one,
turning them and unlocking the solid steel door, then dragging it open. Inside
were fitted drawers containing a little gold, a good deal of currency, as well
as all of his papers. And the large wooden chest. He pulled the chest to him,
smiling.
The future of the South lay within.
After closing and locking the safe again, he wrapped the chest in a waterproof
sheet and tucked it under his arm. The slave who was holding the horse tried
to help him with it, but he slapped him away with his riding crop. No black
hands on this! He secured the chest in place behind the saddle, patted his
pocket to see if the flask were secure, then swung up into the saddle.
He turned the horse away from the city and cantered slowly down the road.
Ten o'clock found him at a country crossroads in the hills. There were farms
nearby, though none of them were visible from this spot. Which is why he had
picked it. The road behind him twisted off uphill before vanishing into the
thick forest. McCulloch looked at his watch, then put it away and took out the
large silver flask. He took a deep swallow, then a second, and was just
lowering it when he heard the other horse approaching. He spurred his own
horse forward and was waiting when the other man rode up.
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'You are Colonel McCulloch?' the newcomer said. He was an Army officer, a
lieutenant of the cavalry, and sat his spirited black horse with practised
ease. His long dark hair swept down almost to his collar.
He had a full beard and long mustachios, his forehead high and fair, the eyes
beneath penetrating and sharp.
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