The Chase by Clive Cussler (ebook reader 8 inch .txt) 📕

elitist society of Boston. Going to Yale University, and his father’s extreme displeasure when he went to work at the Van Dorn Detective Agency and not the family bank. He took a circuitous route back to Cromwell. “Cromwell stuck me as an educated man. I wonder where he went to school.”

“Margaret once said they attended college in Minnesota,” said Marion, dabbing a napkin to her lips after finishing her crêpes.

“Margaret is a beautiful woman,” he said, watching for a reaction.

Marion barely veiled her dislike of Cromwell’s sister. “I know she’s involved with a number of charities, but she is not someone I’d have as a close friend.”

“She can’t be trusted?” Bell guessed.

“She doesn’t always tell the truth. And there are always rumors of scandal, which Mr. Cromwell manages to cover up. Strangely, he doesn’t seem disturbed by her antics. It’s almost as if he enjoys them.”

“Does he travel much?”

“Oh, yes, he’s often away fishing in Oregon, enjoying the Bohemian Club’s retreat in the redwoods, or hunting in Alaska. He also attends at least three banking conferences a year in various parts of the country. Once a year, he and Margaret tour Europe together.”

“So he doesn’t manage the day-to-day business of the bank.”

She shook her head. “No, no, Mr. Cromwell is always in weekly contact with the bank when he’s away. He also has a board of directors that has the best brains in the business.”

The waiter brought their glasses of port on a silver tray. They sipped in silence for a few moments before Marion spoke.

“Why are you asking me all these questions about Mr. Cromwell?”

“I’m an investigator. I’m just naturally curious.”

She pushed a curl from her forehead and patted her hair. “I feel rejected.”

He gazed at her carefully. “Rejected?” he echoed.

“Yes, you ask all these questions about my boss, but you haven’t asked about me. Most men I’ve known always asked about my past on the first date.”

“Dare I go there?” he asked, teasing her.

“Nothing risqué,” she said, laughing. “My life’s been pretty dull, actually. I am a California native, born across the bay in Sausalito. My mother died when I was quite young, and my father, who was an engineer for the Western Pacific Railroad, hired tutors for me until I was old enough to go to the city’s first secretarial school. When I graduated, Jacob Cromwell hired me, and I’ve worked in his bank ever since, working up from an office typist to his personal secretary.”

“Ever been married?”

She smiled coyly. “I’ve had a proposal or two but never walked down the aisle to the altar.”

He reached across the table and took her hand. “Hopefully, Prince Charming will come along one day and sweep you off your feet.”

She pulled her hand back, more from exerting her authority than rejecting him. “Prince Charmings are few and far between. I’ve yet to see one in San Francisco.”

Bell decided not to go there. He was determined to ask her out again and see where their wave of mutual attraction might take them. “I’ve enjoyed the evening. It’s not often I can value the company of such a lovely woman who can hold her own in conversation.”

“You’re very good at flattery.”

He dropped his eyes from hers. Bell did not want to push his luck, but there was one more enigma he had to have answered. “There’s another thing about Cromwell that intrigues me.”

He could see from her expression that she was disappointed and had expected him to say something about them getting together again, and he sensed that she was beginning to doubt her feelings toward him.

“What is it?” Her tone suddenly went icy.

“When I first saw him in the dining room of the Bohemian Club, and today in his office, he was wearing gloves. Does he always wear them when dining or working at his desk?”

She folded her napkin and laid it on the table as a sign that for her the evening was over. “When he was a boy, he was in a fire. Both his hands were badly burned, so he wears gloves to cover the scars.”

Bell felt guilty for using Marion. She was a vital, beautiful, and intelligent woman. He stood, came around the table, and pulled her chair out for her. “I’m truly sorry for letting my detective’s undue inquisitive nature get the best of me. I hope you’ll forgive me. Will you give me a chance to make it up to you?”

She could tell that he was sincere and felt a tickle of excitement, her hope rising again that he was truly interested in her. He was far more enticing than she could have imagined. “All right, Isaac, I’ll go out with you again. But no questions.”

“No questions,” he said with a tingle of pleasure at hearing her use his first name. “That’s a promise.”

21

TWO DAYS LATER, THE FOUR DETECTIVES MET IN THE Van Dorn Detective Agency offices on the fifth floor of the Call Building on Market Street. They sat in a semicircle at a round table and compared notes. They were all in shirtsleeves, their coats hanging on the back of their chairs. Most wore straight, conservative neckties under their stiff collars. Only one wore a bow tie. Three sipped coffee from cups with the Van Dorn logo baked on the porcelain surface, the fourth drank tea. Loose papers and bound reports covered the top of the table. “I’ve written up a story telling how one of the largest shipments ever of newly printed currency from the San Francisco Mint will be shipped under heavy guard to the mining town of Telluride, Colorado, to make the payroll and a bonus to ten thousand miners,” Bell told them. “I merely alluded to the exact amount but suggested that it was in the neighborhood of five hundred thousand dollars.”

“I used my contacts with the newspaper editor to run the article,” said Bronson. “It will be printed in tomorrow’s papers.”

Irvine spun his cup slowly around on its saucer. “If the bandit