Free Lantern Sam and the Blue Streak Bandits by Michael D. Beil Page A

on board from this table. Sooner or later, everyone will come in for something to eat.”
    Judge Ambrose grumbled something unintelligible, and then added, “Complete waste of time if you ask me. At least the whisky’s good. Since this is an official investigation, you’ll see to it that I’m not charged for it, I’m sure. Now, how about some dinner? Three or four of those pork chops ought to do the trick.”
    “I’ll send a waiter right over,” said Clarence. “I’ve been telling the passengers that you’ll be here, and that you’ll want to talk to some of them.”
    “Correction: I don’t
want
to talk to any of them. I’m only doing this for Mrs. Strasbourg’s sake.”
    I peeked through the wilted flowers in time to see Clarence turn away from the judge as two women, obviously sisters, approached his table. I’ve never been very good at guessing ages, but I thought they were probably in their late thirties, with nearly identical hairdos and long dresses that matched the flowers right in front of my nose.
    “Excuse us, Judge Ambrose,” said one. “Do you have a moment?”
    “Why certainly, ladies,” he said, turning on a kind of greasy, sickening charm that I felt sure
anyone
could see through. “Won’t you sit? Would you like a drink?”
    “Oh, no, we don’t wish to disturb your dinner,” said the slightly-more-brunette sister. “My name is Gladys Henshaw, and this is my sister Gwendolyn. We, er, I may have heard something important. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now, with what’s happened … we …”
    “Yeeessss?” The judge leaned in, his forehead deeply furrowed.
    “He looks worried,” I whispered to Sam.
    Gladys Henshaw continued. “The conductor mentioned a man, a traveling salesman of some kind, who may be involved with the little girl’s disappearance. You see, my sister and I were having a cup of tea in the club car not longafter we departed from New York, and I believe that we may have spoken to such a man.”
    “He was very polite,” said Gwendolyn. “He said that he was a marble salesman, and he was on his way to Albany for the biggest deal of his life. He was going to get the contract for the new courthouse.”
    Gladys shivered. “He was going to make a
killing
—that was the word he used. It gives me a chill now, just thinking of it. If everything went according to his plan, he would make more money in one day than most people make in a lifetime.”
    “But you see, Judge Ambrose,” Gwendolyn said, “there is no new courthouse in Albany. My best friend, Maryanne Hawthorp, works in the existing courthouse, and believe me, she would know if something like that were happening. She is the nosiest person you’d ever want to meet.”
    “I see,” said the judge. “That’s very interesting, and possibly quite helpful, ladies. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”
    “There’s one more thing,” said Gladys. “He made a point of saying that he usually stayed at the State Street Hotel when he was in Albany, but this time he was going to treat himself and stay at the Fitzgerald.”
    “That’s the nicest hotel in the city. He might be there right now!” said Gwendolyn.
    Judge Ambrose scribbled something on his notepad and thanked the ladies again for their help. “I’ll look into this myself. The Fitzgerald, you say.”
    “What do you think?” I whispered to Sam.
    “Sounds to me like the salesman was trying to impress the two ladies,”
said Sam.
“Remember what the porter said about him. That he was a real smooth talker. I think the whole courthouse story was a lie.”
    “What about Ellie? Did he kidnap her?”
    “Write a note to Clarence, and tell him to send a telegram to Albany. Somebody should at least check the State Street Hotel for our friend Romeo.”
    “Don’t you mean the Fitzgerald?”
    “Ha! I have friends in Albany, and from what they’ve told me, the Fitz is a first-class operation. The bellmen there are so snobby