The Eagles Legacy

Chapter Nine

New York

Carrying a box of doughnuts he had just purchased, Deputy Malcolm knocked on the side door of the Rex Theater. He had to knock several times before the door was answered by a stagehand.

“If you’re here to buy tickets, you must go to the front door,” the stagehand said.

“Are you the man in charge of the theater?”

“No, I’m just a stagehand.”

“Who is the man in charge?”

“That would be Mr. MacCallister.”

“The actor?”

“No, the stage manager. Except, wait, he ain’t in charge no more. He left for some reason. The man in charge now is Percy Fowler.”

“Then he is the one I should see.”

“See about what? Mr. Fowler is a busy man. I can’t just go lettin’ anyone in off the street to see him.”

“It won’t take but a moment. I have a delivery of pastries,” Malcolm said.

“Pastries? What sort of pastries?”

Malcolm opened the box to let the stagehand see.

“Doughnuts,” the stagehand said. “Why didn’t you say you had doughnuts? I’ll take them.”

“No, I have been told to take them directly to the stage manager.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Very well, I shall return the doughnuts.”

The stagehand looked around, then stepped back into the theater. “Follow me,” he said. “You can wait in the green room.”

Malcolm followed the stagehand into the theater, past the rows upon rows of empty seats, then through a small door that led to an area behind the stage.

“This is the green room,” the stagehand said. “Wait here, I’ll get Mr. Fowler for you.”

“Thank you.”

The stagehand started to leave, but he turned back toward Malcolm and took a doughnut from the box.

A moment later a rather short and nearly bald man came into the room.

“Reid said you needed to see me.”

“Actually, I wanted to see Mr. MacCallister.”

“He’s no longer here.”

“Do you have any idea where I might find him?”

“You’re not American are you? You sound just like Mr. MacCallister. What are you, Scottish?”

“Yes, I am, actually.”

Fowler looked at the box of doughnuts Malcolm was holding.

“You didn’t come here to deliver doughnuts, did you? You came here to find MacCallister.”

Malcolm smiled. “I’m afraid you have divined my secret. Aye, ’tis to find Duff MacCallister that I have come.”

“Why do you want to find him?”

“Why, the man is a good friend from Scotland. I thought perhaps that two people from the same county in Scotland, here in New York at the same time, should have a bit of a meeting.”

“Is he your friend? Or have you come to arrest him for the murder?” Fowler asked.

The smile left Malcolm’s face and his eyes narrowed. “You know about that, do you?”

“I know that he killed two men here,” Fowler said.

The tone of Fowler’s voice convinced Malcolm that he would be able to work with him.

“Aye. MacCallister is wanted for murder. And so tell me, m’lad, how is it that ye be knowin’ about that?”

“I know,” Fowler replied, without directly answering Malcolm’s question.

“The reason I am lookin’ for him, is I’ve been sent by himself the sheriff to deal with the matter,” Malcolm said.

“Were you one of the three who came for him last week?” Fowler asked.

“You know of last week?”

“I know that before he left Scotland, Duff MacCallister killed one of the sheriff’s sons and two of his deputies. And I know that last week, when you and the sheriff’s other two sons came for him, MacCallister killed them both,” Fowler said.

“Aye, that is true. I was here with the sheriff’s last two sons.”

“Why is it that you want to go after him? It sounds to me as if he is too dangerous a man to pursue.”

“I will be ready for him this time. If I find him.”

“I imagine the sheriff back in Scotland must want him something fierce,” Fowler said.

“Aye, that he does, seein’ as how MacCallister has killed all three of the sheriff’s sons.”

“How badly does the sheriff want him?” Fowler asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I know where MacCallister is,” Fowler said. “And I could make that information available to an interested party if the price is right.”

“I see. And how is it that you know where he is?”

“I overheard him talking to his cousins. They discussed where he should go. Would that information be worth anything to you?”

“Would you not be willing to share it for the satisfaction of knowing it is the right thing to do?” Malcolm asked.

“Yes, I will have the satisfaction of knowing that it is the right thing to do. But I would also appreciate the reward. There is a reward, is there not?”

“Have you not been rewarded enough by being promoted? ’Tis true, is it not, that you would nae have the job of stage manager if MacCallister had not run off?”

“That is true,” Fowler said. “But with my new position comes new obligations. Financial obligations. You are in need of information, I am in need of some money. Perhaps we can work something out between us.”

“You want money.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

“Yes.”

“I could see my way to giving you five pounds,” Malcolm suggested.

“Five dollars? Do you mean to tell me that all the sheriff is willing to give to find the killer of his three sons and two deputies is five dollars?”

“I said five pounds, not five dollars. If you took the five pounds to the bank and made a currency exchange you would get twenty-five dollars.”

“I’ll be needin’ more than twenty-five dollars,” Fowler said.

“Ten pounds. That would be fifty dollars.”

“I want a hundred dollars,” Fowler demanded.

“I’ll not give you a hundred dollars. The offer is fifty. Take it or leave it.”

“You’ll not find MacCallister without my help,” Fowler insisted.

“If you know where he has gone, there will be others who know as well. Perhaps someone who knows the value of money and will give me the information for five pounds.”

“All right, all right,” Fowler said. “You go to the bank, convert your money into dollars, then come back and see me,” Fowler said. “When you do, I’ll tell you where Duff MacCallister has gone.”

“Wait here, I will be back shortly,” Malcolm said. He turned to leave, with the box of doughnuts still in his hands.

“Leave the doughnuts,” Fowler said.

“Beg your pardon?”

“The doughnuts,” Fowler repeated, pointing to the box.

“Ah, yes, the pastries. Of course.” Malcolm put the box on the green room table, then left.

As luck would have it, the Commercial National Bank was but a very short distance from the theater. There, Malcolm changed all his British currency to American. He also opened an account there.

Returning to the theater, he found Percy Fowler waiting for him outside.

“Do you have the money?” Fowler asked.

“I do. Shall we go inside?”

Fowler looked around furtively. “No,” he said. “I think it is best we do our business out here. I don’t want anyone to see me talking to you. Give me the money.”

Malcolm counted out fifty dollars in five-dollar bills. Fowler took the bills, folded them over, then stuck them in his pocket.

“He went to Colorado,” Fowler said.

“Colorado? Isn’t that a state? Can’t you be more specific than that?”

“He has a cousin there, named Falcon MacCallister. I am given to understand that Falcon MacCallister is a name that nearly all in Colorado will recognize. I think if you go to Colorado, then start inquiring about Falcon MacCallister, you will find your man soon enough.”

“All right,” Malcolm said. “I will do that. But if I go to Colorado and find that I am on a wild duck chase, I’ll be coming back to settle with you. And you, I know where to find.”

Fowler chuckled. “Goose,” he said.

“What?”

“It is a wild-goose chase. But I’m not sending you on one. MacCallister did go to Colorado, and if you can find Falcon MacCallister, you will be able to find Duff MacCallister.”

After leaving the theater, Malcolm went to the transatlantic cable company, where he paid fifty cents a word to send a message back to Sheriff Somerled. He wrote it several times, but tore up the message each time until he had it worded exactly as he wanted, giving the maximum information with the least possible words. Then, once he was satisfied with it, he gave it to the clerk.

The clerk counted the words.

“Nineteen dollars,” the clerk said.

Malcolm counted the words.

Alexander and Roderick have both been killed. MacCallister has escaped to Colorado. I anticipate no trouble in finding him, but I will require two hundred pounds to be sent by return cable so that I may pursue.

Malcolm

“I thought my name was free.”

“No, sir. We charge for every word we dispatch,” the clerk replied.

“Give it back to me. I am going to rewrite it.

Alexander and Roderick dead. MacCallister escaped. I know where he has gone. Require two hundred pounds by return cable so that I may pursue.

“Are you going to attach your name to the message?” the clerk asked.

“There is no need. He will know who it came from.”

“Very well, sir. Your total is twelve dollars.”

Scotland—Donuun in Argyllshire

Sheriff Angus Somerled gasped as he read the words in the telegram that was given him by the young messenger.

“Dead? Both of them? But what happened to them? He dinnae say.”

“Beg pardon, sir?” the messenger, who was scarcely over fourteen years old, said.

“When did this message arrive?”

“I dinnae know, sir. Mr. McGinnis, he just gave it to me a few minutes ago. Is it bad news?”

“You mean you dinnae read it?”

“I dinnae read it, sir, for ’tis nae my job to read the messages what come in.”

Somerled returned to town with the young messenger, then went into the telegraph office.

“’Tis sorry I am for your loss, Sheriff,” McGinnis said. “Will ye be wantin’ to send a response?”

“Aye,” Somerled said and he quickly scrawled out a note.

How did boys die

It was the next day before Somerled got a reply.

KILLED BY MACCALLISTER STOP SEND MONEY STOP

New York

Malcolm had been using the Commercial National Bank of New York as his address, and when he called a day later to inquire as to whether or not he had received a cablegram, a smiling teller presented him with it.

TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS IS NOW ON DEPOSIT AT COMMERCIAL NATIONAL BANK OF NEW YORK STOP YOUR TASK REMAINS THE SAME STOP INFORM ME SOONEST UPON CONCLUSION STOP SHERIFF ANGUS SOMERLED

Malcolm read the cablegram, then looked up at the teller. “Is this right? Has the money been put in my account?”

“Indeed, it has, sir. You now have quite a tidy sum of money.” The teller looked at a book and ran his fingers down the figures. “Yes, sir, you have one thousand two hundred and seventeen dollars and fifty-one cents.”

“Good. I want to withdraw.”

“Yes, sir,” the eager teller said. “How much money do you want to withdraw?”

“I want all of it,” Malcolm said.

The smile on the teller’s face was replaced by a look of confusion. “All of it, sir?”

“Aye, all of it.”

“But, sir, if you take all the money, it will close your account.”

“Aye, that’s what I want, a closed account.”

“Very good, sir,” the teller said. He filled out a form, then slid it across the counter to Malcolm.

“If you would sign this, sir?”

Malcolm signed the form, gave it back to the teller, and the teller counted out all the money as he passed it across to Malcolm.

“That is a great deal of money to be carrying on your person, sir,” the teller said. “Do be careful with it.”

“I intend to be,” Malcolm replied.

From the bank he took a hansom cab to Grand Central Station, where he bought tickets to Denver, Colorado.

“Ha,” he said to himself as he took a seat in the cavernous waiting room to wait for his train. “Duff MacCallister, you are going to be one surprised man when you see me.”