Swindled!: The 1906 Journal of Fitz Morgan (4 page)

I had the feeling I knew who had stretched the thread across the hall–Justine Pinkerton.

So, I thought, Justine thinks she’s a detective, does she? Well, let’s see if her skills match mine. This would be an excellent opportunity for me to get in a little detective training and keep my skills sharp.

I started to lift my foot over the thread. Then I stopped. I asked myself: What would I do if I wanted to catch even the cleverest
observer?

I answered: I would tie two pieces of thread across the hall, not just one.

With this in mind, I inspected the area near the first thread more closely. Aha! There it was–another thread. This one was
several inches from the first, but tied at chest level.

I squeezed between the two threads and breathed a sigh of relief. I walked to the end of the hallway, feeling sure that I
had been able to bypass the security devices without triggering either of them.

When I stepped out onto another connecting platform, the wind slammed into me again, and the clacking of the train was deafening.

In front of me loomed the government Pullman with the Great Seal of the United States emblazoned on the door. Eager to get
off the windy, noisy platform, I raised my hand to knock.

The door flew open–and a man staggered out! He was a huge man with a sweating face and a giant handlebar mustache. His eyes
were blank and rolled about in their sockets. His arms waved as if he were playing a game of blindman’s buff.

But this was no game. Without warning, he lunged at me.

“Stop!” I cried above the roar of the wind. But he didn’t seem to hear me. I leaped to the side and ducked as his meaty hands
blindly swept the air over my head.

He took a step forward and teetered at the edge of the small platform. The sharp rocks along the tracks rushed by below like
the teeth of a moving saw. One more step and he would tumble off the speeding train!

His right foot lifted and he started to sway. I grabbed for him–and missed! He was going over!

I tried again–this time catching onto a loose piece of his jacket.

Got you! I thought But the large man’s forward momentum was too strong. I couldn’t slow his progress. The weight of his body
dragged me toward the edge–and I realized we were both going to fall over the side!

For one horrid instant we each had a foot dangling off the train. Cinders from the locomotive burned my skin and singed my
hair.

Suddenly, my free hand latched onto the brass handrail bolted to the Pullman.

With one hand on the rail and another grasping the man, I used our forward motion to swing us back, as if we were the pendulum
of a clock. I screamed with the strain and swung the man onto the train. The force sent him banging into the wall of his car,
and he slid limply to the floor.

Before I could move away from the edge of the platform, the train screeched over a bit of loose track, and the cars lurched
to the side. My arms were pin-wheeling, searching for something–anything!–to grab onto… but my fingers couldn’t find the
handrail. I was heading straight over the side!

Lightning fast, a hand shot out, grabbed my flailing hand, and jammed it against the rail. I grabbed on with all my remaining
strength, pulling myself back onto the platform with such force that I stumbled and landed flat on my back.

I was safe.

Out of breath and shaking, I looked up to see who had saved me. It was Justine Pinkerton! She was leaning over me, grinning,
with her hand cradling the back of my head so it did not bang on the hard surface of the train.

“Bully for you! You saved the man’s life,” she shouted above the wind.

“And you saved mine. Thank you!” I stood up, quickly tucking loose hairs under my cap. “He’s unconscious. We’d better get
him inside.”

Justine reached inside the compartment and rang the electric button that would call the porter. Then she grabbed the man’s
legs. I hooked my hands under his armpits, and working together, we were able to drag him halfway through the door of the
Pinkerton car.

“Gads, what’s this man been eating? Rocks?” Justine asked when we set him down and paused to catch our breath. While most
of his body remained on the connecting platform between the two cars, at least we had managed to get his head out of the elements.

“Do you know him?” I asked. When Justine shook her head, I reached into the man’s jacket and took out a black leather wallet.
Inside was a badge, and I gazed at it in awe. “Say hello to special agent Nathan Howard of the United States Secret Service,”
I told Justine Pinkerton.

“Secret Service!” Justine shouted in excitement. I knelt beside Agent Howard and gave him a good shake, but he didn’t wake
up.

Just then the tall, skinny porter, William Henry, rushed into the hallway. He looked flustered. “Miss Pinkerton, you have
to stop pressing that button–” William Henry stopped and his eyes widened in surprise when he spotted me. “What’s he doing
here?”

“Who?” Justine asked, as if she didn’t understand what he was talking about. Then she said, “Oh, him. This is my friend. His
name is… his name is…”

“Fitz,” I said. “Fitz Morgan.”

“Your family gave strict orders. There are to be no guests in this Pullman car,” William Henry warned Justine.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she replied.

William Henry was about to say something, when he finally noticed Agent Howard. “My stars!” he shouted. “There’s a man on
the floor!”

“Brilliant deduction,” I said sarcastically, continuing my quick examination of Agent Howard. Lifting one of his hands, I
felt a faint, rapid pulse. I also noticed that his fingernails were a bright cherry red. Quickly, I looked at his face–his
lips were the same cherry red.