Swindled!: The 1906 Journal of Fitz Morgan (6 page)

Justine noticed my gaze and said, “I’ve read them all. Well, almost all. I love criminology. Don’t laugh, but my dream is
to be the first woman in my family to go to law school.” As if to keep me from teasing her, she quickly continued, “These
books helped me set up the hallway alarm you triggered–”

“I did not! I sidestepped all your devices,” I cried, sounding more defensive than I’d intended. Justine just laughed again.
“What alarm did I trigger?” I asked.

“I can’t tell you that. I never know when that snoop Fitz Morgan might try to trespass again,” she replied, her eyes gleaming
happily. “You set off my alarm, and I came to investigate. It’s a good thing, too. You need looking after.”

Not by a spoiled girl like you, I almost said, but thought better of it. Envy was getting the better of me. Instead I told
her, “I can take care of myself thank you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Justine said once again. She jutted out her chin in a way she probably thought made her look
tough. But to me it just looked funny. Now it was my turn to laugh.

“Don’t you dare make fun of me,” she shouted. “I forbid it!”

This only made me laugh harder and helped to push aside my bad feelings. After all, I thought, Justine was sharing her dreams
with me–not to mention, she had saved my life! It was time I got over my jealousy and acted my age.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” I said, mimicking her and giving her a genuine smile.

She still looked a little hurt, so after a moment of thought, I added, “In fact, from now on, I think I’ll call you Judge.”

She shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense. There aren’t any female judges.”

“Then calling yourself Judge Pinkerton will give you a head start in changing things.”

She was silent for a moment, thinking it over. “Judge… hmm… I guess I could live with that.” But it was clear from her happy
expression that she really liked the name.

Just then we heard a door open in the other room. We rushed back to where Agent Howard lay motionless on the sofa in time
to see William Henry enter with two men. He pointed to the shorter of the two and said, “This is Mr. Spike. He’s the lead
conductor and my boss.”

Mr. Spike was a bald, round–faced man who wore a uniform similar to William Henry’s. But this man’s thick neck bulged over
the sides of his collar.

“And”–William Henry gestured to a distinguished–looking man with a closely cropped white beard and perfectly round glasses–”may
I present Dr. Sigmund Freud?”

I felt my heart leap. Dr. Freud! THE Dr. Sigmund Freud was standing two feet away from me!

I started to explain quickly. “Dr. Freud, this man is a government agent. And he’s been pois–”

But I was interrupted by Mr. Spike, who waved a finger in my face. “Children,” he said in a syrupy voice, and from the very
first syllable I knew that he was a talker-downer. Talker-downers can’t stop themselves from talking down to every child they
meet.

Mr. Spike said, “I’ve got a son myself, and so I know youngsters have a way of making far too much of things.” I wanted to
say that I felt sorry for his son, but didn’t.

“William Henry tells me you believe this man has been poisoned? That’s just preposterous. And such talk, even from children,
could cause panic on the train. We have a schedule to keep. This man probably just ate too much bacon at breakfast. Our job
is to take care of him and his stomachache. Your job is to be good children.”

This is insane! I thought. Agent Howard didn’t have a “stomachache”!

“That’s not–,” I started to protest, but Mr. Spike cut me off again, this time by turning his back to me and addressing Judge.

“Miss Justine,” he said coldly, “I’d hate to have to tell your parents that you are really not mature enough to ride this
train by yourself.”

I saw Judge’s whole body tense at the threat, and she glared at Mr. Spike. But she kept her mouth closed. Seeing that he had
silenced both Judge and me, Mr. Spike gave us an icy smile and left the compartment.

William Henry looked at us. “All right, you two,” he said.

“You heard Mr. Spike. Into the laboratory compartment with you.”

Seeing Dr. Freud remove a needle from his bag and turn toward Agent Howard, William Henry practically pushed us along.

Even though Judge and I were banished to the laboratory compartment, I felt better knowing that Agent Howard was in the capable
hands of Dr. Freud. He would know what to do.

Judge sighed. “It looks like we’re going to miss all the fun.”

I didn’t agree. “We need to get a look at the scene of the crime.”

“Agent Howard’s Pullman. What a fantastic idea!” Judge cried. Then she grinned and said in a fake sugary voice, “But aren’t
you worried about Mr. Spike? He told us to be ‘good little children.’”

“Yes, he did,” I answered. “But I think the definition of ‘good’ is doing the right thing, and that means getting to the truth.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Judge said. “Let’s go!”

We opened the door that led from the laboratory to the semi-public hallway. Suddenly Judge whispered, “Wait a second,” and
rushed back into the laboratory. She returned moments later carrying a small black case. “A kit for collecting evidence,”
she explained.

“Good thinking,” I said and thought to myself that it looked like Justine was going to turn out to be a good investigative
partner.

We were continuing down the hall when Judge suddenly stopped in her tracks. “Fitz, I guess you triggered more than one of
my alarm systems after all.” She was examining the two threads I had stepped between. Each one had been snapped in two.

“Nonsense,” I protested. “You must have broken them when you rushed to help Agent Howard and me.”

But Judge insisted that I had done it, so I changed the subject. “What alerted you that I was in the hall? How did I miss
it?” I asked.

She chuckled. “I’ll take that secret with me to the grave. Which, now that I think about it, I hope isn’t anytime soon. What
if the person who poisoned Agent Howard is still in the government car?”

“That would make him or her a fool,” I said, “which means he or she wouldn’t be much of a threat.”

By now we were on the noisy platform outside the open door of the government Pullman. I knocked, and there was no answer.

“I hope you’re right,” Judge said.

With that, we stepped inside.

10:30 AM

We stepped through a kind of foyer
and found ourselves in a mobile office. The inner wall was lined with tall cabinets for documents and a bookcase holding
paper and other supplies. Two dark wooden desks sat against the outer wall, facing large curtained windows. Papers were blowing
around because of the wind from the open door.

My detective’s eye found one thing especially noteworthy. There was a broken teacup on the desk closest to us. Its handle
had snapped off, and the pieces lay on the wooden surface.