David Liss - The Whiskey Rebel

“Duer,” he said, “does not like to make himself available to men who are not of immediate use to him.”

“He is a speculator and Hamilton is Secretary of the Treasury. Good Lord, he even used to work at Treasury. Cannot he be made to cooperate?”

“With you?”

“Well, ideally, but at least with you. He seems to treat you rather contemptuously.”

“ Hamilton ’s powers here are limited,” Lavien said. “If Duer does not wish to speak, Hamilton cannot compel him. Of course, Duer takes certain risks in rebuffing Hamilton, but Duer may believe himself too powerful to care.”

“Then they are no longer friends?”

“Oh, I think they are friendly, and Duer will always seek favors and information from Hamilton, but there is a lack of trust. They are like old friends who find themselves on different sides, not precisely during war but certainly during a time of increasing hostility between two nations. Duer wants the United States to emulate Britain, where men of influence have always had their way before the public good.”

“And what does Hamilton want the United States to be like?”

“He wants it to be like itself,” Lavien said, “and that is an ever more challenging goal.”

Lavien was being surprisingly forthcoming, and I could see no reason to withhold any longer the secret I had uncovered. “I suppose so, particularly in light of the threat to his bank.”

He nodded his approval. “You learned of that quickly.”

“How long have you known?”

“We’ve been aware that there may be a plot against the bank for a week now.”

“What sort of plot?”

He shook his head. “We don’t know. The bank itself is located in Carpenters’ Hall, and it could be a threat against the physical space, though I find that unlikely. A move to take over the bank through acquisition of the shares, perhaps. A move to devalue the shares and cause a run. It could be anything.”

“And Duer’s involvement?”

He shrugged. “Likely none that he is aware of. Duer has borrowed a great deal of money from the bank, and he no doubt intends to return to that well again and again. He would not do anything to stop its flow.”

“But you said he owes the bank a great deal of money. Might he not want to see it fail to avoid repayment?”

“That would be like a man setting himself on fire to avoid paying his surgeon’s bill. If the bank were to face some major crisis, all financial instruments would suffer, and that would destroy the market and so destroy Duer. But the fact that he is not involved in a plot does not mean he does not know something. He may know more than he is aware.”

“Again, I must point out that you are being remarkably cooperative.”

“I hope for a trade,” he said.

“Of what sort?”

“Well, I depend upon your honor, for I have already given you what I have to offer-information about Duer and the bank-and now I want something from you, though in giving it to me, you will also be helping yourself.” He took from his pocket a piece of paper and showed it to me. It was written in code, one that looked, on first glance, identical to the simple one I’d cracked the night before.

Lavien whisked it away, before I could even begin to effect a decoding.

“Retrieved from the enterprising Miss Fiddler,” I said.

He nodded. “I could take it to someone at Treasury, but the fewer people who know about it, the more comfortable I will be. It is probable that Jefferson has spies at Treasury. Duer may have men loyal to himself as well. I may not want you involved, but I do trust you.”

I nodded, and he handed me the paper again. Without my asking, while I continued to look it over, he brought me a fresh piece of writing paper, a quill, and ink, but I did not need them. I had worked through the code just the night before, and it was fresh in my mind. It took me but a moment to read the following:

WD. JP suspects efforts with Million B. I took action as discussed. D.

Was WD William Duer? JP Jacob Pearson? Who then was D if not Duer, and, perhaps most important, since it appeared to be the heart of the message, what was Million B?

I posed that question to Lavien.

“The Million Bank,” he said, looking thoughtful. “I have not paid it much mind, but it is an effort to capitalize on the current enthusiasm for banks. It will be launched in New York City within the next week or two, but it is regarded by almost everyone as a foolish venture. I cannot think that either Pearson or Duer would have anything to do with it.”

“And yet, here is this note,” I said.

“This note, written by we know not who and intended, if we are to be honest, for the same. It is easy to imagine it is for Duer, but we have no real evidence.”

It was true enough. “Then Duer will have to answer my question,” I said.

“He has made a point of avoiding me. You think he will be less elusive for you?”

“No,” I said. “But I mean to catch him all the same.”

Later that evening, I quenched my thirst at the Man Full of Trouble, ate a dinner of cold meats and potatoes, and most likely would have passed the night there had not the barman come to me with a piece of paper.

“Just delivered. It is a message for you.”

I grabbed the paper from his hand. “Very kind,” I murmured. I opened up the note and saw by the dim light of the tavern that it was from Leonidas. He wished to meet me at the corner of Lombard and Seventh. He said it was urgent. I finished my drink and set out.

Leonidas was leaning against redbrick, puffing upon a pipe, sending up thick clouds of smoke against the light of the streetlamp. “You took your time,” he said.

“I was upon important business.”

“So I smell.”

“You can’t expect a man to reform instantly. Now, what are you doing upon this corner?”

“Expanding the boundaries of our inquiry,” he said. “Keep your eye upon that building.” He pointed to a house three doors in from the corner, on the other side of the street.

“What shall I see?”

“Something interesting, I hope. I was afraid you might miss it, but this is the house belonging to the rough man, Reynolds. He lives there with a woman-his wife, according to the neighbors. I’ve not looked upon her, but everyone says the same thing-that she is the most extraordinarily beautiful woman they have ever seen.”

“Do go on.”

“I followed Reynolds here. He left after an hour, and I continued to follow him, but though he did not see me, he seemed to sense there was someone watching him, and I was forced to let him go. He returned later, and now he has another visitor, which is what I wanted you to see.”

“Who is it?”

“There are some things,” said Leonidas, “that a man must see for himself.”

We waited in the darkness. I wished I had taken the time for another drink before leaving, for it would have been pleasing to pass the time in a kind of numbness, though I suppose I achieved something like that anyway, watching the orange glow of Leonidas’s pipe flare and fade.

At last I saw silhouettes pass before the curtains of the front room. Then the door opened, and two men appeared against the dim interior light. Reynolds seemed to be almost a different person, for he bowed before the second man, whom he evidently considered his superior. I could not at first identify him, though he seemed familiar in his shape and stature.

The stranger came out of the house, walking with his shoulders stooped, his gait quick but not sprightly, like a man rushing to get indoors during a storm. He cast his gaze back and forth, as though wishing to make certain no one would see him, and then stepped out into the street. He kept his head down and walked with sharp lashing strides like the jerky thrusts of oars into water. Only briefly did he pass into a splash of lamplight, but in that instant I saw his face, hard and set in anger, or possibly despair. It was Hamilton.