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The difference was that Cody preferred a goatee below an extravagant mustache, and Cromwell’s chin beneath his equally extravagant mustache was clean shaven.
    And Cody was taller.
    Cromwell’s dark tailored suit and vest gave him a sleekness he did not deserve, given his lack of stature. He had a high collar on an immaculate white shirt, a dazzling silk tie with a diamond tiepin, matching sleeve cuffs, a dainty kerchief in the left jacket pocket, a chain of solid gold draped across his belly to secure a hidden pocket watch—and the attitude to match the sartorial splendor that I guessed was worth two years of a working man’s wages.
    His strut included leaving his left hand in his pants pocket, while keeping his right arm loose, as if posing for a photo. He pulled out a massive pocket watch, flipped open the shiny gold lid, and stared at the watch face long enough to send a clear message that his valuable time had been wasted.
    Goethals broke the silence. “Mr. Cromwell, here is the qualified man I have brought in as requested. You can trust him in the same manner that you trust me. Mr. Holt, meet Mr. Cromwell.”
    I had pushed myself up by the arms of the chair to stand and extend my right hand. Cromwell slid into the chair opposite me and turned his attention to the inside of his suit jacket, leaving me in a half crouch and an unanswered handshake, as if I was not in the room and he cared little for the introduction.
    As I settled back into my chair, Cromwell pulled out a cigar. He found a cigar cutter from another pocket and snipped the end. When no one offered him a light, he pulled a matchbox from Goethals’s desk and lit the cigar.
    After a few puffs, Cromwell gave Goethals a bored glance. “What’s his background?”
    “As you know, when I trust a man enough to give him something to accomplish,” Goethals said, “I also trust the men he hires. Without question.”
    “I’m not you. I don’t trust anyone.”
    I’m not much of a cigar man, but I do like the smell. I wondered what each inch of ash had cost.
    Cromwell studied the tip of his cigar. “He doesn’t look like much.”
    “This will be one of the rare occasions that I agree with you,” Goethals answered. “He doesn’t look like much, but believe me when I say I have learned that he is stubborn and refuses to be pushed around. He also has traveled the world, and he’s a lot more sophisticated than I suspect he wants you or me to know.”
    This was becoming absurd. I said, “His hearing is fine too.”
    “Is he intelligent?” Cromwell sent a frown at Goethals. “He doesn’t appear intelligent.”
    “As you’ve made it clear you aren’t going to trust my conclusions,” Goethals said, “you’ll have to decide for yourself.”
    Cromwell appraised me as if I were a horse in an auction.
    “You can check my teeth.” I lifted my gums to show him—and felt juvenile for it. Moreover, I was irritated at myself for giving a hint of how resentful his inspection made me feel.
    Cromwell pursed his lips. “That is a distinctive nose. Complete this properly, and I can arrange for a premier New York surgeon to take care of it for you.” He knocked cigar ash onto the floor.
    “I’m a rancher. Cattle don’t care what I look like.”
    “Looks matter to me. Two nights from now, I’m hosting a party for a dear friend. It will be important for your investigation that you attend, as that will show everyone who matters that you have an official stamp of approval for your questions. Undoubtedly your finest suit is sufficient only for roping cattle or shoveling manure, so make sure you arrive about a half hour early. I’ll have my butler provide you decent attire. I do have a practiced eye for these sorts of things, and the suit waiting for you will fit perfectly. Keep it at the end of the evening. I can be a generous man. However, I do strongly insist you shave for the event.”
    I turned to Goethals. “Colonel, at the conclusion of our chat this