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because I’m hungry,” he said, “and I’m starting to think I might not have much of an appetite tonight at dinner.”
    She smiled happily—which made her look impossibly young and pretty—and waved at the bartender.

5
    After lunch Roper promised to meet Dol at his hotel for breakfast in the morning. He wasn’t sure how much he would tell her. He wouldn’t know that until after he talked with the Pinkerton brothers.
    He offered to get a cab and drop her somewhere, but she refused and said she’d see him the next day. She hurried off after that, her heels echoing on the pavement.
    Roper walked to the corner, flagged down a passing cab, and went back to his hotel.
    He killed time finishing his Mark Twain, then washed and dressed for dinner. He went downstairs, had the doorman get him a cab to the Chicago Firehouse Steakhouse on South Michigan Avenue, even though he could have walked it.
    As he entered, he looked around and spotted the brothers sitting toward the back. The Firehouse had a tuxedoed maître d’, but he told the man, “I see my party.”
    “Who would that be, sir?” the man asked, not letting him pass.
    Roper stopped, looked at the man, then decided to just let him do his job.
    “The Pinkertons.”
    “Of course, sir,” the man said. “This way.”
    He followed the man across the crowded room to the table, where both William and Robert looked up.
    “Gentlemen, your guest has arrived.”
    “Thank you, Henry. Would you have the waiter bring us three brandies, please?” William asked.
    “I’ll have a beer, Henry,” Roper said.
    “Of course,” William said. “Two brandies and a beer, Henry.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    He gave Roper—his suit and his choice of beverage—a condescending look and walked away.
    “Have a seat, Talbot,” William said.
    The brothers were seated opposite each other. Roper sat down next to Robert, with William across from him.
    “Again,” William said, “thank you for coming—to Chicago, to the funeral, and to dinner.”
    “I have to admit my curiosity is up.”
    “Curious about what, in particular?” Robert asked.
    “Well, what was so all fired important that I come to Chicago, how Allan died and…well, that’s it, for a start.”
    William chose to answer the last question first.
    “We’re still not sure what we’re going to tell the public,” he said. “The fact is Allan had a fall three weeks ago, and bit his tongue. I mean, he bit through his tongue.”
    “How bad a fall?”
    “Not that bad, really,” William said, “but his tongue became infected and…well, it became gangrenous and he…died.”
    Roper stared at the two of them.
    “Wait a minute,” he said. “You’re telling me he died because…he bit his tongue?”
    William and Robert exchanged a look.
    “I heard at the wake that he had a stroke.”
    “Not true,” Robert said, “but we may go with that story.”
    “Maybe he had a stroke, which caused his fall, which caused him to…”
    William was shaking his head.
    “I also heard at the wake something about foul play.”
    “The doctor assured us it was the tongue,” William said.
    “That’s…that’s…tragic,” Roper said.
    “Exactly,” Robert said.
    The waiter came with their drinks, and William looked at Roper and said, “Do you mind if I order for all of us?”
    “No, go ahead.”
    “Three steak dinners, Andy.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Roper sipped his beer, still stunned by the news of what had caused Pinkerton’s death. Maybe he and Allan hadn’t gotten along, but what a waste for a man to die in his sixties in that way.
    “As for your other question,” William said “we have a proposition for you.”
    It looked as if Dol was right. They were going to offer him a job. He contrived to look more interested in his beer than in what they had to say.
    The brothers exchanged a glance, and Robert nodded. Roper took this to mean that William would be taking the lead. They were, after all, in his backyard. Robert ran the San