Keeping Secrets (39 page)

“I know! I could be in charge of hats and handbags. That's always a real problem, and it would free your domestics to do other things. How about it? I can always use the extra money. I need a few things for my apartment, and I want a blouse I saw at—”

“All right, all right,” he said, throwing up his hands and smiling. “You just can't keep down an industrious young person.”

“That's me, industrious,” I repeated, thinking of the memo he'd sent to R. M. Francke the previous spring informing him of his view that the third party suggested by M.K. lacked “industry.”

I gave much consideration beforehand to what I must achieve during that party, so that I would be ready to seize every opportunity. I bought a secondhand maid's uniform, gray with a white organdy apron and matching cap, so I could move about the house a little less obtrusively if I got the chance. I knew this might prove the ideal time to use the vest-pocket camera—I still had no pictures of any of the people under surveillance. But I didn't feel confident with it, and was afraid I'd lean over and lose it from my apron, or that some other revealing incident would give me away, so I decided not to use it.

By the night of the party I was practically in a fit of nerves. It had rained all day—an intermittent downpour that was a result of a storm closing in on the upper Gulf Coast. I'd planned to ride the River Avenue streetcar part of the way and walk the balance of the trip out to Laurel Heights, but the rain forced me to order a taxi to pick me up at half-past six. As luck would have it, the Tetzel home was outside the limits of the fixed routes for the five-cent jitneys.

I paced back and forth by the front windows as the minutes ticked by … six thirty-five … six-forty … six forty-five. Finally I caught sight of the taxi headlights glowing through the splashing water and, grabbing my umbrella, rushed to the door. As I opened it, there stood Keith in his slicker, one hand poised to knock; the other holding a box.

“Oh, say, I brought you some fresh peaches—hey, where are you …?”

I whirled past him, calling behind me, “Leave them inside and lock the door, please,” then fled down the stairs. On the second-floor landing I turned and shouted, “Thank you,” but just then a clap of thunder shook the building and obliterated the sound of my voice. I made for the taxi without looking back again.

When I took on the job of looking after hats and other accessories, I had not counted on the extra array of rain slickers, umbrellas, and rubber boots. At least six couples had already arrived and Mr. Tetzel was looking anxiously out the window for my arrival, while a maid, neglecting other assigned duties, sullenly carried soaked galoshes and other gear into the front parlor where a huge tarpaulin had been laid to protect the floor from the wet garments. Undoubtedly the Tetzels were a great deal better prepared for the occasion of rain than I was.

The party had been under way a good two hours before I got through grouping hats, gloves, and other apparel, and had a chance to walk into the magnificent ballroom. I'd been told it was the envy of many San Antonio families, and there was no wondering why. I could almost imagine the day Tetzel walked into the lobby of the Menger and told his building contractor, “I want you to duplicate this for my house.”

I stood against a wall among the other hired helpers for a little while, before my eyes fixed on Electra and Emory Cabot coming out to dance. Little footlights had been placed here and there around the rectangular floor, and although there were many others dancing, the Cabots stood out like royalty among the peasants. My heart was pumping hard. Though I'd always admired them separately, I had never dreamed they'd make such a striking couple. Cabot wore a black evening suit and Electra wore a flowing rose-colored gown with a sheer mantle hung loosely around her throat, setting off her golden hair. Their arms extended for a Strauss waltz and he held her not quite, but almost dangerously, close, and looked right into her eyes. The lights from above played on their faces as they twirled around to the three-quarter waltz time, and when the lights caught them just right I saw his eyebrow raised, his mouth moving as though he whispered words meant only for her. Her radiant face was demure, her lips almost, but not quite, smiling. I was so wrapped up in watching them as they moved, I nearly swayed into a waiter carrying a tray of drinks. That reminded me I was supposed to be spying, not romanticizing.

Later, Lyla Stuttgart approached and asked, “Have you any cigarettes, love? These parties are a frightful bore, aren't they.” Before I could answer, her husband, Arnold, came from behind and said, “Come, dear, you must dance with Adolph while I waltz Sophie around the floor. It's the courteous thing to do.”

She grimaced and went off with him.

By the time the evening was at an end, I had seen enough to know the Cabots and Stuttgarts were acquainted, particularly the two women, and I could not wait to tell Edwin this first piece of information about Arnold Stuttgart. Could he have been the “third party”?

Although I managed to wind up the evening as clumsily as I began, by losing Cabot's hat temporarily, I felt it was well spent. Mr. Tetzel reimbursed my one-way taxi fare, and offered to drive me home, but then a nice couple who would be passing down River Avenue on their route home insisted upon dropping me off.

All the way, the storm raged outside the auto window. I could not get the Cabots out of my mind. How handsome they were, commanding the dance floor, seeing nothing except each other … the very air around them seemed to sparkle.…

Later as I lay in bed, each time I shut my eyes I saw the Cabots. Round and round their images swirled, one-two-three, one-two-three, dancing, dancing, in and out of my mind and through my dreams like china figurines, they waltzed the hours away, the music resounding with as much liveliness as if it had never ceased.…

In the morning the spell was finally shattered, and I lay awake, sickened by the thought that these same two people could conceivably be separated by the horror of prison walls only months from now. Their beautiful clothing would be replaced by institutional rags. Authorities might cut her hair, shave his beard. The only space left to their command would be a small area in a dingy prison yard. They'd be kept from each other for years, maybe even forever.…

It was too awful to imagine. Oh Lord, forgive me, I thought, I know they're probably both rotten from head to toe, but I wish somehow they could be spared the price of guilt.

13

When I told Edwin about the party, he was pleased and said, “Make it your business to run into Cabot's wife when you can.”

“I'm hardly in a position to—”

“Watch the house, follow her, ask questions of Nathan Hope. Also, keep your eyes on the mails and get into that safe whenever you can. And hire out to parties—that's a great idea—anytime you can.”

Edwin had a way of making difficult feats sound easy. For the next couple of months, however, it seemed I was at another stalemate. Although I did get a chance to have a look in the secret safe compartment, and found a group of invoices which proved Tetzel was still in charge of getting arms across the border, there was a new consignment address in Laredo that stumped me until Edwin was able to check it out: Maxwell Coffin. A new name in the hat, I thought, puzzled, one more strange ingredient in the hobo stew. I contacted Edwin as usual, and thought no more about it.

Once or twice I got my hands on outgoing mail for Tetzel, but he seemed to be curtailing his communications with the German Foreign Office of late—perhaps because of the botched-up affair with Huerta—and in any case, his messages were so cryptic that I felt the only sure way to learn who he so often referred to as the “third party” was to get my hands on the mail coming to him. This I was never able to do. Nothing except bank business ever came to the main mail desk. Though I searched his desk, his cabinets, his briefcase, and everything else I could think of, I found nothing. It was possible he kept mail in his home somewhere, but on the night of the party I had been able to steal into his study for a quick look, and found his desk locked. I checked the key chain he carried, but found no key small enough for a desk lock. The only way to get in, then, was to have a key made for the desk by bringing in a locksmith, and this little bit of dirty work would almost have to be performed when the Tetzels were out of town and the house closed. They never seemed to travel together, and they kept a staff of at least six regular servants apt to pop up anywhere at any time. The desk-key dilemma was one example of the endless frustrations hampering our progress.

I kept up with my mid-day meetings with Nathan, in hopes of gathering some useful information, yet as the weather cooled off our lunches on the riverbank would have to cease and getting moments alone with him would be more difficult.

As the evenings grew dark earlier, I began working a little later, then leaving the office and making straight for the little neighborhood headed by the house with the square tower and transversed by King William Street. There were lots of bushes, shrubs, and trees to use as camouflage while I watched for any comings and goings from the Cabot house, and the triangular park was a good vantage point for watching the Stuttgart house.

One night I reached the edge of the Cabot yard just at dusk, and noticed Electra tugging a basketload of pecans toward her back door. I rushed ahead and offered her a hand.

“I meant to bring these in earlier, but they were so heavy I decided to leave them for Nathan to carry. Now he's called to say he'll have to work late. How lucky you happened by—what brings you down here?”

“Why … I have some friends a couple of blocks from here.”

“Are you in a rush to get there?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Then come in and have some refreshment with me. I'm lonely these days. Emory's in Mexico, you know.”

Inside I was full of questions as to her husband's business. She told me about his mining properties in Mexico, and said he was seeing to a supply shipment of some kind, and checking on production. “I really know very little about how his business is run, because I never go down there.”

“It's hardly a place for visiting these days.”

“How I wish all the fighting would stop. It scares me to death when Emory travels down there. He never knows what he'll find.”

“I can imagine. But he probably has friends who look after him, doesn't he?”

“Oh yes. In fact, he has ranching property next to that of Fernando Barrista—have you heard of him?—he's very distinguished. We've had him as our guest here a couple of times.”

I tried not to show my excitement. “Uh—yes, it seems to me I've run across that name before.”

She opened her mouth as though to add a further remark, but changed her mind and took a sip of coffee. “More currant cake?”

“No, thank you.”

“Camille, since I don't really know you well, I hope you wouldn't feel … insulted … if I advised you about something. I admire you a lot for taking on extra jobs and working so hard to make your way. However, I couldn't help noticing something at the party not long ago. I don't want to mention names … but I think you ought to look out for people—men—who might try to take advantage of your position. Sometimes young women who are single and bright, and attractive, are … well, noticed a little more, shall we say.” She paused and shook her head. “I know I'm being vague, but just be on guard when extra attentions are paid you by people you might be indebted to.”

I couldn't imagine what she was talking about, but it was clear she wasn't about to divulge any names, so I pretended to be in the know, and nodded agreeably.

All the way home and into the rest of the evening I puzzled over what she told me, trying to think of every incident at the party which might have led her to caution me. I was only “indebted” to one person—Mr. Tetzel—but surely she wouldn't have read anything into his actions toward me. He'd never come close to trying anything fresh.

Maybe she was the jealous type, and meant to warn me against getting involved with her husband. If I had a husband that good-looking, I might be inclined to be suspicious now and then.

I was still mulling it over when I met with Edwin several nights later, but saved it till we'd discussed other business first.

He said he'd get to work right away on Barrista, and added, “I wonder when they intend to pull the rug out from under Pancho Villa?”

“Looks like the United States is going to do that for them. They're about to recognize Carranza.”

“Yes, but that won't stop an old bandido like Villa.”

“What can you do about the Barrista revolution?”

“All depends upon what is being done on this side of the border. I'll have to find out what I can. Unless they're exporting guns directly to him, or drawing up battle plans, there isn't much we can do. I'll say one thing for Cabot and Tetzel. They run a tight ship. We've had a lot of tough cases to open, but I never saw one like this, at least not in my territory.

“Oh, by the way, the invoices you found were consigned to a coffin company.”

“You're kidding. I thought Maxwell Coffin was a proper name. What in the world for?”

“A good way to smuggle arms across the border.”

“Inside coffins?”

“That's right.”

“Well then, as soon as you fill in the U.S. agents, they'll confiscate the guns and blow Tetzel's whole operation wide open.”

“That's why nothing will be done yet. We're going to let out some more rope.”

“I wonder what'll happen when Carranza is recognized.”

“On an official basis, Washington will be able to wash its hands of the trouble down there. It'll be cut and dried from this side of the border as far as selling him arms. It ought to solve a lot of problems about embargoes.”

“Then, what about Barrista? Do you suppose the Germans will drop the idea of financing him?”