Swindled!: The 1906 Journal of Fitz Morgan (10 page)

Just then Mr. Spike arrived. “What’s this?” he asked, shocked at seeing the limp Asyla in her mother’s arms. And then he quickly
added in his syrupy voice, loud enough for the passengers to hear, “Seems someone else has a stomachache!”

Mrs. Notabe turned to Mr. Spike with her lips drawn back in a grimace. “If you take one more step in our direction–”

William Henry must have sensed that the situation might grow violent. He turned to us and said to Judge, “I want no arguments
from you. Go to your dining car, and I will bring lunch to you.”

Judge appeared tempted to argue, but she kept her mouth shut, and we both turned back toward the Pinkerton Pullman.

“Did you notice anything strange about all that, beyond the obvious, I mean?” I asked her as we walked through the first-class
car.

“Yes.” Judge nodded. “How did Mrs. Notabe know that her daughter had been poisoned by cyanide? That’s something most people
wouldn’t know unless they have medical training.”

“Or a detective background,” I added. “I’ll bet she knows more about Asyla’s poisoning than she let on. I don’t think she’s
being completely honest.”

Judge glanced at me. “Well, she’s not alone is she?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

“Someone else on this train is hiding something. And I’m not referring to the criminal,” Judge said as we entered her family’s
dining compartment.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why, you, of course.” Judge stopped walking and met my eyes.

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” she said. “You are the liar. You’re not a boy.” She took a breath and continued. “You’re a girl.”

How did she know???

1:15 PM

My secret was out! But how did Judge
know? And what should I do? Deny it and keep up the act? My mind raced as I tried to decide.

It’s strange. Revealing a secret about yourself can be like cracking a case. The secret can be something that you are unwilling
to drag into the light. But there is always a sense of relief that the truth is finally revealed–no matter what the consequences.

Judge and I sat down at one of the mahogany tables in her family’s dining compartment. Judge poured us cups of tea, then waited
silently. I gazed out the window, watching the gray and brown landscape roll by under a cloudy spring sky as we entered the
foothills of the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.

Finally, I decided to tell her my story.

“It’s true, Judge. I’m a girl,” I began, and then words poured out of me. “My name is Elizabeth Fitzpatrick Morgan. I was
born and raised in London, England. My father is an inspector at Scotland Yard. It was his idea that I travel as a boy. In
my country, our view of the United States is of thieving cowboys, acts of violence–”

“And cross-country trains full of poison,” Judge added helpfully.

“Exactly.” I nodded, grateful she was making this easy for me. “I know your country isn’t all like that, but my father decided
it’s no place for a young lady to travel alone. He knows I enjoy disguises and want to be a detective. Father couldn’t come
along on this vacation–he’s dealing with too many open cases. So taking this trip in disguise seemed the perfect way to give
me the things I wanted most out of life–travel, excitement… and the opportunity to go undercover.”

Judge spoke softly. “My mother laughs when I tell her that I want to go to law school. She says women are supposed to stay
at home. If it’s good enough for her, it should be good enough for me. Boys my age can run around and play football, while
I’m stuck learning to host parties and sew. So I can understand your deception.” Here she paused and then asked, “But the
story about your brother. That’s true, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said. “I wish it were part of my disguise, but it isn’t. I had an older brother. He moved to the United States and
joined the Navy. Later, he was killed on board the MAINE.”

Then I asked her, “When did you figure out my real identity?”

“Almost the moment I laid eyes on you!” Judge announced, grinning proudly.

“But how?” I had to admit I was upset that a nine-year-old girl–no matter how wise–had seen through my disguise.

Judge said, “If you’ll remember, after you saved Agent Howard, I pulled you back onto the train.”

“Of course.”

Her grin widened even more. “And my hand rested at the base of your skull.”

“Ah!” I realized how Judge had known that I was not a boy.

I was betrayed by a small occiput bone! In a way I was relieved, it was something beyond my control that gave me away. “So
it had nothing to do with my disguise or the way I talked?”

“No, you did an excellent job with both,” Judge said. “But how were you able to change your voice?”

I told her about the three things I always keep in mind when disguising the way I talk.

“Wait a moment,” I said, as something suddenly occurred to me. “Why did you wait so long to unmask me?”

Judge explained, “I knew you were in disguise but I didn’t know why. It could have been for some evil purpose. I never really
thought you were the villain, but it wasn’t until Asyla Notabe was poisoned that I could be a hundred percent sure.”

Now I understood. “Because we had spent the morning together,” I said.

“And I knew you didn’t have time to slip off and poison Asyla,” Judge finished my sentence. She stuck out her hand and I shook
it. “Nice to meet you, Elizabeth,” she said.

“And you, Judge,” I said. “It’s a relief to have someone know the truth. But please continue to call me Fitz. I like the nickname,
and I promised my father that I’d travel in disguise. I want to keep my promise.”

Judge nodded. “I think we’d all like a disguise at this point. Just in case you’ve forgotten, someone has poisoned two people
on this train!”

Glad to turn back to the case, I said, “Actually, we only know that two people have been poisoned on this train. We don’t
know if the same person is responsible. There may be more than one criminal! We need to focus. Do you have paper and a pencil?”

Judge fetched them and poised the pencil over the paper. “What are we writing?”

“A list of our main suspects, First on the list, I think we should put–”

Just then William Henry entered. He set down two plates of steamy, rich-smelling beef stew and two cups of fresh tea. “Asyla
Notabe is going to be fine. Dr. Freud doesn’t think her dose of poison was as strong as Agent Howard’s. She’s already out
of her coma. In fact, she keeps complaining that she wants to play a game in the baggage compartment.”

“Hide-and-seek?” I asked.

“Yes,” William Henry said, surprised. “How did you know?”

Judge spoke up. “What about her mother? Did Mrs. Notabe say anything?”

“Funny you should ask…” William Henry’s sentence trailed off.

“What’s funny?” I asked.

“Asyla’s mother now seems to accept Mr. Spike’s explanation of a stomachache. Yet, she herself thought Asyla was poisoned
at first.” William Henry noticed the paper and pen. “And what are you two plotting?”

“We were just coming up with names of suspects.”

“Were you now?” William Henry said, not really listening. He flicked open his pocket watch and checked the time. “I’m off
to the mail car, if you need me. The pole that picks up the mailbags from along the side of the track is acting up. Mailbags
are flying into the mail car faster than greased lightning. One man was hit by a bag and it snapped his wrist!”

Judge asked, “Why don’t they just stop using it?”

“The train’s got to pick up the mailbags–no matter how dangerous it is! Folks in San Francisco are expecting to get their
letters and packages,” William Henry said as if the answer to Judge’s question was obvious. And with that, he left the compartment.

Turning back to our suspect list, I said, “I’m definitely writing his name here.”

Judge’s eyes grew wide. “You don’t mean to put William Henry on the list?”

I nodded firmly. “And not just anywhere on the list. At the top.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said doubtfully.