The Death Instinct

'Don't give me that. You're broke, Speyer,' said Littlemore. 'You had to sell off two of your bigger paintings recently. You even let go of your old servants.'

Speyer stared at the detective: 'How do you know so much about me?'

'Just using my eyes.' Littlemore pointed to two spots on the wall where the slightest lightening of the wallpaper indicated that smaller portraits were now on display where two larger frames used to hang. 'You wouldn't be answering your own doorbell if you still had the servants a man who lives in this kind of house ought to have. I'd say you're trying to maintain appearances, Speyer. I'd say things are getting desperate. Why didn't you sell the Rembrandt?'

A long pause followed. 'I couldn't let it go,' said Speyer at last. 'What do you want with me?'

'The NYPD provides security when presidential candidates come to town,' answered Littlemore, not untruthfully. 'We have plain-clothesmen at every dinner. You were overheard at one of those dinners threatening a J. P. Morgan man.'

'Nonsense.'

'You deny telling a Morgan partner to watch out because the Morgan firm was combining with others to deny you credit?'

'What? I wasn't threatening Lamont. I was warning him.'

'You might be surprised, Mr Speyer, but the law doesn't draw too fine a distinction between threats and warnings.'

'You don't understand. I was warning Lamont about the Mexicans – despite everything Morgan's done to me. Mexico's new financial agent, he was the one doing the threatening. Making the wildest claims about what would happen to the House of Morgan – to Morgan himself – if they didn't lift the embargo.'

'What embargo?'

'The Morgan embargo against Mexico. You must know about the default?'

'No.'

Speyer shook his head. 'Where to begin? Twenty years ago, J. P. Morgan – the old man – floated the entire Mexican national debt. A big gamble, unheard of for a United States bank. It was a bold wager. Worked out handsomely for a long time. Made Morgan a fortune. But then Mexico had its revolution, and in 1914, the Mexicans defaulted. They haven't paid a penny since. By now they owe hundreds of millions in interest alone. Morgan pressured all the other houses not to lend Mexico any new money until they've paid what they owe on the old.'

'What's wrong with that?' asked Littlemore.

'Wrong? There's no right and wrong in banking. There are only bets, good ones and bad ones. Morgan didn't see the revolution coming. That's why the Morgan people are so unhinged about me.'

'I don't follow you, Mister.'

Speyer took a deep breath. 'I'm betting on the revolutionaries. I'm breaking the embargo. I'm the only one. Lamont knows I have funds lined up, but he doesn't know where the money is coming from. That's why I ran from you on Sunday. I couldn't afford to be arrested. I can't afford the delay – or the publicity.' Speyer sat down awkwardly, his hands still shackled behind him. 'Lamont knows I'll take my money and lend it straight to the Mexicans. He'd do anything he could to stop me.'

Littlemore took this in. 'If Mexico can't afford to pay Morgan, why would you lend them money?'

'Oh, they can afford to pay. They have railroads. They have silver. Most of all, they have oil. More oil than anybody else on earth. I have to make this trip, Officer. It's my last chance. My wife is very ill. If I'm not on the Imperator, I'll lose everything. I promise you I'll be back on the eighth'. I can give you collateral.'

'What kind of collateral?'

'Any kind. Name it.'

Littlemore named it. Speyer swallowed hard.

The same morning, Younger sent Colette a reply to her request that he accompany her to Vienna. His letter could not be faulted for excessive length:

September 21, 1920

No.

– Stratham

Back outside on Fifth Avenue, Littlemore let Roederheusen take the driver's seat of their car. The detective's hands were occupied with a rectangular object wrapped in a heavy blanket. When Roederheusen asked what the object was, Littlemore told him it was a quarter- million-dollar bond.

As they drove off, Littlemore noticed the limousine up the street pulling away as well, in the opposite direction.

Because it was still early, Littlemore decided to spend an hour in a law library. The librarian was eager to help, but she knew less about researching the law than did the detective. They found nothing.

The telephone was ringing when Littlemore arrived at his office. Rosie, the operator, informed him that a Mr Thomas Lamont was on the line – and that he'd been calling all morning.

'Did you speak with Mr Speyer?' asked Lamont when the connection was made.

'You know I did, Lamont. Your man was keeping watch.'

'I see. Well, we do like to keep an eye on things. Did you find out anything?'

'Yeah – I found out I was being used by J. P. Morgan. You were hoping I'd arrest Speyer, or at least hold him up a few days. That way he doesn't get his money abroad, and he can't lend it to the Mexicans.'

The line fell silent for a moment. 'Speyer told you about Mexico?' asked Lamont.

'That's right.'

'What did he tell you?'

'Enough,' said Littlemore.

'We are trying to help Mexico, Captain. A nation cannot simply default on her debt. Mexico will destroy her own future if she persists in this shortsightedness. A debt is a sacred obligation. Mr Speyer, like so many of his kind, cannot understand that. For him a debt is only money.'

'Whereas to you it's religion,' said Littlemore. 'I offered to help you, Lamont. You tried to make me a stooge.'

'I swear to you, Captain, that was not my intention. My sole concern is whether my firm is being attacked – and if so, finding out who is behind it.'

'I don't believe Speyer had anything to do with the bombing, and neither do you.'

'But the man threatened me. He practically warned me he was going to resort to violence. Did you ask him about that?'

'It wasn't a threat. He was trying to warn you about a new financial guy from Mexico – maybe the same guy who came to your club the other night.'

'Who – Pesqueira? What about him?'

'I don't know, Lamont. It's your business, not mine.'

'You can't just let Speyer leave the country, Captain. What if he never comes back?'

At that moment, Officer Stankiewicz poked his head through the door. 'Hey, Cap,' he said, out of breath, 'the Bureau -'

Littlemore silenced him with his palm. 'He'll come back,' he said to Lamont, ringing off. 'What is it, Stanky?'

'The G-men found a guy who serviced the bombers' horse and wagon,' said Stankiewicz. 'They say he's fingered Tresca. Flynn's announcing it to the press in ten minutes.'

'Where?' asked Littlemore, putting on straw hat and jacket.

'In front of the Treasury.'

'Go get that horseshoe,' said Littlemore, setting off down the hall. 'Meet me there.'

On the steps of the United States Treasury, with the statue of George Washington behind him and a phalanx of armed soldiers on either side, Big Bill Flynn of the Federal Bureau of Investigation had his arm around a grizzled workman wearing an oil-stained leather apron. To a small crowd of reporters and photographers, Flynn made the following proclamation:

'What we got here is a major break in the investigation. This fine American is Mr John Haggerty, a horseshoer of over forty years' experience, located by agents of the Bureau under my personal command. Get your pens out, boys; here's your story. On or about the first of this month, an individual appeared in Mr Haggerty's stable on New Chambers Street in the company of a horse and wagon, which horse and wagon was in need of new shoes, and which was outfitted with unusual brass turret rings just like the ones we collected from this plaza after the explosion. Mr Haggerty put size-four shoes on that horse, said shoes being united to said horse by means of shamrock nails and Niagara hoof pads – cooperating in every respect with the evidence we collected here.'