'Where we stand, Lincoln stood,' said Houston, 'consulting his Secretary of the Treasury, Salmon P. Chase.'
When instructed to swear to uphold the laws of the United States, Littlemore asked if he could make an exception in the case of the Volstead Act — the law mandating Prohibition — which Secretary
Houston did not find amusing. When taking the oath to support and defend the Constitution of the United States, Littlemores voice caught. He wished his father could have been there.
'Let me show you around, Special Agent Littlemore,' said Houston.
The divisions of the United States Treasury were surprisingly extensive. Houston pointed out with pride his gigantic bureau of internal revenue, his anti-counterfeiting unit, his bureau of engraving and printing, his bureau of alcohol enforcement, and, finally, an elegant spacious marble hall with a row of tellers along one wall, each behind an iron-grilled window. 'This is where the Treasury pays money on demand to anyone presenting a valid note. We call it the Cash Room. Show me all the money you have in your pockets, Littlemore.'
'Let's see. I got a three-cent nickel, a couple of dimes, and a fin.'
'Only the coins are money. Your five-dollar bill is not.'
'It's a fake?' asked Littlemore.
'Not fake, but not money. It's merely a note. A promise. You'll find the promise in the small print on the reverse, between Columbus and the Pilgrims. Read it — where it says "redeemable."'
'"This note,'" Littlemore read the inscription, '"is redeemable in gold on demand at the Treasury Department of the United States in the City of Washington, District of Columbia, or in gold or lawful money at any Federal Reserve Bank.'"
'Without those words,' said Houston, 'that note would be worthless paper. No shop owner would accept it. No bank would credit it. A five-dollar bill is a promise made by the United States to pay five dollars in gold to anyone presenting that note here in the United States Treasury in Washington, DC. Hence the Cash Room.'
'Not too many people cashing in,' said Littlemore. Only two customers were transacting business with the tellers.
'Which is as it should be.' Houston began walking again, leading Littlemore into a long corridor. 'No one has any reason to cash in — so long as everyone believes he can. But imagine if people began to fear we didn't have enough gold to pay off our notes. Do we have enough, do you suppose?'
'Don't we?'
'If all United States monetary obligations were called at once, the government would be as helpless and ruined as any bank in the middle of a panic. The system works on confidence. Picture a trickle of worried people coming here to cash in their notes. Picture the trickle turning into a crowd. Picture the crowd turning into a nation, stampeding to get their money before the nation's metal was exhausted. The government would have to declare bankruptcy. Lending would freeze. Factories would shut down. The entire economy would stop. What would happen next is anyone's guess. Possibly the states would revert to their former condition of autonomy.'
'I see why you want to keep a lid on the robbery, Mr Houston.'
'My point exactly. Here we are — this will be your office, Littlemore. Small, but you have your own telephone and access to all files of course. Here's the key to your desk. In it you'll find documents concerning the transfer of the gold from the Sub-Treasury in Manhattan to the Assay Office next door — how the bridge was built, who was involved, how it was planned, and so on. It's for you alone. Understood?'
'Yes, sir,' said Littlemore.
Houston lowered his voice: 'And I want a complete report on your meeting this afternoon with Senator Fall. Remember, Littlemore, you're my man in Washington, not his.'
On his way to the Senate Office Building that afternoon, Littlemore treated himself to a look at the Washington Monument. Adjacent to that great and solemn obelisk, he found to his surprise that the city had installed its Public Baths. From there Littlemore continued on the Mall — a straight, grassy, wide-open promenade dotted with important, majestic structures — toward the Capitol. He imagined lords and ladies strolling at a leisurely pace, with small dogs on leashes trotting behind them; in fact the Mall was empty.
At the corner of First and B Street — the address of the Senate Office Building — Littlemore saw only a small nondescript hotel at the weedy edges of the Capitol grounds. The detective was untroubled. He knew that in Washington's paradoxical cartography, there would be four different intersections where First Street meets B Street — each on a different side of the Capitol. Littlemore turned south and presently came to another corner of First and B. Here he found only a row of tumbledown wooden-frame houses, one attached to the next, with a dirt road in front of them. Garbage filled the road; flies attacked the garbage, and a whiff of unprocessed sewage sang in the nostrils. Negroes sat on the house porches. Not one white man, other than Littlemore, was to be seen. Mosquitoes abounded. Littlemore clapped one of the pests dead, near his face. When he separated his palms, he had framed between his hands the grand dome of the United States Capitol.
It was a good thing Littlemore had left the Treasury at three o'clock. He finally entered the rotunda of the Senate Office Building — which was three stories high, ringed by Corinthian columns, every wall gleaming with white marble and limestone, suffused with natural light from the glazed oculus at the apex of the richly coffered dome — at two minutes to four, just on time.
Albert B. Fall, United States Senator from New Mexico, was a hale man of sixty, tall and hard-drinking, with a drooping Western mustache white with age. Outdoors, he liked to sport a big-rimmed Western hat, mismatching his three-piece Eastern bow-tied suit. His chambers were lavish. When Littlemore was shown in, the Senator was working on his putting stroke, aiming golf balls at an empty milk bottle at least thirty feet away. The Senator's shots were missing badly.
'Special Agent James Littlemore,' declared Senator Fall without interrupting his practice. He had a large voice — the kind that could carry from an open-air rostrum or fill a legislative chamber. 'Glad to meet you, son. Heard a lot about you. What do you make of Washington?'
'Big offices, sir.'
'Big men get big offices. That's how it works. What's on your mind, boy?'
Littlemore was about to mention that the Senator had asked to see him, not the reverse, but the question turned out to be rhetorical.
'I'll tell you what's on your mind,' said Senator Fall. 'You're thinking why does this senator in this big office want to see me.'
'That's about right.'
'I'll tell you why. I want you to keep me posted on your investigation.'
Littlemore opened his mouth to answer.
'Don't you say anything, son,' interrupted Fall. 'I ain't put a question yet. I know what you'd say anyway. You'd say, "I'm sorry, Mr Senator, hut the investigation is confidential. You'll have to take that up with Secretary Milksop — I mean Houston.'"
There was silence in the room as Senator Fall lined up another putting stroke.
'Ain't I right?' said Fall.
'Am I supposed to answer now?' asked Littlemore.
'I'm right,' said Fall, slapping his golf ball a foot past the milk bottle into a bookcase. 'Damnation. That's it. I've had enough of this fool game. I don't play golf. Harding plays golf, so I figured I ought to give it a go. Well, he'll just have to play by himself. Mrs Cross? Get your pretty self in here.'
A door at the far end of the room opened. A tall blonde woman entered — the same attractive woman who had met Littlemore at Union Station the day before.