Shadows in the White City by Robert W. Walker

Sorry for any libelous, felonious words I may’ve used against you.”
    â€œIn print?”
    â€œOr in the ale houses!”
    â€œJust doing your bloody job. Dirt…it’s your business. Words are weapons to a man like you.”
    Carmichael fell silent. He looked so contrite. “Aye, my business, and it cost me dearly. I wonder what might’ve occurred last eve had I opened that cab door?”
    â€œYou’d’ve lost your head along with Griffin, and we’d not be here having this conversation.”
    â€œYes…difficult to speak if your throat’s cut. Just that knowing who Denton was…knowing my own suspicions of him, and even sensing some unease in him as he spoke…I knew I’d not open that door for any reason, not even for a story, not on any account.”
    â€œSmart of you, Thom.”
    â€œDo you find me a coward, Alastair?”
    â€œA coward? No…a man of words. No one expects more from you, Thom.”
    â€œBut suppose…suppose Denton was alive in there, only stunned? Perhaps I could’ve done something to…to help him, you see, and—”
    â€œDamn it, man! You do your battles with words. Your sword is language. You have nothing to feel ashamed of.”
    â€œAnd you? Your weapon of choice?”
    â€œI can tell you it is not a garrote.”
    â€œYes, I imagine if you used a blade, it’d be a full-blown guillotine.”
    â€œDo you know where I can find one?”
    â€œGotta be one somewhere at the fair. France’s contributions to the world since Columbus discovered America, all that.”
    Ransom couldn’t help but laugh at Thom’s sardonic wit.
    â€œThen you are off to outwit the Phantom once again?”
    â€œI am his match, sir.”
    â€œBut there is something you want from him first, something you must have or know? Before you kill him?”
    â€œKeep your voice down.”
    â€œWell, is there? Something you want from him?”
    â€œI want to know where the jewelry is kept.”
    â€œNo…come along. You must confide in someone, trust someone.”
    â€œI have confided in someone.”
    â€œA person or God? The confessional?”
    â€œA person, the only man I trust.”
    Ransom walked off, leaving Carmichael to ponder who it might be that had Alastair Ransom’s complete confidence. He suspected Thom would guess it to be Philo Keane, so often seen with Ransom in bawdy houses and at the gambling table, but Thom was a bright fellow, and he’d likely soon dismiss the notion and instead go in search of Dr. Christian Fenger for the answer.
    As he stormed off, Alastair heard his former chief, County Prosecutor Kehoe, laughing over some joke made by another man who’d come on scene, a man who created a sensation among the reporters and populace—Mayor Carter Harrison. Alastair did not look back as he stepped out of the circuslike atmosphere of White City and continued into the real city —cold-blooded murder on his mind.
    Thom Carmichael went to see Dr. Christian Fenger at Cook County, and making it clear that he’d come as a friend of Ransom’s and not as a reporter, he asked Fenger if he were the one man that Alastair had confided in. “I need to know, Doctor, please.”
    Christian Fenger poured Thom a drink. “I’d prescribe something more medicinal, but you’d never take it.”
    Carmichael took the offering, his hangover killing him. “What about my question?”
    â€œRansom did not lie, but I am not the man you seek.”
    â€œThen who? To whom does he confide?”
    â€œOne man.”
    â€œYes? His name?”
    â€œHis name is Ransom.”
    â€œYet he confides in you as well.”
    â€œOn certain topics…at times.”
    â€œThen you know very well he intends to dispatch Denton to the cosmos, don’t you?”
    â€œI know nothing of the kind, and neither do you.”
    â€œBut,