An Acquaintance with Darkness - Ann Rinaldi [39]
I looked in the direction he indicated. "Yes."
"They're detectives."
"How do you know?"
"I just do. Wait. Watch them a moment"
It only took a moment of watching before the four men walked across the street to the Surratt house.
"If that isn't an advance at the double," Robert said, "nothing is."
The detectives went up the front steps of the Surratt house and knocked on the door.
"Oh, what do they want?" I whispered to Robert.
"Just what your uncle hoped to have you avoid. I'm beginning to think you should have met Annie in the cemetery, as you originally planned. If you had to meet with her at all."
"She's my friend, Robert. A person doesn't desert a friend in time of need."
"All right. All right. Just be quiet. And as calm as possible. No matter what happens. Those detectives aren't here to take Annie for a stroll in the park," he mumbled.
We could see the Surratt door open. The men went in. We waited. Robert unfolded his newspaper and started to read it. The front page was full of a proclamation by Secretary of War Stanton:
ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS' REWARD!
THE MURDERER OF OUR LATE BELOVED PRESIDENT,
ABRAHAM LINCOLN,
IS STILL AT LARGE!
Fifty Thousand Dollars will be paid by this Department
for his Apprehension!
Twenty-Five Thousand Dollars' Reward
for A. Atzerodt, sometimes called "Port Tobacco"!
Twenty-Five Thousand Dollars' Reward
for David E. Herold!
All persons harboring or secreting the said persons,
or either of them, or aiding or assisting their
concealment or escape will be treated as accomplices,
subject to a trial before a military commission,
and the punishment of death!
LET THE STAIN OF INNOCENT BLOOD
BE REMOVED FROM THE LAND!
At least they aren't offering a reward for Johnny, I thought. That means they can't prove he had anything to do with it.
"Robert," I said finally, "maybe Annie needs my help. I can't sit here like this."
"You must. I can't have you charging in there. I promised your uncle I would look out for you today."
"I should have come this morning, like I wanted to." I moaned.
"I couldn't make it this morning. You know I worked last night."
"Why do you have to work at night? You're a medical student."
"I stay late at the lab. Sometimes it's the only time I can get any work done on my experiments.... Now, just be patient a few moments longer. Nobody in their right mind would go charging in there now."
Just then a man came tearing down the street, right past our carriage. He paused for a moment in front of it, eyes riveted on the Surratt house, completely unaware of us.
"I know that man," Robert said.
I looked. I knew him, too. I gasped. He was wearing a gray coat, black pants, and an old cap. His name was Powell. He'd been to the Surratt house when Johnny was home. And he'd stopped with Booth at the president's box at Ford's Theater the night Johnny took me there.
It came over me then like a cold sweat. Booth had stopped to visit us in the president's box at Ford's Theater! Where he would come, almost a month later, to shoot the president!
Why had Johnny taken us there that night? Was it to meet Booth? So Booth could familiarize himself with the president's box? No, no, I must stop going down that road, I told myself. Down that road lies madness.
"He was hiding in the Congressional Cemetery last night," Robert said of Powell. "I saw him climbing out of a marble vault. Just lifted the slab off and got right out. Pretty as you please. Like he was getting out of bed in the morning."
"I thought you were working in the laboratory last night."
"I had to go to a late funeral."
I had the feeling he was lying to me. But I had other things to think of now.
Together we watched as Powell crossed the street right in front of us, walked to the Surratt house, went swiftly up the steps, and knocked on the door. It opened. He was admitted.
"That's the same man," Robert said with certainty. "He was up to no good then, and he's up to no good now."
Powell's clothing had looked disheveled, as if he'd been