Death Instinct - Jed Rubenfeld [73]
Lamont, by contrast, was fidgety. He looked as if he wished he were elsewhere. “A drink, Captain?” he asked. “Quite legal, you know. Private club.”
“I’m fine,” said Littlemore.
“Ah, on duty, of course,” said Lamont, waving a waiter away. “I thought about what you said on Friday. Are you really sure the criminals were attacking my firm?”
“I never said I was sure, Mr. Lamont,” said Littlemore. “I said that if I were you, I’d want to find out.”
“You asked me if the firm had enemies. There is a man who came to mind after you left. But it cannot get out that I named him. Is that understood?”
Littlemore nodded. The hush of Lamont’s voice, coupled with the general noise of card-playing, assured that no one would overhear them. Thick smoke curled around the armchairs and wafted into the coffered ceiling.
“He’s a banking man,” Lamont went on, almost whispering. “A foreigner. Before the war, he was the second wealthiest financier in New York—second to J. P. Morgan, Sr., that is. How he hated Morgan for it. Now he’s fallen down, and he blames us for his misfortune. It’s ludicrous. He’s German, a personal friend of the Kaiser’s. His house funded the Kaiser’s armies. Naturally his lines of credit dried up when our country declared war against his. What did he expect? But he seems to believe there’s a conspiracy even now to deny him funds and that we are its masterminds. He threatened me.”
Lamont looked positively fearful.
“What kind of threat?” asked Littlemore.
“It was at our Democratic campaign dinner. No, it was our Republican dinner—for Harding. We do them both, of course. At any rate, he drew me aside and told me to ‘watch out’—I’m quoting him, Captain—to ‘watch out’ because ‘there are those who don’t like it when one of the houses combines with the others to deny men capital.’”
“You say he funded the German army?”
“Unquestionably,” said Lamont. “Clandestine, of course. You won’t find his name on any documents. If you ask him, he’ll tell you he loves this country. But he feels no loyalty to us. I doubt he is loyal to any country, even his own. It’s in their nature, you know. A Bolshevik, in fact.”
“Wait a minute,” replied Littlemore. “You’re saying the guy’s a banker, a friend of the Kaiser—”
“Why, the Kaiser knighted the man. He received the German Cross of the Red Eagle.”
“And a Bolshevik?” asked Littlemore.
“He’s a Jew,” Lamont explained.
Roars of laughter erupted across the room. A butler approached.
“Oh, a Jew,” said Littlemore. “Now I get it. What’s his name?”
The butler bent toward Lamont and said, “The gentleman is back, sir.”
“For heaven’s sake, tell him I’m not here,” answered Lamont in obvious annoyance.
“I’m afraid he knows you’re here, sir,” said the butler.
“Well, tell him to go away. I don’t come to my club to do business. Tell him he must see me at my office.” To Littlemore, he added: “The new financial agent for Mexico. Won’t take no for an answer.”
“The man’s name, Mr. Lamont,” said Littlemore.
“Señor Pesqueira, I believe. Why?”
“Not him. The man who threatened you.”
“Oh. Speyer. Mr. James Speyer.”
“Do you know where I can find him?”
“That’s why I asked you here. You may be able to converse with Mr. Speyer tonight.”
“He’s a member?” asked Littlemore.
“At the Bankers and Brokers?” returned Lamont, incredulous. “Certainly not. Mr. Speyer likes to dine at Delmonico’s, which is open to the public. I’m told he’s there tonight. It may be your last chance.”
“Why?”
“They say he means to leave the country tomorrow.”
In New Haven, Connecticut, Colette and Luc Rousseau had also attended church that Sunday, near the stately mansions of Hillhouse Avenue. On their way home, they walked around an old cemetery as overstuffed clouds hung thoughtlessly against a gaudy blue sky. Colette tried to hold her brother’s hand, but he wouldn’t have it.
After the sun had set, back in their small