There had been answers from the Shreveport Police Department and the commanding officer of the Army post. The former had merely stated that the incident at the theater was being investigated, but everything pointed to Sabot being a victim rather than a participant. Numerous witnesses had seen him struck down and had testified to the interruption to his performance.

  The latter message had been both puzzling and a source of relief. Apparently Selima had ‘escaped from her captors’, but was killed before she could reach the gates of the post. Opening fire, the guard had shot down her murderers—there was no mention of them having been in uniform—before they could flee from the scene of the crime.

  The puzzling aspect had been that the message was signed, ‘Manderley’ and not ‘Szigo’.

  With something like satisfaction, the marshal had said that the intruders had slipped through the Shreveport police’s and the Army’s fingers. Sabot was free to go. The meeting had ended amicably with the magician handing out free tickets to his first performance.

  Sabot had quit the marshal’s office with a lighter heart than when he had entered. Despite the failure to carry out de Richelieu’s scheme, the affair had not ended too badly for him. He had emerged without being suspected of complicity in the plot. With Brandt dead, he stood a chance of stepping into the ‘captain’s’—Brandt’s rank for the deception—shoes as second-in command of the Brotherhood. Not that he gave a damn for the ideals which guided de Richelieu’s actions. He merely wanted to gain a larger proportion of the financial benefits he felt sure would accrue as a result of the organization’s activities.

  Thinking of the future had brought another aspect to Sabot’s attention. He would be continuing to produce his show, which allowed members of the Brotherhood to visit, or meet in, different towns without raising questions concerning their presence. So he would require a replacement for Selima. Only this time he must be more selective in his choice. His rivals for Brandt’s position might use Selima’s inadequacies as a tool against him, blaming him for the failure of the Shreveport affair.

  What Sabot needed was a pretty, shapely, fairly intelligent girl who was not overburdened by scruples. There had not seemed much chance of him finding such a person in the small Lake Caddo town of Mooringsport.

  Having just reached that conclusion, Sabot collided with the girl and felt her fingers reaching into his jacket. He grinned internally at her mistake. Of course, if he had been wearing his stage make-up and clothes, instead of being clean-shaven and clad in a snappy gray suit of the latest Eastern sport’s fashion, she might have known better than to make the attempt at picking his pocket.

  Catching hold of the girl’s wrist, before she could completely withdraw the wallet from his pocket, the magician plucked her hand from beneath his jacket. They had that particular length of the sidewalk to themselves and he realized how nobody could see what was happening between them.

  ‘Let me go!’ the girl hissed, trying to snatch her wrist from his grasp. ‘What do you-all think you’re doing?’

  Sabot was on the point of shouting for somebody to fetch the marshal. Hearing the girl speak, he hurriedly revised his opinion and studied her. The ribbons of a grubby white spoon bonnet were fastened in a bow under the chin of a beautiful face. The hat effectively covered her hair, but Sabot sensed that it had been cut almost boyishly short. Taken with the tanned texture of her skin, the hair’s length was significant. She had on a Basque jacket, but did not wear the socially-required blouse underneath it, and a shiny black skirt which emphasized the shape of her slender hips before ending short enough to expose an indecorous amount of her cheap high-buttoned shoes.

  While her appearance had intimated that she was a not-too-prominent actress or a saloon girl, she had spoken in the accent of a well-raised Southron lady. Except that her tones had been hardened and harshened by life and unpleasant experiences. Such a combination suggested possibilities to the magician.

  ‘Shall we call the marshal so that you can complain?’ Sabot inquired, holding the girl close to him with his left hand while the right moved swiftly on a mission which she failed to detect. ‘I’ll do it, if you’re so inclined.’

  ‘So call him and we’ll see whose word he’ll take,’ challenged the girl, drawing back but still held by the wrist.

  For all her brash answer, she looked decidedly uneasy.

  ‘Very well,’ countered the magician and turned his head as if to do so.

  ‘This is all a misunderstanding,’ the girl put in hurriedly. ‘I don’t want to be involved in a public spectacle. So I’ll overlook your behavior.’

  Retaining his grip on her wrist, Sabot moved back to arm’s length and gave her another scrutiny. While slender and willowy, she was anything but scraggy. Dressed in a suitable manner, she would be worth looking at. Despite her obvious poverty, she carried herself with an air of breeding and refinement. That was possible. Reconstruction had seen many formerly well-to-do and respectable Southron girls driven on to the stage, or into even less savory occupations. Most of the unfortunates blamed the Yankees bitterly for their downfalls and had no love for supporters of the Union. Some could not adjust to their lowered status. Those who did, in Sabot’s experience, became tough, hard and unscrupulous.

  Unless the magician missed his guess, the would-be pickpocket fell into that category.

  Moreover, there were certain indications about her as to where she had spent time recently.

  ‘Don’t try and run away!’ the magician warned, releasing her. ‘If you do, I’ll have you arrested. You wouldn’t like that. You’re not long out of jail, are you?’

  ‘How dare you?’ the girl spat, with well-simulated indignation. ‘Just what do you mean by—’

  ‘That spoon bonnet looks like hell on you, but you have to wear it to hide your hair,’ Sabot interrupted and grinned as her right hand fluttered nervously towards her head. ‘They cut women prisoner’s hair short at the State Penitentiary. Your clothing suggests that you’re an actress, or a calico cat. But you’ve got a tan that says you’ve spent more time out of doors than you would in either job. It all adds up to you just having been released from prison.’

  ‘Smart, aren’t you?’ the girl demanded bitterly.

  ‘Shrewd—and correct.’

  ‘All right, mister. So I’ve only been out for a few days. What’s that got to do with you?’

  ‘I could have you send back,’ Sabot warned her.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Stealing my wallet.’

  ‘Try proving that,’ grinned the girl.

  ‘Before you make me do that,’ Sabot answered, ‘take a look in your vanity bag.’

  Jerking open the mouth of the bag, the girl glanced inside with an attitude of disbelief. Then she stiffened and stared harder. Raising her eyes, she glared at Sabot in open-mouthed amazement.

  ‘I—It’s there!’ the girl croaked, looking frightened. ‘What—How—?’

  ‘The next time you try to pick a pocket, make sure it’s not a magician’s,’ Sabot advised. ‘Like I said, I could send you back to jail.’

  ‘But you won’t if I’m nice to you, huh?’ the girl guessed.

  ‘Not entirely. I assume that you’re short of money.’

  ‘Mister, that’s a mighty shrewd assumption.’

  ‘Could you use a meal?’

  ‘I aimed to buy one with whatever I found in your wallet,’ the girl admitted. ‘The food at those stagecoach way stations isn’t fit for a hawg, or a Yankee. In that order.’

  ‘If you’ll be my guest,’ the magician said, delighted that he had summed up another aspect of her character so well. She had no love for ‘Yankees’. ‘I’ll stand treat for a meal.’

  ‘As a reward for me trying to lift your leather?’ the girl said dryly.

  ‘Do you want the meal, or don’t you?’

  ‘I want it. But I was wondering why you’re being so all fired nice to me.’

  ‘Why do you think I am?’

  ‘If it’s for the reason I suspect, you’re wasting your time,’ the girl declared. ‘One of the reasons I’m so short of money is that I don’t.’

  ‘I’ll remember that, if I get inclined to want it,’ Sabot promised. ‘My last assistant quit and I need a good-looking, shapely girl to replace her. While we’re eating, I’ll decide whether to offer you the job or not.’

  ‘Why, thank you ’most to death,’ replied the girl, taking the wallet from her bag and handing it back to its owner. ‘And I’ll decide whether I want to take it.’

  Chapter Three – Stomp the Bastard Good

  Although Sabot the Mysterious did not realize it, he had played into the hands of the Brotherhood for Southron Freedom’s most implacable and deadly enemy.

  Yet, taking her early life into consideration, Belle Boyd might have seemed ideally suited to become a leading light in an attempt to secede from the Union.

  Born the only child of a wealthy Baton Royale plantation owner, Belle had been given a most unconventional upbringing. In addition to receiving the normal instruction in the social- and lady-like graces, she had been taught to ride astride, fence with saber or epee, handle every type of firearm and perform skillfully at savate, the foot and fist boxing practiced by the French Creoles. Her father had always wanted a son and, by teaching her the martial arts, had given her an excellent education for what had lay ahead.

  Shortly before the War Between the States had commenced, a drunken mob of pro-Unionists fanatics—led by a pair of liberal-intellectuals called Tollinger and Barmain—had raided the Boyds’ plantation. By the time the family’s ‘downtrodden and abused’ slaves had driven off the attackers, Belle was wounded, her parents dead, and the fine old Boyd mansion had been reduced to a blazing ruin.

  On her recovery, Belle had sworn to take revenge on Tollinger and Barmain. They had fled to Union territory and were said to be members of the United States’ Secret Service. As an aid to hunting them, Belle had joined a Confederate spy ring organized by her cousin, Rose Greenhow. Acting as a courier, the girl had specialized in delivering messages and other information through the enemy’s lines. Gaining fame for such work, she had graduated to handling assignments of a difficult, dangerous nature. 3 To the Yankees, for whom she had become a thorn in the flesh, she had earned the title, the Rebel Spy.

  Not until the War was over had Belle’s path crossed that of her quarry. In pursuing and settling her account with them, she had paved the way for a change in her employers, if not in her way of life. 4 She had sworn the oath of allegiance to the Union and accepted General Handiman’s offer to become a member of the United States’ Secret Service.

  Called in by the head of her organization to help prevent the Henry rifles from being delivered, Belle might have been faced by a clash of loyalties when she had learned of the Brotherhood for Southron Freedom. It did not arise. One of the organization’s leaders, whom she knew only as ‘the Frenchman’ had been responsible for the death of two of her friends. He had tortured and brutally killed Madame Lucienne with his own hands. So Belle had sworn that she would take revenge on him, even if she had to smash the Brotherhood to do it.

  It had been chiefly due to Belle Boyd’s efforts that the Shreveport affair had failed. Arriving in that city, with information that something special was planned at the theater, she had been a member of the audience. In fact, disguised as an elderly woman, she had been on the stage as part of Sabot’s committee.

  A variety of circumstances had led her to deduce the nature of the plan’s second phase. Brandt and his companion had died at her hand, inside the Army post, after they had murdered Selima.

  Unknown to the Brotherhood, there had been a change of command at the camp. Stories of Szigo’s treatment of the Shreveport citizens had reached Washington. To avoid trouble, a more moderate commanding officer had been dispatched secretly to take charge and bring an improvement in the relations between the soldiers and the town’s people.

  Having failed to arrest any of the Brotherhood, Colonel Manderley and Belle had debated their next line of action. One point had been decided upon. Under no circumstances must the full implications of the plot be made public. To have done so would have come close to achieving the Brotherhood’s ends for them.

  Naturally the incident at the theater could not be overlooked. However, Colonel Winslow was Belle’s uncle and he had agreed that his newspaper would treat the affair as nothing more than a stupid, ill-advised piece of foolishness. Shown in such a light, it would soon be forgotten. Winslow had also arranged for a story which would explain away Selima’s murder and the deaths of the two conspirators.

  Writing a report of her activities, Belle had arranged for it to be delivered at all speed to her superiors in New Orleans. Then she had made her preparations for resuming her pursuit of the Frenchman. Having arrived in Shreveport expecting trouble, she had brought in her trunk a number of items which she had felt might be of use. Selecting clothing that she believed would suit the situation, she had asked her uncle to hold the rest of her property until she could let him know where to send it. Then she had organized transport for the journey.

  It had been decided that Sabot offered the best means of locating the rest of the Brotherhood. Following him had proved to be the easiest part of the affair. To help police the Red River, the U.S. Navy had placed two of its fast steam launches at the Army’s disposal. So Belle had not needed to wait for a regular passenger boat, but had travelled from Shreveport in a launch. In that way, she had arrived in Mooringsport at three o’clock in the afternoon. She had taken a room in the town’s cheapest hotel, then set off to locate the magician. Finding his place of residence had not been difficult. Having learnt that he was paying a visit to the marshal’s office, she had waited with the intention of scraping up an acquaintance.

  After the trouble Selima had caused, Belle had suspected that the magician might be looking for a more reliable type of assistant. She had settled upon a character which she believed would satisfy his requirements and had made the correct decision.

  Over a meal at the German’s Hotel, Belle had told Sabot how she had been put in jail for helping to swindle a fat Yankee pig who deserved it’. She had also admitted that the Pinkerton National Detective Agency were looking for her. Not for any serious crime, or with extra persistence, but merely because they liked to solve their cases and she could help with one. She had declared that, having made alterations to her appearance, they would be unlikely to recognize her. All in all, she had left the magician with the impression that she was a tough, unscrupulous girl, with a deep, lasting hatred for anybody who lived north of the Mason-Dixon line. He had accepted that she had once been rich, but was left a pauper by the War and had lived a hard life since its end.

  Satisfied that he had found a suitable candidate for the post, Sabot had offered to make her his assistant. After haggling over pay, Belle had accepted. She had said that her name was ‘Melanie Beauchampaine’, but would not object to being known as Princess Selima Baba.

  The rest of the day, Belle had never been out of Sabot’s sight for more than a few minutes. She had tried on the garments which she would wear on the stage. Flimsy, scanty and revealing, they were what people expected of a girl who had been ‘rescued from a life of sin in the Sultan of Tripoli’s harem’. They had required some alterations, for the previous Selima had been a more buxom girl. That had been done and Belle had spent the evening learning her duties.

  While Sabot had apparently trusted her, he had pumped her for more details about her past. She had told him plenty, hinting that she had double-crossed confederates and generally conveying the impression that she would not be troubled by scruples.

  One factor more than any other had helped Belle to gain acceptance and avoid arousing suspicion. Mooringsport lay on the shore of Lake Caddo. To reach it, one had to branch away from the Red River along the Caddo River. Only one boat made regular runs between the town and Shreveport. As the girl had not been on the Texarkana Belle, Sabot accepted that she must have either come in on a stagecoach from the west, or had been in Mooringsport before he had arrived. He did not suspect that she had found another means of traversing the distance.

  Belle had learned her duties well enough to help in Sabot’s first performance. It had been a novel, not entirely pleasant, sensation, appearing on the stage clad in the flimsy, revealing ‘harem girl’s’ costume; but she had forced herself to go through with the act. She had known that she would soon become accustomed to the situation.

  One thing Belle had established quickly was that she wanted no amatory relationships with her fellow performers. Sabot, the five members of the orchestra and the two cross-talk comedians had accepted her decision without question. Not so the show’s baritone, who fancied himself as being something of a lady-killer. It had taken Belle’s knee, delivered hard into his groin, to convince him that when she said ‘no’, that was exactly what she meant. Sensing that he had found an ideal assistant, Sabot had backed up Belle in her treatment of the singer. The magician had issued a warning to all his employees, after the incident, that ‘Melanie’s’ wishes must be respected.

  Being only a small town, Mooringsport could not support a theater. So the show had taken place on an improvised stage in the biggest saloon. While they had had a good reception each night, Belle wondered how Sabot was able to afford to play to such a restricted audience. He seemed content to do so and she did not ask questions.

  Four days went by and on the fifth evening, Belle was presented with an opportunity to impress Sabot.

  During the magician’s performance, the girl had seen what she suspected was an exchange of signals between the magician and a big, burly, red-haired man in the audience. Although the latter was dressed differently, Belle had recognized him as ‘Mick’, a member of the Brotherhood whom she had seen in Memphis. Apart from the brief byplay, Sabot gave no further sign of interest in Mick.

 

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