The Chase

“I’d prefer Mr. Bell, if you don’t mind,” she said in what she thought was a proper ma

The smile remained. “Suit yourself.”

“How can you afford all this on the pay of a detective?”

He laughed. “Would you believe I saved up all month just to impress you?”

“Not for an instant,” she said haughtily.

“Is Cromwell the biggest bank in San Francisco?”

She was taken back by his question to her answer. “No, there are two others that are larger, including Wells Fargo. Why do you ask?”

“My family owns the largest bank in New England.”

She tried to digest it but could not. “Would you be upset if I said I didn’t believe you?”

“Ask your boss. He’ll verify my claim.”

She frowned, confused. “Why are you a hired detective when you could be president of a bank?”

“I happen to like criminal investigation more than banking. I felt trapped at a desk. There is also the challenge of matching wits with the criminal mind.”

“Are you successful?” she asked, teasing.

“I win more times than I lose,” he answered honestly.

“Why me?” she asked him. “Why wine and dine a mere secretary instead of a socialite more your equal?”

Bell did not mince words. “Because you’re attractive, intelligent, and I’m captivated.”

“But you don’t know me.”

“I hope to change that,” he said, devastating her with his eyes again. “Now, enough talk. Let’s enjoy the crêpes.”

When they finished the savory dessert, Bell asked the waiter for two glasses of fifty-year-old port. Then he leaned back, fully sated. “Tell me about Jacob Cromwell.”

The food and wine had done its work. Marion was too mellow to see the trap she was stepping into. “What would you like to know?”

“Where he came from, how he launched his bank, is he married. After meeting him, I found him most interesting. I heard he and his sister Margaret are the city’s leading philanthropists.”

“I’ve worked for Mr. Cromwell for nine years and I can safely say he is a very smart and perceptive man who is a confirmed bachelor. He started the bank in 1892 with very little in assets and weathered the depression of the nineties. He made money through the worst of it. Most all the banks in the city came close to closing their doors during hard economic times. Not Cromwell National Bank. Through shrewd management and sound banking principles, he built a financial empire with assets ru

“A resourceful man,” said Bell admiringly. “Obviously, a self-made man.”

She nodded. “The growth of Cromwell National Bank is nothing short of a financial miracle.”

“Where did he find the money to open a bank?”

“That’s a bit of a mystery. He’s very close-lipped about his business affairs prior to launching a small bank on Market Street. Rumor has it, he started with no more than fifty thousand dollars. When I came to work, the bank’s assets were well over a million.”

“What sort of investments does he make with his fortune?”

She held up her hands in a helpless gesture. “I honestly don’t know. He’s never mentioned his personal finances to me, and I’ve seen no paperwork or correspondence. I assume he plunges his profits back into the bank.”

“What of his family? Where did he and his sister come from?”

Again, Marion looked lost. “He’s never spoken of his past. One time, he mentioned that he and Margaret’s father had a farm in North Dakota, in a little town called Buffalo. Other than that, his family ties are buried in the past.”

“I’m sure he has his reasons,” said Bell. He did not want to push Marion too far, so he turned the conversation to his own childhood growing up in the elitist society of Boston. Going to Yale University, and his father’s extreme displeasure when he went to work at the Van Dorn Detective Agency and not the family bank. He took a circuitous route back to Cromwell. “Cromwell stuck me as an educated man. I wonder where he went to school.”

“Margaret once said they attended college in Mi

“Margaret is a beautiful woman,” he said, watching for a reaction.

Marion barely veiled her dislike of Cromwell’s sister. “I know she’s involved with a number of charities, but she is not someone I’d have as a close friend.”

“She can’t be trusted?” Bell guessed.

“She doesn’t always tell the truth. And there are always rumors of scandal, which Mr. Cromwell manages to cover up. Strangely, he doesn’t seem disturbed by her antics. It’s almost as if he enjoys them.”

“Does he travel much?”

“Oh, yes, he’s often away fishing in Oregon, enjoying the Bohemian Club’s retreat in the redwoods, or hunting in Alaska. He also attends at least three banking conferences a year in various parts of the country. Once a year, he and Margaret tour Europe together.”

“So he doesn’t manage the day-to-day business of the bank.”

She shook her head. “No, no, Mr. Cromwell is always in weekly contact with the bank when he’s away. He also has a board of directors that has the best brains in the business.”

The waiter brought their glasses of port on a silver tray. They sipped in silence for a few moments before Marion spoke.

“Why are you asking me all these questions about Mr. Cromwell?”

“I’m an investigator. I’m just naturally curious.”

She pushed a curl from her forehead and patted her hair. “I feel rejected.”

He gazed at her carefully. “Rejected?” he echoed.

“Yes, you ask all these questions about my boss, but you haven’t asked about me. Most men I’ve known always asked about my past on the first date.”

“Dare I go there?” he asked, teasing her.

“Nothing risqué,” she said, laughing. “My life’s been pretty dull, actually. I am a California native, born across the bay in Sausalito. My mother died when I was quite young, and my father, who was an engineer for the Western Pacific Railroad, hired tutors for me until I was old enough to go to the city’s first secretarial school. When I graduated, Jacob Cromwell hired me, and I’ve worked in his bank ever since, working up from an office typist to his personal secretary.”

“Ever been married?”

She smiled coyly. “I’ve had a proposal or two but never walked down the aisle to the altar.”