By the time Davey returned to the Land mansion from the police station, Milton and Ross were already waiting for him.
"Mr. Milton, did you come here just to mock me?"
"To mock the trust I placed in you?"
His anger was plain.
There was no doubt Cornwall had learned the news so quickly because Pinkerton had tipped him off. Otherwise, no matter how capable Cornwall was, he wouldn't have had the time.
Davey had only gone to see Sadie. The entire delay hadn't even been an hour.
"Mr. Land, please hear me out," Milton said quickly.
Davey glanced at Ross, who stood there with his head lowered.
"Of course," Davey replied coolly. "I'm curious what explanation Mr. Milton can give."
"This is a misunderstanding," Milton said. "It wasn't my men who informed Cornwall. It was headquarters."
"Our operational plans, actions, and field reports are all relayed to Pinkerton's Chicago headquarters."
"According to our agreement, the prisoner was supposed to be delivered to the police station. But that decision was overruled."
Milton paused.
"It was Mr. William's personal order. He made it clear that no matter what, Pinkerton's interests must come first."
Davey understood immediately.
His file had long since been sitting on William Pinkerton's desk.
William knew that if the robbers were handed over to the police, they would almost certainly be rescued.
That didn't serve Pinkerton's interests.
What Pinkerton wanted was interrogation, a formal trial—something public. Only that would maximize the impact of the operation and strengthen Pinkerton's standing across its western business.
In Saint Denis, Davey was a man of weight.
But in the eyes of Pinkerton—whose operations spanned the United States from east to west—he was still small.
Even if he was now one of their clients.
After hearing all this, Davey's expression remained indifferent.
"I've heard your explanation, Mr. Milton. It's nearly dinner time, and I doubt my chef prepared meals for the two of you."
The dismissal was obvious.
Milton knew that alone wouldn't satisfy Davey. So he continued.
"Mr. Land, I happen to know the warden of Sisika Prison, Mr. Heston Jameson. We became acquainted years ago."
"He told me about Cornwall's call."
"I've already asked Mr. Jameson to give Mr. Matthews special treatment at Sisika. A private, clean room. No labor duties."
"What concerns Mr. William is the impact of the court proceedings. After the trial, whatever happens is no longer Pinkerton's concern."
"With Mr. Land's abilities, rescuing Mr. Matthews wouldn't be difficult."
"Or," Milton added meaningfully, "just as Mr. Land once did—go through trial, receive a death sentence, and emerge with a new identity."
He looked at Davey steadily.
"This is the best outcome, Mr. Land. Our interests aren't opposed, are they?"
Davey fell silent.
Whether Hosea possessed a legitimate identity didn't matter much to him.
In fact, keeping Hosea's status as a wanted criminal might even be more beneficial.
But Milton had made his position so clear that refusing outright would be awkward.
He considered it carefully.
Beside him, anger flickered in Ross's eyes.
William's intervention had blocked Davey's plan—that had secretly pleased him.
But now, watching his mentor bend and compromise like this left him feeling stifled.
In his mind, Davey was still just a wanted outlaw.
After a moment, Davey asked, "Are you close with the warden, Mr. Milton?"
"When I was young," Milton replied, "I once helped Mr. Jameson with a small matter. He's always remembered it."
Pinkerton might be in decline now, but in its glory days, being a Pinkerton agent meant real power—especially in the western United States.
Milton had spent most of his life there. The connections he'd built were extensive.
Of course, people only remembered old favors when it didn't cost them anything.
"I'd like to meet the warden for lunch," Davey said. "Can you arrange it?"
Milton hesitated only briefly.
"Of course. I'm sure Mr. Jameson would be pleased to meet Saint Denis's rising figure."
Davey smiled faintly.
"It's almost dinner time. Why don't you and Mr. Ross stay?"
The invitation was perfunctory, but it preserved courtesy.
"Thank you, Mr. Land," Milton replied. "But with today's robbery, we still have much to handle. We won't impose."
Davey nodded.
"Very well. Please inform me when Mr. Jameson is available."
"Certainly."
...
On the way back, Ross couldn't hold it in.
"Sir, why should we care about his feelings?"
"This was Mr. William's order. Even if Davey's unhappy, what can he do to us?"
Milton shook his head.
"You really think he can't do anything?"
"Think about today. How many of our detectives were killed? Have you forgotten?"
"Don't be fooled by his current appearance. The Callander brothers were once the backbone of the Van der Linde Gang."
A chill crept down Ross's spine.
He wasn't afraid of Dutch or the Van der Linde Gang. If they wanted to assassinate him, they wouldn't even know where to find him.
But Davey was different.
Davey could easily obtain information about him and Milton.
Today's robbery had also shown him something else—the skill of Dutch's sharpshooters. Even with overwhelming numbers and a Gatling gun deployed, their trained agents had been unable to gain the upper hand.
The only one wounded—Lenny—had been hit by surprise.
If Davey decided to kill them, with the strength of the Callander brothers, neither he nor Milton would stand a chance.
"He's not the same wanted man he used to be," Ross muttered reluctantly.
Milton's voice was steady.
"A wolf doesn't stop being a wolf just because it puts on sheep's clothing."
"A few days ago, a new gang appeared in Saint Denis—the Irish Brotherhood. Their leader is Davey."
"He's never changed. He's just adapted to the times and chosen a different way."
...
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