“You know I can’t tell you that,” Val said as his sharp eyes saw beyond the Pinkerton man’s bushy mustache and wire-rimmed glasses to a pair of eyes that looked familiar. Where the hell was Otis? This was his station, but Val knew this wasn’t Otis. He looked around at the other Pinkerton men, thinking he might have been given a different detail, but not one of them was Otis.
Val was getting uncomfortable while the Pinkerton man began frantically searching his bags but decided to bide his time and say nothing.
Finally the man looked up at him with a question in his eyes. “Where the hell are they?”
“The jewels? Don’t worry, I’ve got them. They’re under lock and key until we can get them to the authorities.”
“I want those jewels.”
“Don’t worry, they’re safe.”
“I’ll take them. Just hand
