you know, Lowell has temporarily canceled his class," Jennison said, showing his frustration at their apparent obliviousness of their own business. "Well, it won't do, I say. It does not befit a genius of James Russell Lowell's caliber and must not be permitted without a fight. I fear Lowell is at imminent hazard of going to pieces if he starts down roads of conciliation! And over at the College, I hear Manning is gleeful." He said this with grim concern.
"What do you wish us to do, my dear Mr. Jennison?" asked Fields with a play at deference.
"Urge him to screw up his courage." Jennison demonstrated his point with a fist in his palm. "Save him from cowardice, or our city shall lose one of its strongest hearts. I have had another idea as well. Create a permanent organization devoted to the study of Dante - I myself would take up Italian to assist you!" Jennison's flashy smile broke through, as did his leather money belt, from which he now counted out large bills. "A Dante association of some sort dedicated to protecting this literature so dear to you gentlemen What say you? No one shall have to know of my involvement, and you shall give the fellows a run for it."
Before anyone could reply, the door to the Authors' Room burst open. Lowell stood before them with a bleak look on his face.
"Why, Lowell, what's wrong?" Fields asked.
Lowell began to speak but then saw him. "Phinny? What are you doing here?"
Jennison looked to Fields for help. "Mr. Jennison and I had some business to conclude," said Fields, stuffing the money belt into the businessman's hands and pushing him out the door. "But he was just on his way out."
"I hope nothing's wrong, Lowell. I shall call on you soon, my friend!"
Fields found Teal, the evening shop boy, down the hall and asked for Jennison to be escorted downstairs. Then he barred the Authors' Room door.
Lowell poured a drink at the counter. "Oh, you won't believe the luck, my friends. I almost twisted my head off looking for Bachi at Half Moon Place, and wouldn't you know I come up with as little as I started! He was nowhere to be seen and nobody around knew where he could be found - I don't think the local Dubliners would talk to an Italian if put in a sinking raft next to one and the Italian had a plug. I might as well have been off at leisure like all of you this afternoon."
Fields, Holmes, and Longfellow were silent.
"What? What is it?" Lowell asked.
Longfellow suggested that they have supper at Craigie House, and on the way they explained to Lowell what had happened with Bachi. Over the meal, Fields told him how he had returned to the harbormaster and persuaded him, with the help of an American eagle gold piece, to check the register for information on Bachi's trip. The entry for Bachi indicated that he had purchased a discounted round-trip ticket that would not allow a return prior to January 1867.
Back in Longfellow's parlor, Lowell flopped into a chair, stunned. "He knew we had found him. Well of course - we let him find out that we knew about Lonza! Our Lucifer has slipped through our fingers like so much sand!"
"Then we should celebrate," Holmes said with a laugh. "Don't you see what this means, if you were right? Come, you have the small end of your opera glass pointed toward everything that looks encouraging."
Fields leaned in. "Jamey, if Bachi was the murderer..."
Holmes completed the thought with a bright smile: "Then we are safe. And the city's safe. And Dante! If we have driven him out by our knowledge, then we have defeated him, Lowell."
Fields stood up, beaming. "Oh, gentlemen, I shall throw a Dante supper to put the Saturday Club to shame. May the mutton be as tender as Longfellow's verse! And may the Moet sparkle like Holmes's wit, and the carving knives be as sharp as Lowell's satire!"
Three cheers were given to Fields.
All of this eased Lowell somewhat, as did the news of a Dante-translation session - the start of normal times again, a return to a pure enjoyment of their scholarship. He hoped they had not forfeited this pleasure by applying their knowledge of Dante to such repugnant affairs.
Longfellow seemed to know what troubled Lowell. "In Washington's day," he said, "they melted the pipes of the church organs for bullets, my dear Lowell. They hadn't any choice. Now,