Warn Angel! (A Frank Angel Western--Book 9) by Frederick H. Christian Page B

that looked like pure silk, and a stickpin that looked
like a diamond, coming down the wide curving staircase of the
American Hotel like he owned it. Angel turned away from the
entrance to the dining room and made his way across the lobby
toward the reception desk. There was no danger of Willowfield
recognizing him: he’d never seen Angel, didn’t even know he
existed. Angel leaned against one of the marbled pillars by the
desk and watched the fat man. He scanned the lobby for any sign of
Willowfleld’s henchmen, but saw no familiar face. Willowfield made
his way across the lobby and subsided into a well-upholstered wing
chair set close to the fireplace. He rested his hands on top of his
silver-capped cane, and rested his chin on his hands, gazing
sightlessly into the fire.
    Angel went across to the desk.
    ‘ Excuse me,’ he said to the clerk.
‘Isn’t that Colonel Willowfield over there by the fire?’
    The clerk followed Angel’s gaze and
smiled.
    ‘ That’s correct, sir,’ he said. ‘Do
you know the colonel?’
    ‘ Slightly,’ Angel said. ‘Are his
friends still staying with him?’
    ‘ Ah, I, ah, beg your pardon, sir?’ The
clerk palmed the five dollars and his face was once more wreathed
in smiles. ‘His friends, ah, no, sir. They left yesterday, I
believe. Would you like me to—?’
    ‘ Not now,’ Angel said. He was already
moving, walking purposefully across the lobby toward where
Willowfield was sitting. The fat man’s eyes flickered up to check
him over, and then slid away. For a moment Angel could have sworn
that there was satisfaction in them, but it wasn’t possible. He
took a seat opposite the fat man.
    ‘ Colonel,’ he said.
    George Willowfield raised his head slightly.
He let his eyes rest on Angel, openly cataloging his travel-stained
clothing, scuffed boots, unshaven jaw. He allowed Angel to see the
contempt touch his expression and then looked away without
speaking.
    ‘ If I was a gambling man,’ Angel said,
unperturbed, ‘I’d say you just came into a lot of money, Colonel.
Would I be right?’
    Willowfield’s head came up, sharply this
time. His eyes were narrowed and he looked at Frank Angel warily,
tension in his stance.
    ‘ What?’ he said. ‘What? Who are you,
sir?’
    Angel told him his name and where he was
from. Willowfield looked at him for a long, silent moment, and then
shook his head sadly.
    ‘ Too late, sir,’ he said. ‘You are too
late.’
    ‘ Too late for what?’
    ‘ Mr. Angel, you see before you a
betrayed man,’ Willowfield said.
    ‘ Oh, come on!’ Angel snapped. ‘Not
that!’
    ‘ Alas, it’s true,’ Willowfield said.
‘They took it all, Mr. Angel. Every penny of it.’
    ‘ It had better be good, Willowfield,’
Angel told him. ‘Very, very good.’
    ‘ The truth, sir,’ the fat man said
heavily, ‘is unassailable.’
    ‘ Try me,’ Angel said, leaning back in
the chair. ‘Who was it—the boy?’
    The fat man’s face went a pasty white, and
for a moment Willowfield’s shock showed clearly on his face.
    ‘ What … what do you know about the
boy?’ he croaked.
    ‘ I know about the boy,’ Angel said.
‘And Chris and the German. I know it all, Willowfield.’
    ‘ You … you were on the train?’ the fat
man whispered. Then, with growing conviction, ‘You were on the
train.’
    Angel nodded. The man’s reactions were
hardly what he had been expecting; Willowfield sounded almost
relieved to hear what he had just told him.
    ‘ That’s how you got here so fast,’
Willowfield said. He said it like a man who has just had a
conjuring trick explained to him.
    ‘ You want to tell me about it?’ Angel
prompted, harshly.
    ‘ Yes, of course,’ Willowfield said.
‘Of course. I planned it all so well. So perfectly. It was a
perfect plan.’
    ‘ It was pretty good,’ Angel
agreed.
    ‘ Everything went like
clockwork.’
    ‘ Until you got to Denver. Then your
boys decided to change the scenario.’
    ‘ Change the scenario,’