A muscular man in civilian clothing stepped out of the shadows and walked to the car. The driver turned the interior lights on for a moment, and then off again.
The muscular man touched the brim of his snap-brim hat. A moment later, the double gate swung inward. As soon as the car was inside, the gates closed after it.
"Ellis," Donovan said, "I hate to make you an orderly, but it would save us a lot of time if you went by my house and packed a bag. And get your own while you're at it. Then we can go from here to Union Station."
"The Secret Service sent over the passes?" Donovan asked.
"I'll check on that, too, Sir," Ellis said.
"I don't want to find myself waving bye-bye on the platform as the President goes off to Georgia by himself," Donovan said.
"No, Sir, I'll see we're aboard the train," Ellis said.
Donovan and Douglass got out of the car and entered the turn-of-the century mansion through the kitchen door. The kitchen was enormous and furnished with restaurant-size stoves and refrigerators.
A tall young woman with blond hair hanging to her shoulders came into the room. She wore a simple black dress, a single string of pearls, and just above her right breast a miniature pair of pilot's wings. Captain Douglass's eyes betrayed a moment's surprise and special interest in the wings. He was sure he knew their source: His wife had an identical pair, sent from London by their son. What seemed like last week, their son had seemed an eager-eyed West Point cadet; and now, at twenty-five, he was a lieutenant colonel. His son also liked this girl very much.
"Good evening," Charity Hoche said with a radiant smile. Her accent betrayed her origins: Charity Hoche had been raised on a twenty-acre estate in Wallingford, which was one of the plusher suburbs of Philadelphia, and educated at Bryn Mawr.
"Hello, Charity," Donovan said.
"Mr. Hoover here?"
"No, Sir," she said.
"And no calls, either. From him."
"Time and J. Edgar Hoover wait for no man," Donovan said.
"What are we going to feed him?"
"Capon," she said.
"And wild rice."
"Good." Donovan chuckled.
"Eating chicken with a knife and fork is not one of J. Edgar's strong points. He always makes me feel he'd rather eat one with his hands. After biting off the head, of course."
"And," Charity said, "a very nice Chateau de Long Chablis, '35."
"Where the hell did we get that?" Donovan asked.
"Actually, I brought it from home," Charity said.
"I knew this was important."
"And you wanted to butter up the boss, too," Donovan said.
"Guilty," Charity said with a smile.
"I might decide to keep you here for your father's cellar," Donovan said.
"As opposed to what?" Douglass asked.
"Charity wants to go to England," Donovan said.
"I can't imagine why."