“Do a lot of men come to the house?” Frank asked.

Miss Stone looked insulted. “It’s not that kind of a house, Mr. Detective Sergeant. I know the difference.”

“I didn’t mean to say it was. I just understood that the two women living there now also had several suitors each. I was wondering if you’d noticed that.”

A little mollified, she said, “I’m not one for minding my neighbors’ business, you understand, but I couldn’t help noticing that each girl seemed to have two or three different gentlemen who called on her. I don’t know how they kept them straight.”

“Or how they kept them from encountering each other,” Frank observed.

Miss Stone smiled her agreement. “The girls didn’t step out with their gentlemen, either, the way girls do nowadays. I don’t think it’s right, you understand. A young woman should never be alone in the company of a young man unless they’re engaged, and even then… But I suppose I’m hopelessly old-fashioned. Girls today, they do heaven knows what. Except these girls didn’t. The men would go inside to call on the girls, and then they’d leave alone. They never even took the girls for walks in the park or anything like that. They were very respectable.”

Frank could think of another explanation. If the men in question were married, they couldn’t take a chance of being seen in a public place. Liaisons like the ones Frank knew took place there-liaisons that resulted in pregnancy-also couldn’t happen in a public place.

“Did you ever speak with any of the boarders?” Frank asked.

“I don’t believe I did. Young women like that, they don’t have time for an old lady like me.”

“What about their gentleman friends?”

“Oh, gracious, no! They were always in too much of a hurry. Pulling their hats down over their eyes so they could pretend they didn’t see me and didn’t need to speak.”

Frank nodded his understanding. He suspected the men were actually trying to avoid being recognized, but he didn’t bother to explain that to Miss Stone. “Did you notice anything unusual the night Anna Blake was killed?”

She offered Frank the cookie plate while she tried to remember. He took two more.

“Of course, I didn’t know she was going to be murdered,” Miss Stone explained, “so I wasn’t paying particular attention, you understand.”

Frank nodded again as he chewed on a cookie.

“This probably has nothing at all to do with that poor girl’s death.”

Frank kept nodding and chewing.

“I have a difficult time sleeping. That happens when you get older. I was in bed, so I don’t know what time it might have been, although I know it was late, but I thought I heard someone opening the cellar door.”

“At the Walcott house?”

“I can’t be perfectly sure. I didn’t get up to look. Why should I? Only a busybody would be that curious. And the houses are so close together, it could have been the neighbor on the other side, for all I know. You see, I told you it probably didn’t have anything to do with the murder.”

Frank had to agree. Anna Blake wasn’t murdered in anyone’s cellar. “It does prove you’re observant and have a good memory,” Frank said to placate her. “Did you notice anything earlier in the evening? Do you remember which gentlemen came to call?”

“I don’t want you to think I just sit by my window watching who comes and goes next door,” Miss Stone said, a little offended.

Frank gave her his charming smile, the one that used to work on his mother when he was a boy. “I know that a lady living alone likes to know who comes and goes in the neighborhood. You can’t be too careful, you know. I’m sure if you saw anything suspicious, you’d report it immediately.”

Miss Stone allowed herself to be placated again. “Of course I would. Except I didn’t see anything suspicious that night. I did see a gentleman come to call earlier in the evening, but I’m not even sure which one it was. They’re very careful about turning their faces away, you understand, and I never imagined it would be important to keep track of them.”

“Do you have any idea when he left?”

“I’m sorry to say I don’t. Why would that…? Oh, I see, if the girl had left with him, he might be the killer.”

Miss Stone was proving to be quite a detective herself. Too bad she wasn’t quite as nosy as Mrs. Ellsworth. He bet Mrs. Ellsworth could’ve told him the eye color and religious affiliation of each and every one of the Walcotts’ gentlemen callers.

“Have I been any help at all?” she asked anxiously.

“It’s hard to tell,” Frank lied. “Sometimes the smallest detail is the one that solves the case. Like I said, you may have seen something important without realizing it. If you think of anything else, please send for me.” He gave her his card, thanked her for the refreshments, and took his leave.

Frank glanced at the Walcott house as he left Miss Stone’s. All seemed quiet, and he considered trying again to talk with Mrs. Walcott. Then he decided he’d have a better chance of seeing Giddings at his place of business at this time of day, something he could do without breaking his promise not to tell Giddings’s wife what had happened. Frank wanted to find out if he was the one who’d called on Anna the night she died. He’d stop by the Walcotts’ early tomorrow to catch the landlady before she had a chance to leave the house. Maybe she could at least explain why someone had opened her cellar door late that night.

Sarah arrived home to discover several reporters on the sidewalk in front of the Ellsworths’ house. Poor Mrs. Ellsworth, the most exciting thing to happen on this street in her lifetime, and she already knew all about it. More, in fact, than she wanted to know.

Sarah debated the wisdom of trying to get past the reporters to the Ellsworths’ front door, but she decided to try to sneak in the back instead. Unfortunately, she still had to deal with them. As soon as they recognized her, they converged on her, plying her with shouted questions and offering her bribes to get them in to see the Ellsworths.

“Mr. Ellsworth had nothing to do with Anna Blake’s murder,” she tried shouting above the din.

“How do you know?” one of them asked. “Was he with you that night?”

“Why are you trying to protect him?” another called.

Malloy was right, she thought in disgust. There was no way to convince these jackals of the truth. They were only interested in uncovering a scandal-or inventing one. She shoved her way through them and up her front steps and into her house, slamming the door behind her.

Once inside, she went to the window to see what they would do. Deprived of their latest prey, they returned to their vigil at the Ellsworths’ front stoop, waiting for a new victim. Poor Mrs. Ellsworth, held prisoner in her own home. Nelson, at least, had gotten himself into this mess with his poor judgment, but his mother had done nothing at all. Sarah wondered if they had enough food or if they needed anything. At least their captivity meant they hadn’t been able to get out to buy a newspaper and had been spared that outrage.

Sarah went to her own pantry and found a few potatoes, half a loaf of stale bread, and a bag of beans. She’d shop for them tomorrow, if Malloy still hadn’t solved the case by then. In the meantime, at least they wouldn’t starve. Throwing the food items into a market basket, Sarah went to her back door and checked to make sure no reporters had taken up a vigil in the alley. Finding the way clear, she hurried next door and banged on the door.

Mrs. Ellsworth peered out before letting her in. “Oh, Mrs. Brandt, thank heaven you’re here! I’m half insane with worrying. Has Mr. Malloy found the killer yet?”

“Not yet,” she said, “but I’m sure it won’t be much longer.” Malloy wouldn’t thank her for the lie, but it was all she had to offer. “Where’s Nelson?”

“Up in his room. I think he’s a little embarrassed about everything that happened, and he’s also mourning that poor girl. He really cared for her. And when he saw what they wrote about him in the newspaper…” Her voice broke.