“How did you see a newspaper?” Sarah asked in dismay.

“Mr. Holsinger across the street brought one over this morning, before the reporters got here.”

“How thoughtful of him,” Sarah said sarcastically.

“Oh, he wasn’t being kind,” Mrs. Ellsworth assured her. “He was furious that Nelson had brought a scandal into the neighborhood. He wanted to know what we were going to do about it.”

“What did he have in mind?” Sarah asked in astonishment.

“Heaven knows,” Mrs. Ellsworth said with a sigh, sinking down into one of the kitchen chairs. She looked as if she hadn’t slept much the night before, and Sarah wanted to check her pulse and her heartbeat to make sure she wasn’t truly ill. Perhaps she’d bring her medical bag when she came the next time.

Sarah set her market basket on the table. “I didn’t know if you had any food in the house, but I knew you couldn’t go shopping, so I brought over what I had.”

“That’s kind of you, but neither of us feels very hungry, I’m afraid.”

“You can’t stop eating. You’ll make yourself sick. How are you feeling?”

Mrs. Ellsworth looked up at Sarah through bloodshot eyes. “Frightened,” she said. “What if Mr. Malloy can’t find the real killer, and they arrest Nelson? He could be executed!”

“Don’t think that way! Malloy will find the killer, and if he doesn’t, I will. Nelson will never go to jail,” she promised rashly.

Mrs. Ellsworth smiled sadly. “You are such a good friend, Mrs. Brandt.”

Sarah returned her smile. “As I recall, you’ve been a good friend to me, too. Now let’s peel these potatoes and see if we can’t get some hot food into the two of you.”

Mrs. Ellsworth found a knife, and Sarah took it from her and began to peel. “Which newspaper did Mr. Holsinger bring you?” she asked after a moment.

“The World,” she said with a frown of distaste. “I wonder if it was written by that rude young man who told us Nelson had been arrested.”

“It seems likely,” Sarah said, remembering him only too well.

“He looked like such a nice young man, but… Can you tell me, Mrs. Brandt, are the things he said about Nelson true?”

“I’m sure very little of it was true,” Sarah hedged.

“But was that poor girl with child, like the paper said? Nelson won’t talk about it at all. I think he’s trying to protect me, but the truth can’t be any worse than what I’m imagining.”

“She’d told Nelson she was with child,” Sarah said, deciding that telling the truth was really the only way to protect her friend. “He thought perhaps she might be mistaken, so he asked me to visit her to make sure.”

“What a cad!” she exclaimed in outrage. “I’d never expect my own son to behave so unchivalrously! To seduce an innocent girl was bad enough. He should have offered to marry her at once!”

“He did,” Sarah assured her. “But for some reason, she didn’t want to marry him.”

This shocked Mrs. Ellsworth as much as it had Sarah. “Why on earth not?”

“According to Nelson, she didn’t think she was good enough for him or something. At least that’s what she said. Nelson is a modest man, and he was afraid she just couldn’t stand the idea of being married to him.”

“That’s ridiculous! Nelson is a fine catch, and a girl in her position would marry a hunchbacked imbecile, in any case, just to give her child a name.”

Sarah could only agree. “I don’t pretend to understand any of this. I’m just repeating what I was told. Nelson thought that if there wasn’t a child, Anna wouldn’t be forced into a marriage she didn’t want.”

“So he asked you to make sure,” Mrs. Ellsworth guessed. “And did you?”

“No. Miss Blake wouldn’t even speak with me. And the next day she was murdered.”

“No wonder they think Nelson did it,” the old woman sighed. “A man who didn’t want to be forced into marriage kills his paramour in a fit of rage.”

“Nelson would never have a fit of rage,” Sarah reminded her.

“Oh, Mrs. Brandt,” she cried, burying her head in her hands. “What are we going to do?”

Sarah only wished she had an answer. “Malloy will find the killer,” she tried again.

“But if he doesn’t, Nelson will go on trial, and the newspapers have already convicted him. Remember what happened to that Italian girl? The one who killed her lover? She only did what any woman would have done in her position, and the newspapers made her out to be the devil incarnate!”

“Not every woman in her position would have slashed the man’s throat in a public place,” Sarah reminded her.

“But don’t you agree she was justified? He’d seduced her and then refused to marry her and called her names in front of all those people and then said he was sailing back to Italy to leave her in disgrace. But when the newspapers got through with her, she was a wicked vixen who’d killed an upstanding gentleman for no reason at all. And that’s what they’re doing to Nelson!”

“But don’t forget, they’re giving that girl a new trial, and this time the newspapers are telling the truth about what happened.” Indeed, they’d painted the victim as black this time as they’d painted Maria Barberi the first time.

“Only because some rich woman championed that girl’s cause and got her a new trial. Unless someone champions Nelson, he’s going to die.” Mrs. Ellsworth’s wrinkled face crumbled in grief and then she was sobbing into her hands.

Sarah took the woman into her arms and offered what comfort she could, but even as she patted the bowed shoulders, she knew she had to do more. She had to do what Mrs. Ellsworth had said and what Malloy had warned her against, because if she didn’t try to save Nelson Ellsworth, he very likely would be executed. And how would she comfort his mother then?

Frank found the law firm of Smythe, Masterson and Judd in a building uptown identified only with a small brass plate. Apparently, people who needed the services of these gentlemen knew what they did and where to find them, so they didn’t need to advertise.

Inside, the offices were furnished richly, in dark masculine colors with none of the feminine frills so common in private homes. Paintings of men hunting adorned the walls above overstuffed chairs, and the place smelled of expensive cigars.

The clerk seemed a little alarmed when Frank walked in. Like most people, he recognized Frank immediately as a policeman, even though he wore an ordinary suit of clothes and should have been indistinguishable from thousands of other men in the city. People always knew, though, and Frank had long since given up trying to fool anyone. He usually found that actually worked to his advantage.

“May I help you?” the young man asked.

“I’d like to see Gilbert Giddings,” he said, offering no other explanation. He didn’t want to say anything that might get Giddings in trouble later if he’d had nothing to do with Anna Blake’s death. He didn’t want to get himself into any trouble either. Antagonizing an attorney unnecessarily made about as much sense as poking a bear in the eye with a stick.

The mention of Giddings’s name, however, only seemed to alarm the clerk more. “Please wait… uh, have a seat and I’ll… I’ll be right back,” he stammered as he hurried off into the rear offices.

Frank hardly had time to sit down before the clerk was back. He seemed a bit calmer, and he escorted Frank down a hallway to a large office at the far end. Frank was extremely impressed that Giddings commanded such magnificent accommodations until he realized the man behind the desk was not Gilbert Giddings.

The clerk made his escape without introducing him.

“I was looking for Giddings,” Frank said.

“I know. Wilbur told me,” the man behind the desk said. He was an older man with just the slightest bit of white fuzz left on his round head. He didn’t stand, probably because it was an effort to wrestle his equally round body up out of the oversized chair in which he sat. Or else because he didn’t think Frank was worth the effort. He also didn’t invite Frank to sit. “I’m Albert Smythe, the senior partner here. Perhaps I can help you instead.”