“Does Sir Harry have an office here?”

“No. I said money, not wealth.”

Pharmacy windows advertised the famous perfumes Miss Bristol had referred to; and our surrey rolled past dry-goods stores; liquor stores; saloons; the Prince George Hotel; the Savoy cinema; a produce market that bustled halfheartedly.

“Almost deserted today,” Miss Bristol said, the music of her voice mingling with that of the carriage’s ever jangling bell. “Many of the Bay Street Pirates are in the U.S. on vacation right now….”

“Bay Street Pirates?”

“That’s what the merchants and the other money men on this street they always been called. Or the Bay Street Boys, or Bay Street Barons.”

For being “almost deserted,” there sure was plenty of traffic on the wide white thoroughfare-an odd amalgam of surreys, American and British autos, bicycles, and the occasional horse-drawn cart piled with bales of sponges.

“Funny,” I said.

“Funny?”

“I heard of Bay Street back in Chicago.” Her talk of money and the Bay Street Pirates had made it dawn on me, finally.

Beneath the vast brim of the straw hat, huge brown eyes narrowed; lashes fluttered like hummingbirds. “Really, Mr. Heller? Why would you hear of our Bay Street back where you come from?”

“They used to call it ‘Booze Avenue,’ didn’t they?”

She laughed silently. “Why yes, they did. I didn’t know you were up on our local history, Mr. Heller.”

“I’m not. But I do recall that with Nassau so close to the U.S., and with liquor legal down here, rum-running was big business. Not a little of that liquor ended up in Chicago hands.”

“Many fortune was made,” she said mysteriously.

“But not Sir Harry’s.”

“Not Sir Harry’s. No need for rum money when you have all that gold.”

Still, I had another twinge: those fortunes that were made in Nassau, in Prohibition days, meant local links to the mob that were likely still intact. It was enough to make you wonder who was sitting behind the gilt-lettered windows over those curio shops. When they weren’t on vacation in the U.S., that is.