You see, my husband and Consul Baldasano have already decided that, at those times when an explanation to outsiders is unavoidable, I am to say that my daughter was taken by illness. But she is not dead, Señor Moore.” The señora staggered forward a step or two, leaning on the umbrella. “I have seen her! I have-seen-” At that she seemed about to faint, and Miss Howard moved to her quickly, guiding her into one of Marchese Carcano’s plush easy chairs. I turned to Mr. Moore, and saw his face light up with a whole batch of reactions: anger, horror, sympathy, but above all consternation. He waved a hand in my direction vaguely. “Stevie…”

I already had the packet out and was lighting a stick for each of us. I handed him his, watched him pace back and forth a few times, and then got out of the way when he bolted for the telephone what was sitting on a desk behind me. “We’re way out of our depth here,” he mumbled, picking up the receiver. Then, in a stronger voice: “Operator? Police Headquarters on Mulberry Street. Central Office, Bureau of Detectives.”

“What?” Miss Howard said urgently, as a look of terror filled Señora Linares’s face. “John, no, I told you-”

Mr. Moore held up a hand. “Don’t worry. I just want to find out where they are. You know the boys better than that, Sara. They’ll keep it unofficial if we ask them to.”

“Who will?” the Linares woman whispered; but Mr. Moore turned his attention back to the phone.

“Hello? Central? Listen, I have an urgent personal message for the Detective Sergeants Isaacson-can you tell me where they are?… Ah. Good, thanks.” He hung up the phone and turned to me. “Stevie-apparently a body’s been discovered over at the Cunard pier. Lucius and Marcus are looking into it. How fast do you think you can get over there and get back with them?”

“If Cyrus’ll help me commandeer a hansom,” I answered, “half an hour. Three quarters at the outside.”