Murder on Washington Square

it?”

“The wife of another man Anna Blake was blackmailing. This man was ruined. He stole from his employer to pay her. When he got caught, he impoverished himself to pay back what he’d stolen. His wife was very angry, so she took it out on the person she held responsible for her troubles.”

“That poor woman! The wife, I mean. Anna Blake asked for her trouble, but this poor woman didn’t. I guess I can’t blame her for wanting vengeance. I probably would’ve felt the same, in her place.”

“You women,” Malloy snorted. “You’re so cold-blooded.”

“I didn’t say killing Miss Blake was right,” she defended herself. “I just said I could understand why she wanted that woman dead. If my Nelson had been ruined, I might have considered the same thing.”

Frank didn’t point out that Nelson was as good as ruined unless they could find out who had really stolen money from his bank. Even if they could, it was possible the sensational stories about him that had appeared in the various newspapers would have destroyed his reputation and he would be unable to make a respectable living again. In Frank’s experience, innocent people often had to suffer for others’ crimes. Nelson Ellsworth would probably be one of them, and there might be nothing Frank could do to save him. He wasn’t going to be the one to explain all this to the man’s mother, however. His job was hard enough as it was.

To Frank’s chagrin, he had to quicken his usual pace to keep up with Mrs. Ellsworth as they walked from the train station to the hospital. The old woman was a caution.

They found Sarah Brandt sitting beside Prescott’s bed, feeding him something from a bowl. She glanced up and smiled when she saw them. Frank felt a strange flutter in his chest at the sight of that smile. Or maybe it was from the sight of her. She looked like she hadn’t slept in a week, and Frank didn’t like that one bit. Why did she feel responsible for sitting up all night and guarding a newspaper reporter she hardly knew, especially one who’d caused her friends so much trouble?

“Good morning, Malloy,” she said, her eyes shining, as if she were enjoying a secret joke at his expense. “You’re a difficult man to find.”

“Finding you isn’t so hard,” he replied in kind. “I just need to look where you have no business being, and there you are.”

“I’m a nurse,” she reminded him. “Why shouldn’t I be at a hospital?”

“Because…” he began, but stopped when he realized he didn’t really want to explain. If he did, he’d have to reveal how worried he was about her safety, and then she might start to wonder why he cared so much. This was a topic he didn’t even want to consider himself, much less discuss with her. “Have you seen any sign of that woman who tried to kill Prescott?” he asked instead.

“No, but I’m sure she’s the same one who stabbed him in the first place,” she said. “Nothing else makes sense. And she’s also probably the person who killed Anna Blake, although I never would’ve guessed her killer would be a female.”

“Mr. Malloy arrested Miss Blake’s killer last night,” Mrs. Ellsworth reported helpfully.

Frank shot her a disapproving look, but she wasn’t paying any attention.

“Who was it?” Mrs. Brandt asked, brightening at the thought.

“Who… was… it?” Prescott echoed feebly.

Frank looked at him in surprise, having forgotten he was even there and certainly that he was listening to every word. “You’re in no condition to write a story about it, Prescott, so I’ll tell you. It was Mrs. Gilbert Giddings.”

“Mrs. Giddings!” Mrs. Brandt exclaimed in surprise. “I thought you were going to arrest the son!”

“She confessed when I went to question the boy,” Frank said. “She was afraid I was going to arrest him for the crime.”

“You were,” Mrs. Brandt reminded him with a small smile.

“Only if he was guilty,” Frank said, not liking the defensive tone in his voice. He didn’t need to make excuses to her, he reminded himself. “But he wasn’t.”

“Did she tell you why she tried to kill Mr. Prescott?” she asked.

Frank shook his head. “She didn’t try to kill him.”

“But-” she began to protest.

He cut her off. “Not in front of Prescott,” he cautioned.

The patient was growing restless, his eyes intent. Frank could almost imagine him mentally composing his story for the World.

“How’s he doing?” he asked Mrs. Brandt.

She glanced at Mrs. Ellsworth before replying, and he thought she was holding back a grin. “He’s not doing as poorly as he was before,” she said.

“What does that mean?” Frank asked.

“That means it’s bad luck to say someone is doing well,” she explained, with another glance at the old woman.

Frank managed not to snort in disgust. “So the opium didn’t hurt him?”

“He must not have taken very much,” she said. “The mixture was very strong, so it was also very sweet. Apparently, that didn’t appeal to Mr. Prescott, to his great good fortune.”

“Don’t like… sweets,” Prescott explained. He looked as if he were trying with difficulty to keep his eyes open.

“What’s going on here?” a woman demanded. “Are you the doctor? Webster, my dear boy! What’s happened?”

A small woman inserted herself into the group beside Prescott’s bed, forcing her way to him. Malloy was just about to grab her when Prescott said, “Aunt Orpah!”

“Webby, dear, what have they done to you?” she asked, smoothing his hair back from his forehead as she checked for fever. Then she turned accusing eyes to the rest of them. “Who are you people?”

“I’m Sarah Brandt,” she said. “I sent you the message about your nephew, Mrs. Beasley.”

The woman softened immediately. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Brandt. It was such a shock! I got here as soon as I could. Webby is my sister’s boy, and I promised I’d look after him for her. How on earth you can look after a grown man, I’m not sure, though. He seems determined to get himself in trouble!”

“Indeed he does,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “He’s been set upon twice by females intent on murdering him.”

Mrs. Beasley looked shocked, but Mrs. Brandt distracted her by introducing the two older women. “And this is Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy,” she added. “He’s going to find the person who attacked Mr. Prescott.”

Actually, Frank wasn’t particularly interested in finding out who had attacked Prescott. His concern had been finding Anna Blake’s killer and clearing Nelson Ellsworth. Since the person who had attacked Prescott was someone else entirely, he felt no further obligation, especially to someone who had made the Ellsworths’ lives miserable. He wasn’t going to mention all this to Aunt Orpah, though. He needed her to take over caring for Prescott so he could get Sarah Brandt away from here. Let Aunt Orpah worry about fending off would-be murderesses.

“Mr. Malloy is going to order the World to hire a guard to protect Mr. Prescott in the meantime, too,” Mrs. Ellsworth added.

Now Frank knew he should have tied her hand and foot to keep her from coming with him today. “I can’t order them to do it,” he quickly clarified, “but I was going to strongly suggest it.”

“What a good idea,” Mrs. Brandt said, smiling her approval. Frank wished her approval didn’t matter so much to him.

“And if you can’t order them to, I can,” Mrs. Beasley said tartly, sounding very much like Mrs. Ellsworth. “If they don’t, I’ll contact another newspaper and give them the story in exchange for a guard!”

“Aunt Orpah!” Prescott protested feebly, but his aunt paid him no attention.

Fortunately, the editor at the World immediately saw the news story potential in Prescott’s situation. Arrangements were quickly made by telephone to dispatch someone from the newspaper both to protect Prescott and to get the full story.

“You mustn’t allow them to tire Mr. Prescott,” Mrs. Brandt instructed his aunt when the arrangements had been made. “He’s still in danger and needs lots of rest.”

“I can talk,” Prescott protested feebly, but no one seemed interested in hearing him do so.

The three women consulted on what the best course of treatment would be for the reporter. By the time the