By now, the crowd that had assembled to stare at the car found themselves being entertained by the man and woman in the front seats. They began to applaud and cheer them on.

Bell pulled back and smiled wickedly. “I was never able to resist a beautiful lady.”

Marion was almost swept away by the moment—almost but not quite. “Can we please move away?” she insisted.

Bell laughed, tipped his hat to the people cheering him on, and shifted the Locomobile into first gear. He stepped lightly on the gas pedal and moved into the street amid the flow of traffic. He drove north on Montgomery before turning left into Chinatown. He swung into an alley and came to a stop behind a large Mandarin-style restaurant, painted red and gold and with a pagoda roof. An attendant waiting there bowed.

“I will watch your car, sir.”

Bell gave him a tip that made the attendant’s eyes pop. “I’m counting on you.” Then he helped Marion from her seat to the ground.

“The Empress of Shanghai,” she said, staring at the ornate entrance. “I’ve always wanted to eat here.”

“It came highly recommended.”

“I wondered how you knew about the rear parking.”

After they entered a long hallway, they were greeted by a beautiful woman with long shiny black hair wearing a Chinese sheath silk dress slit high on the sides. She led them upstairs to a small private dining room and seated them. While they were studying the menu, a pot of tea arrived and was poured.

“You were limping,” she said.

“A little memento of Telluride, Colorado.”

For the first time, she noticed the bandage on his head as he removed his hat. She frowned and raised her eyebrows. “Another memento?”

He nodded and smiled gamely.

Marion looked into Bell’s eyes and her own eyes became misty. “You don’t know how happy I am that you weren’t killed.”

“Your boss certainly tried.”

“Mr. Cromwell!” she exclaimed as her mood altered from compassion to alarm. “I don’t understand.”

“He’s the man who shot me and killed a Van Dorn agent who was my friend.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Like it or not, Jacob Cromwell is the Butcher Bandit who has held up over twenty banks in the past twelve years and killed nearly forty innocent people.”

“That’s crazy!” Marion bit her lower lip. She looked as if she was lost and had nowhere to turn. “He couldn’t have done what you say.”

“What I said is true,” Bell said with a sudden gentleness. “We have evidence.

Maybe not enough to convict, but it falls at Cromwell’s doorstep.”

“But he’s helped so many people in need,” she protested.

“A front,” said Bell icily. “He’s built a wall around his empire, guarded by an army of good citizens who believe he and Margaret are generous people who want to help the poor out of the goodness of their hearts. It’s an act. Cromwell could care less about those who are destitute. He uses them to promote his own purposes. In the eyes of the city’s crooked politicians, he can do no wrong so long as he supports them with secret donations.”