“Oh, Isaac, thank God you’re all right. I was worried about you.”

Bell smiled broadly through the grime on his face. “A little the worse for wear, but still standing.”

“How did you ever find me?”

“I’m a detective, remember? The emergency hospital was the first place I looked. I knew you’d be following in the footsteps of Florence Nightingale, your heart is too big not to help those in need, especially children.” He squeezed her and whispered in her ear. “I’m proud of you, Mrs. Bell.”

She pushed herself back and stared up into his eyes in confusion. “Mrs. Bell?”

Bell’s smile remained fixed. “Not exactly a romantic time or place to propose, but will you marry me?”

“Isaac Bell,” she cried, “how dare you do this to me.” Then she softened, pulled his head down, and kissed him. When she released him, she said slyly, “Of course I will marry you. It’s the best offer I’ve had all day.”

His smile faded, his lips tightened, and his voice harshened. “I can’t stay but a minute. Cromwell and Margaret are fleeing San Francisco. As long as there’s a breath in me, I can’t let a murdering scum like Cromwell go free.”

His fervor frightened her, but she embraced him fiercely. “It isn’t every day a girl is proposed to by her lover who then runs away.” She kissed him again. “You come back, you hear?”

“As soon as I can.”

“I’ll be waiting here. I don’t expect any of us will be leaving our shantytown soon.”

Bell held up her hands and kissed them both. Then he turned and disappeared from the hospital tent.

BELL DID not consider returning to the Cromwell mansion on Nob Hill to see if Margaret had flown. He was certain she had fled with her brother.

The palace houses of the rich and powerful were great blazing bonfires. From every part of town came the roaring of the flames, the rumble of crashing walls, and the explosions of dynamite.

The Model K Ford was light and fast. And it was durable. It climbed over the rubble in the streets like a mountain goat. Unknowingly, Bell took nearly the same route as Cromwell and Abner, skirting along the northern waterfront away from the fire. Barely half an hour had passed since he had left Marion when he stopped the car on the ramp at Cromwell’s warehouse, satisfying himself that the boxcar was indeed missing.

Switch engines were coupling cars to passenger trains in order to evacuate refugees to the southern part of the state, which still had open tracks, while freight cars were being dispatched to transport food supplies and medicine from Los Angeles. He drove the Ford into the railyard along the tracks until he reached a wooden building with a sign above the roof advertising it as the DISPATCH