Persephone reappeared with a container of smelling salts. She tried to wave it under Elizabeth’s nose, but Anna pushed it away. “She’s awake now, can’t you see?”

“Did I faint again?” Elizabeth asked.

“I’m afraid so. Did you hurt yourself?”

“I never do, but . . . Can you help me up?”

Anna and Persephone assisted her, and between the two of them, they got her into a chair.

Then she looked around at the three faces staring down at her. “Did you learn anything? Who is going to, uh, hurt you, Madame Ophelia?”

“Someone close to her,” Anna said.

Elizabeth’s gaze shifted instantly to Persephone, who shook her head emphatically. “No, it’s someone she cheat—” She caught herself just in time, but she still earned a scowl from Madame.

But Elizabeth knew what she meant. “It’s someone you stole money from, then. I don’t think anyone can blame them, though.”

“But murder is still wrong,” Anna said. “We have to stop them if we can, if only to save them from becoming a killer.” Madame scowled at her, but she just scowled back.

“If you could tell us who it is . . .” Persephone said.

“Didn’t I give you any idea at all?”

“Just that Madame Ophelia cheated them,” Anna said caustically. “But apparently, she cheated so many people, she has no idea who it might be.”

“No one forced them,” Madame said with as much dignity as she could muster. “Their own greed made them invest.”

Elizabeth and Anna just stared at her, speechless.

“But we’re leaving town,” Persephone said, apparently oblivious to the undercurrents. “Surely, that will save you.”

Elizabeth shivered. “If you are willing to take that chance, good luck to you.”

Anna glared at Madame. “I’d follow you to the ends of the earth if you cheated me.”

“Anna,” Elizabeth chided her, taking her hand, “we’ve done all we can here. I think it’s time we went home.”

—

After leaving Cybil Miles, Waterson returned to his new hotel, which was far less luxurious than his old one. No sense wasting money on a fancy suite, though. They’d all be leaving town as soon as he closed the deal with the Standard Oil people. He couldn’t believe how easy it was to make money legitimately. Maybe the time had come to pack it in and go straight. At this rate, he’d make a killing if he did.

He used the public telephone in the lobby of his hotel to contact Thomas Stillwell. As the operator made the connection, Waterson fingered the rich paper of Stillwell’s business card, thinking he’d get some like this printed for himself. They sure did make an impression.