She couldn’t help it—she laughed. Henry stiffened: what she saw in his eyes froze her. He backed away and lashed out at the air in a rage. “You are not to mock!”

“Stop!” she hissed. “They’ll toss us!”

But she and Henry might have been atop the Blue Streak: no one gave them a glance.

“Not to mock, not to mock!” Henry mumbled his nonsense, agitatedly rocking back and forth. “Ticktock, laughingstock…”

Pin stared at the now-empty sarsaparilla bottle and paper sack at her feet. Henry had fed her; he’d protected her from Mugsy. Why? He might be a chester, but he’d made no move to touch her. She could barely imagine him touching anyone; he acted like his fingers would be burned if he tried.

And his voice still echoed in her mind, repeating those German words she couldn’t understand, as though soothing a sick child. Clyde hated her, and Larry and Ikie. Mugsy might have killed her if Henry hadn’t stopped him. She took a deep breath.

“Are you having a meeting tonight?” she asked. “The Gemini. At the lodge?”

He shook his head, still upset. “No, no. Willhie’s away—only when both Gemini are there with the Black Sack of Destiny.”

She bit her lip to keep from laughing again. “The Black Sack of Destiny?”

Henry stopped rocking on his heels. “Yes! But if we do this”—he lowered his voice—“no one can ever know. Bad for business. Do you swear?”

She didn’t respond, thinking.

I killed people before.

Detectives killed people. In stories, anyway. Maybe they were real, the Gemini. Maybe he really was a detective—that was why he kept all those newspaper clippings in his wallet. Maybe together they could find the Hell Gate killer. Maybe he knew who killed her sister.

At last she nodded. “Where’s your friend? Willhie?”

“In Decatur, until later. Visiting his sister, mister. If you come with me now,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “I’ll show you.”

Without waiting for her reply, he turned and walked away.

Pin let her breath out in a low whistle. He was crazy as a bedbug. But would he lure her off someplace to kill her, after saving her from Mugsy? Probably not, but she touched her shiv for reassurance, just in case. And she could always just run.

She left the arcade. She didn’t catch sight of Henry again till she reached the main gate. A crowd had gathered by the Hippodrome, even more people than usual for a late-afternoon showing—three policemen held them back from the theater’s main doors.

Pin shaded her eyes from the blinding sunset. Was a new Chaplin movie opening tonight? The Inferno had been held over, and Pin still hadn’t seen it. Maybe now she’d missed her chance.