The officers on the far end with no real view of Jackaby responded to the authoritative voice by shuffling forward, pressing a small crowd of onlookers back a few paces. The nearer officers followed suit with uncertainty, eyes bouncing between their colleagues and the newcomer in his absurd winter hat.

Jackaby stepped between the nearest uniforms. “When Chief Inspector Marlowe arrives, tell him he’s late. Damned unprofessional.”

A young officer with a uniform that looked as though it had once belonged to a much larger man stepped forward timidly. “But Marlowe’s been inside nearly half an hour, sir.”

“Well, then . . . tell him he’s early,” countered Jackaby, “even worse.”

The hawk-nosed policeman with whom I had nearly collided turned as Jackaby made for the doorway. His uncertain gaze became one of annoyance, and, taking a step toward Jackaby, he slid one hand to rest on the pommel of his shiny black nightstick. “Hold it right there,” he called. I found myself stepping forward as well.

“I beg your pardon, sir . . .” I should like to say that I mustered every bit as much confidence as the detective, using my sharp wit and clever banter to talk my way past the barricade. The truth is less impressive. The officer glanced back and I opened my mouth to speak, but the words I so desperately needed failed me. For a few rapid heartbeats I stood in silence, and then, against every sensible impulse in my body, I swooned.

I had seen a lady faint once before, at a fancy dinner party, and I tried to replicate her motions. I rolled my eyes upward and put the back of my hand delicately to my forehead, swaying. The lady at the party had sensibly executed her swoon at the foot of a plush divan. Out on the cobbled streets, my chances of a soft landing were slim. As I let my knees go limp, I threw myself directly into the arms of the brutish policeman, instead, sacrificing my last lingering scraps of dignity.

I gave myself a few seconds, and then blinked up at the officer. Judging by his expression, I don’t know which of us felt more awkward. Anger and suspicion were clearly more natural expressions for him than care and concern, but to his credit, he looked like he was trying.

“Um. You all right, miss?”

I stood, holding his arm and making a show of catching my breath. “Oh goodness me! It must be all this fresh air and walking about. It’s just been so much exertion. You know how we ladies can be.” I hated myself a little bit, but I committed. A few other officers crowding around us nodded in confirmation, and I hated them, too. “Thank you so much, sir.”

“Shouldn’t you . . . um . . . sit down, or something?” the policeman asked.