“Harry Frost is not insane,” he said. “In fact, in a strange way he’s enjoying himself. As I warned Whiteway in San Francisco, Frost knows he’s been dealt his last hand. He’s not going to fold his cards until he sets the casino on fire.”

Joseph Van Dorn said, “Nonetheless, the lengths he’s going to to avenge his wife’s supposed seduction would fit most folks’ definition of insane.”

“Let me ask you something, Joe. Why do you suppose Frost didn’t kill Josephine when they were still together?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why did Frost shoot Marco instead?”

“Put an end to the affair, hoping she’d come back.”

“Yes. Except for one thing. Having killed Marco—assuming he is dead—”

“He is,” Van Dorn interrupted. “We’ve been down that road.”

“Having killed, or tried to kill, Marco,” Bell replied evenly, “why is Frost now trying to kill Josephine?”

“He either is insane or just plain old-fashioned crazed with jealousy. The man was known for his temper.”

“Why didn’t he kill Josephine first?”

“You’re asking me to explain the order of a madman’s killings?”

“Do you know what he said to me?”

“I wasn’t there when he escaped, Isaac,” Van Dorn said pointedly.

Isaac Bell was too involved in his line of inquiry to countenance Van Dorn’s jibe. “Harry Frost said to me, ‘You don’t know what they were up to.’”

“Up to? Marco and Josephine were running off together, that’s what they were up to—or so Frost suspected.”

“No. He didn’t sound like he meant only a love affair. He indicated they were scheming. It was as if he had discovered that they had perpetuated some sort of betrayal worse than seduction.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. But I’m beginning to suspect that we are fighting something more complicated than we took on.”

“We took on protecting Josephine from getting killed,” Van Dorn retorted firmly. “So far, that’s been complicated enough for two detective agencies. If what you’re suggesting now has any bottom to it, we should call in a third.”

“Send me that Remington autoload.”

VAN DORN DISPATCHED an apprentice across on the Weehawken Ferry with the rifle and dry clothes from Bell’s room at the Yale Club. Andy Moser arrived in one of the roadsters an hour later, with tools, stay wires, and a shiny new nine-foot propeller strapped to the fenders.

“Good thing you’re rich, Mr. Bell. This baby cost a hundred bucks.”

“Let’s get to work. I want this machine flying by dawn. I already removed this broken stay.”

Andy Moser whistled. “Wow! I’ve never seen Roebling wire snap.”

“It had help from Harry Frost.”

“It’s amazing the wing didn’t fall off.”

Bell said, “The machine is resilient. These other stays, here and here, took up the slack.”

“I always say, Mr. Di Vecchio built ’em to last.”