“I am aware of his success. Frost was the top newsstand distributor in the nation when I took command of my father’s papers. When he retired—at the age of thirty-five, I might add—he controlled every newsstand in every railroad station in the country. However cruel he’s been to poor Josephine, Frost commanded great success in forging his continental chain. Frankly, as one businessman to another, I would admire him, if he weren’t trying to kill his wife.”

“I’d sooner admire a rabid wolf,” Isaac Bell countered grimly. “Harry Frost is a brutal mastermind. He ‘forged his continental chain,’ as you put it, by slaughtering every rival in his path.”

“I still say he was a fine businessman before he became a lunatic,” Whiteway objected. “Instead of living on the interest of his wealth when he retired, he invested it in steel, railroads, and Postum Cereals. He possesses a fortune that would do J. P. Morgan proud.”

Joseph Van Dorn’s cheeks flamed with such fury that they were suddenly redder than his whiskers. He retorted sharply, the normally faint Irish lilt in his voice thickening into a brogue as heavy as a Dublin ferry captain’s.

“J. P. Morgan has been accused of many things, sir, but even if they were all true, he would not be proud of such a fortune. Harry Frost possesses the managemental skills of General Grant, the strength of a grizzly, and the scruples of Satan.”

Isaac Bell put it plainly: “We know how Frost operates. The Van Dorn Detective Agency tangled with him ten years ago.”

Whiteway snickered. “Isaac, ten years ago you were in prep school.”

“Not so,” Van Dorn interrupted. “Isaac had just signed on as an apprentice and the god-awful truth is Harry Frost got the best of both of us. When the dust had settled, he controlled every railroad newsstand within five hundred miles of Chicago, and those of our clients who were not bankrupted were dead. Having established that blood-soaked foundation right under our noses, he expanded east and west. He’s as slippery as they come. We could never build a case that would stand up in court.”

Whiteway saw an opportunity to negotiate a low fee for the Van Dorn services.

“Have I put too much faith in the famous Van Dorn motto, ‘We Never Give Up. Never’? Ought I shop around for better detectives?”

Isaac Bell and Joseph Van Dorn stood up and put on their hats.

“Good day, sir,” said Van Dorn. “As your cross-country race will span the continent, I recommend you ‘shop around’ for an investigative outfit with a national reach equal to mine.”

“Hold on! Hold on! Don’t go off half-cocked. I was merely—”

“We admitted the drubbing Frost dealt us in order to warn you not to underestimate him. Harry Frost is mad as a hatter and violent as a longhorn, but, unlike most madmen, he is coldly efficient.”