“That is my father’s bank. How is it that you know Boston?”

“Why do you work as a detective?”

“Because I want to.”

Mary returned his even gaze with a searching one of her own. Before she could ask a question, they were interrupted by a loud man at the next table, a wholesaler entertaining buyers. “The shirtwaist and skirt will be replaced next year by a full-costume combination—a single piece of garment— How do I know? Paris declares such combinations plebeian, particularly in different texture or color. New York will lead the change, and your ladies in Chicago will take the same view.”

Mary looked down at her gray shirtwaist and blue skirt and smiled. “So I’m to be plebeian?”

“You look lovely,” said Bell. “I mean, stylish and attractive.”

“Do you really believe that Van Dorns are different than Pinkertons?”

“I know they are. How is it that you know Boston?”

“How are Van Dorns different?”

“We believe that the innocent are sacred.”

“Those are pretty words.”

“Words to live by. But before we debate further, our waiter is headed this way, the restaurant is busy, and we should order before they run out. What would you like for breakfast?”

“What are you having?”

“Everything that can’t run away. I’ve been up all night and I am starving.”

“I walked from the ferry. I’m starving, too. I’ll have what you’re having.”

Bell picked up the menu. “Good morning,” he said to the waiter. “We both want coffee, buckwheat pancakes with cranberries, fried bananas, omelets with mushrooms, and calf’s liver.” Mary was nodding approvingly. Bell asked, “With onions?”

“And bacon.”

“You heard the lady. And may we have our coffee as soon as humanly possible?” Of Mary he asked, again, “How is it that you know Boston?”

“I am by occupation a schoolteacher. I graduated from the Girls’ Latin School.”

“So you were born in Boston.”

“No. My parents moved us there so my brother and I could attend the Latin Schools. Father found work as a tugboat captain and we lived on the boat.” She smiled. “Yes, I know what you’re thinking. The saloon was another time in another city. Father was always changing jobs.”

“A jack-of-all-trades?”

“He could master anything. Except people. He was like Jim. It broke his heart when he couldn’t deny that evil people exist. That’s when he gave up on the tugboat.”

“What changed his mind?”

“Too many deckhands shanghaied by knockout drops.”

“But tug captains must be used to freighters kidnapping able seamen. And no experienced deckhand would be surprised to wake up miles from land with a splitting headache. Spiked booze mans ships.”

“Father was surprised.”

The coffee arrived. Bell sought her eyes over their cups and asked, “What’s in that newspaper?”

“The reason I’m here.”

“I thought you came to not apologize.”