“None would have died if you had not interfered,” Semmler shot back. “Every death is on your head.”

Bell surged to his feet and rushed the Acrobat in a burst of fluid motion.

Semmler raised a Webley automatic pistol and leveled it at Bell’s chest. “I load hollow-point .455s. I’m told that your friend Abbott will never fully recover from his encounter with a ‘manstopper.’”

Bell stopped, reluctantly.

“We will leave the building,” Semmler said. “Walk ahead of me. Lead the way downstairs.”

Bell had no choice but to do as the Acrobat demanded. But at least with every step down the stairs, he was drawing Semmler farther away from Marion. They descended four flights to the lobby and another to the cellar. Semmler indicated the narrow hall and switched positions when they reached the ladder to the trapdoor.

“I’ll go first,” he said, backing agilely up the ladder, covering Bell until, crouched under the life net, he beckoned with the Webley for Bell to come up next.

When the detective climbed out, Semmler said, “Feel around at the foot of the wall. There’s some loose bricks. Pick one up.”

Bell stepped from under the canvas life net and two paces to the wall of the building, crouched down and felt in the dark until he found a brick. Glad of another weapon, he stood with it in his left hand. His right was reserved for his throwing knife, which he would draw from his boot the instant he saw a chance.

Semmler said, “Your interference ruined years of meticulous planning. It cost me time and treasure and dimmed my star. Promises made to my kaiser, my army, and my family have all been broken. I will redeem them now that I have Talking Pictures in hand. But it did not have to take so long.”

He gestured with his pistol. “Before you get any silly ideas about braining me with that brick, throw it through that window.”

Bell raised the brick, watching Semmler’s posture for signs of the split second of distraction he needed to go for his knife. But Semmler was watching closely and with sublime confidence in his mastery of the situation. Bell tried another tack. “Meticulous planning for what? I am mystified. What is it you want?”

“I want to save Germany from well-meaning fools. Throw the brick.”

Bell tried again. “What—”

Semmler trained his gun at Bell’s chest. “Throw the brick or convalesce with Abbott.”

Bell threw the brick at the lighted window. The glass shattered, and shards fell from the frame, widening a jagged hole.

“Here’s your next choice: either keep dogging my steps or try to save what is dear to you.”