“You’ll not even volunteer to test a strand of hair for me then?”
He stood up again and came around the table to me, putting both hands on my shoulders. “Molly, why don’t you give up on this? You are grasping at straws, or rather you’re being influenced by someone else’s vivid imagination. Is she paying you to look into this? If not, then you’re wasting valuable time and can achieve nothing by it. In my job we find it hard enough to prove a case of poisoning unless it was so obvious that the victim was practically frothing at the mouth. I’m sure skilled poisoners get away with murder every day in New York City. We may be dealing with one ourselves, because we still haven’t found any link between quite a few deaths from arsenic poisoning.”
“You’ve tested everything they ate or drank?”
“Of course. And looked into any motive the family members might have had for wanting to get rid of them. But nothing. In most cases the victims were poor and had nothing to leave.”
I looked up at him suddenly. “What color was their wallpaper?”
He laughed. “Their wallpaper?”
“That’s right. This young druggist was saying that some wallpaper contains arsenic, especially the green one with roses that is so popular.”
Daniel was still smiling. “Yes, but even if it contained arsenic, it wouldn’t be enough to kill somebody unless they actually licked it. And if it gave off fumes, it would have made the rest of the family sick.”
“Just a thought,” I said. “I know nothing about it personally.”
“Which is why you should stop sticking your nose into this business of the three women. If there were a real poisoner, then your bumbling attempts would warn him to be on his guard. It might even drive him to kill again. So be careful. You’ve had enough narrow scrapes—including almost stepping under the wheels of my automobile.”
“That’s it!” I shouted, making him jump. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. That’s the reason I’m inclined to believe Emily.”
“What is?”
“Someone tried to run me down the other day. A big black carriage came right at me as I was crossing the street.”
“I’d put that down to a bad driver,” Daniel said, “and to your not looking where you were walking.”
“No, it was deliberate, I’m sure. He came right at me and didn’t attempt to slow or swerve.”
“So you think someone, in a city as big as New York, was waiting and lurking on a street, just on the off chance you’d pass by and he could run you down?”
“It wasn’t just anywhere in New York City,” I said. “It was around the corner from Patchin Place, just by the Jefferson Market building.”
“All the same,” he said, “I’m still inclined to believe that some coachman was not looking where he was going, or had been told to hurry by his master and was driving rather too fast.”
“But he came right at me, Daniel. He didn’t attempt to rein in the horses or to swerve away. In fact I think he almost steered toward me.”
He was looking at me with a look I couldn’t quite fathom—was it humor or concern, or maybe a bit of both?
“You don’t believe me, but it’s true,” I said.
He sighed. “If it’s true, all the more reason to back down, Molly. If you really think that someone would be desperate enough to try to kill you in this way, then that person must suspect that you are coming too close to the truth. As I’ve said before, criminal cases should be left to the police.”
“Aren’t you the police?” I demanded. “But I’ve presented you with the facts and you’re doing nothing.” I shook his hands from my shoulders and spun around to face him. “You could at least volunteer to test that hair for me.”
He sighed. “I suppose I could have that done, if it would finally satisfy you.”
“Thank you.” I gave him a peck on the cheek. “I’ll ask Emily when I see her tomorrow and I’ll try to get a strand or two from the second dead woman.”
He shook his head, smiling. “Molly, you’re like a terrier. You hang on and shake and won’t let go.”
“Not until I’ve reached the truth.” I stood up to face him. “So where are you going to take me this evening?”
“I thought the theater,” he said.
“Any particular one?”
“What would you like to see?”
“I’d rather like to see the revue starring Mademoiselle Fifi,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Rather risqué for a respectable young woman, don’t you think?”
“But I hear she is a wonderful dancer,” I said, eyeing him steadily.
He came over to me and put his hands on my shoulders again. “Molly, you are up to something. You have an ulterior motive for going to this show.”
“Really? Don’t be silly. And don’t tell me you’d not enjoy watching the dancing of Mademoiselle Fifi.”
“Of course I wouldn’t mind watching her,” he said, looking decidedly uncomfortable, “but . . .”
“Well then, what are we waiting for?”