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By Root 1649 0

theory, and before long the stretch of Broadway along the park had been dubbed “Dead Man’s Curve,” because of the frequency with which unsuspecting pedestrians and carriage riders lost life or limb to the hurtling streetcars. Brübacher’s terrace provided a commanding view of all this action; and throughout warm afternoons and evenings it was customary, when one of the engines of injury was heard or seen approaching, for bets to be laid among the wine garden’s customers as to the likelihood of an accident occurring. These bets could, on occasion, be sizable, and the guilt that the winners felt when a collision did take place never managed to drive the game out of existence. Indeed, the frequency of accidents, and thus the volume of gaming, had risen to such proportions that Brübacher’s had earned the sobriquet “Monument House,” and was now a required stop for any visitor to New York who aspired to the title of gamesman.

As I crossed Fourteenth Street to the small curbed island east of Union Square that was home to Henry K. Brown’s splendid equestrian statue of General Washington, I began to hear the usual shouts—“Twenty bucks the old lady doesn’t make it!”; “The guy’s only got one leg, he doesn’t have a prayer!”—emanating from Papa Brübacher’s. The call of the game sped my steps, and when I arrived I jumped the ivy-laden iron railing that ringed the terrace and nestled in with a couple of old pals of mine. After ordering a liter of smooth, dark Würzburger that had a head as thick as whipped cream, I rose just long enough to embrace old Brübacher, then finally began to lay bets with a fury.

By the time Kreizler and Lucius Isaacson showed up, at just past seven, my friends and I had witnessed two near-misses on nannies with perambulators and one brush of a streetcar against a very expensive landau. An intense debate as to whether this latter contact constituted a collision ensued, one that I was just as glad to get away from by retreating to a relatively remote corner of the terrace with Lucius and Kreizler, who ordered a bottle of Didesheimer. The debate that I found them engaged in, however, steeped as it was in references to brain parts and functions, proved no more entertaining. The distant sound of an approaching streetcar at last signaled a new round of betting, and I had just wagered the full contents of my billfold on the agility of a fruit peddler when I looked up to find myself face-to-face with Marcus and Sara.

I was going to suggest that they get in on the action, as the fruit peddler’s pushcart was particularly heavy-laden and the encounter looked to be an exciting even-money affair; but when I paused long enough to study their respective faces and attitudes—Marcus’s wild-eyed and agitated, Sara’s pallid and stunned—I realized that something extraordinary had occurred, and put my money away.

“What in hell’s happened to you two?” I said, setting my beer stein on a table. “Sara, are you all right?”

She nodded rather weakly, and Marcus began to scan the terrace fervently, while fidgeting with his hands uncontrollably. “A telephone,” he said. “John, where’s a telephone?”

“Just inside the door, there. Tell Brübacher you’re a friend of mine, he’ll let you—”

But Marcus was already shooting away from me into the restaurant, while Kreizler and Lucius, who had broken off their conversation, stood and watched in confusion.

“Detective Sergeant,” Kreizler said, as Marcus passed. “Has there been some—”

“Excuse me, Doctor,” Marcus said. “I’ve got to—Sara has something you ought to see.” Marcus took two steps inside the open terrace doorway and grabbed the telephone, putting the little conical receiver to his ear and clicking the armrest rapidly. Brübacher looked on in surprise, but at a nod from me he let Marcus continue. “Operator? Hello, operator?” Marcus began to stamp his right foot hard. “Operator! I need to get a line through to Toronto. Yes, that’s right, Canada.”

“Canada?” Lucius echoed, his own eyes going wide. “Oh, God—Alexander Macleod! Then that means—” Lucius glanced at Sara, looking as if he suddenly understood