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By Root 1784 0

’s roof arcade, I remembered what Kreizler had said the night before: that violence, for our murderer, had been the childhood starting point. In all likelihood that meant beatings administered by adults—such would fit with Laszlo’s theory that there were both self-protective and vengeful instincts at work in the man. But thousands of young boys suffered such torment. What had pushed this one, like Mary, over a seemingly indefinable but very real line into violence? Had he, too, suffered from some crippling impairment or deformity that during his youth made him an object of derision and scorn, not only on the part of adults, but of other children as well? And, having endured this, had he gone on to suffer (again like Mary) some sort of outrageous, degrading sexual assault?

It still seems odd that so lovely a girl as Mary Palmer should have inspired me to such grim cogitations; but odd or no, I felt I was onto something, and wanted to get Mary back to Kreizler’s place so that I could meet Marcus Isaacson on time and share my thoughts with him. I felt a bit bad about ending an outing that had brought Mary such apparent joy—by the time we reached Stuyvesant Park she was absolutely radiant—but she also had duties to attend to; and her mind was brought back to them in a rush, I could see, when she spotted Kreizler’s calash sitting outside the house on Seventeenth Street.

Stevie was brushing the horse Frederick down, while Kreizler was standing and smoking a cigarette on the small iron balcony that ran outside the French windows of the parlor on the second floor. Both Mary and I braced for trouble as we entered the small front yard; and we were both surprised when a very genuine smile came into Kreizler’s face. He took out his silver watch, checked the time, and spoke in a cheerful voice:

“You two must have had quite an afternoon—was Mr. Moore a satisfactory host, Mary?”

Mary smiled and nodded, then rushed to the front door. There she turned and, after removing the small black hat, said “Thank you” with a big smile and only a trace of difficulty. Then she disappeared inside, and I looked up at Kreizler.

“I believe we may yet get spring, John,” he said, indicating Stuyvesant Park with a wave of his cigarette. “Despite the cold, the trees are budding.”

“I thought you’d still be on Long Island,” I answered.

He shrugged. “There’s little for me to learn there. Sara, on the other hand, seemed quite fascinated by Mrs. Hulse’s attitude toward her children, so I left her. It may prove very useful for her, and she can take a train back tonight.” That seemed a bit strange, given the theories I’d cooked up earlier that day; but Kreizler’s manner was quite normal. “Will you come up for a drink, John?”

“I’ve got to meet Marcus at five—we’re going to explore the Golden Rule. Any interest?”

“A great deal of interest,” he answered. “But it will be better if I’m not seen in too many places associated with the case. I trust the pair of you to take copious mental notes. Remember—the keys will be in the details.”

“Speaking of that,” I said, “I’ve had some ideas that I think may be useful.”

“Excellent. We’ll discuss them at dinner. Telephone me at the Institute when you’ve finished. I’ve a few things to see to there.”

I nodded and turned to depart; but my perplexity was too strong to leave matters so unresolved.

“Laszlo?” I said uncertainly. “You’re not angry that I took Mary out this afternoon?”

He shrugged simply again. “You didn’t discuss the case with her?”

“No.”

“Then, on the contrary, I’m grateful. Mary isn’t exposed to enough people and new experiences. I’m sure it will have an excellent effect on her disposition.”

And that was that. I turned back around and headed through the gate, leaving behind the slight inkling into the behavior of my friends that I thought I’d achieved that morning. I got onto the Third Avenue El at Eighteenth Street and headed downtown, trying to keep my thoughts away from other people’s personal business and on the case. By the time we passed Cooper Square, I was actually succeeding; and when I met Marcus