The pawnshop was on Catherine Street, amid the slums of the Bowery. All the pawnshops in the city were located in the Bowery. The shop was small and crowded with a strange assortment of goods, ranging from gold watches to eyeglasses. Overcoats hung along one wall, and musical instruments of various ages and stages of repair were piled in a comer. There was even a rack of umbrellas. People in need would sell anything for a few cents.

The proprietor, a sly character known only as Slippery Joe, greeted him warmly. “Detective Malloy, as I live and breathe, and how are you this fine day?”

It was gray and drizzling a bit outside, but Frank didn’t bother to mention this. “I’ve got a little problem, Joe, and I thought you might be able to help me with it.”

“Anything I can do for the police, you know I always try to help.” Joe was a slender man of indeterminate age, with watery eyes and thinning gray hair and an ingratiating smile for detectives. Frank had no idea how he treated his customers since they always made themselves scarce when the coppers were around.

“I’m trying to trace some jewelry. Would’ve been sold sometime in the last month.”

“You know I don’t deal in stolen articles, Detective,” Joe reminded him unctuously. To give him credit, few pawnbrokers served as fences. The risks were too great, and besides, they made enough money already simply doing their regular work.

Frank gave him a conspiratorial smile. “You probably didn’t know they were stolen. And I doubt the person who had them would’ve gone to a fence.” He was still going on the theory that Alicia VanDamm had sold the jewels herself to finance her escape. “They’re nice pieces, and there aren’t many places that would handle them. Not many other brokers would recognize the quality.”

Joe had to agree. He rubbed this stubbled chin thoughtfully and nodded. “What did they look like?”

Sarah Brandt had been right about the VanDamms having a paste copy of the jewelry. Frank pulled the imitation sapphire necklace from his pocket and laid it on the scratched counter. Joe’s eyes grew wide, and Frank had to agree, it was a shocking sight, so much beauty amid the squalor of the shop’s other contents.

“Yes, I think I might have seen something like that come through here. I’d have to check my safe, of course. Is there a… a reward being offered for its return?”

“Two hundred dollars.”

A princely sum, to be sure, but only a fraction of what VanDamm had really offered. Frank wanted to leave some room for negotiation.

Joe studied the necklace and nodded. “Yes, yes, I think I may have seen just this very piece.”

“There were other pieces that may have been sold with it. I’ve got the description of them, too. The owner wants all of it back. There’s a pair of earrings, diamonds set in the shape of stars, and another pair that’s pearls. A pearl necklace, too, and a brooch shaped like a spider with a ruby in the center.”

Joe nodded again. “So many beautiful things. I couldn’t possibly have given less than five hundred for them,” he assured Frank.

Frank doubted this very much, but he was willing to dicker a bit to get what he wanted. “I’m sure the victim will go as high as three hundred, but that’s probably all. She’s a widow of limited means. The jewelry is all she has left in the world.”

Plainly, Joe didn’t believe Frank any more than Frank believed him, but he said, “I’ll see if my memory is as good as it used to be. Please, make yourself at home, Detective, while I check my safe.”

Just as Frank had suspected, Joe had all the pieces he was looking for. This meant they’d probably been sold as a group. If his luck was good, this meant they’d all been stolen from Alicia’s room the night she was killed and pawned by her murderer. If his luck was bad, as he suspected it probably was, Alicia herself had pawned the pieces and lived on the proceeds for the past month.

“When did these come in?” Frank asked.

Joe consulted his ledger. “Five weeks ago.”

Frank frowned. This was even before Alicia had disappeared. “Do you remember who brought them in?”

“I have a name here,” Joe said with a small smile. “John Smith.”

Well, maybe this wasn’t too bad. The fellow who sold Alicia’s jewelry was obviously in her confidence. Which also meant he was probably the father of her child. If Frank could identify the fellow, he’d be very close to finding her killer. “I might be able to get the victim to raise the reward an extra fifty dollars if you could possibly recall what this John Smith looked like,” Frank said.

Joe pretended to consider. Probably, he knew exactly without making any effort at all. Merchandise like this rarely found its way into his shop, and the seller would have made an indelible impression.

“If I recall correctly, he was a man about your age. Not a swell, you understand, but not someone from the neighborhood either. He had an air of quality about him, which is why I believed him when he said he was selling the jewels for a friend who’d fallen on hard times. I had no reason to doubt him, at least,” he added in his own defense, in case Frank was thinking about prosecuting him for dealing in stolen merchandise.

“What did he look like?”

This time Joe really did consider. “Tall and well built. Looked almost like a football player, he was so fit, but he didn’t look like no college boy, if you know what I mean. Black hair, very curly. Irish, I’m sure, but no accent. Oh, and he had a scar right here.” Joe drew a line along his jaw on the right side.

That should make him easy to identify, Frank thought. Now all he had to do was locate the fellow out of the millions of men living in New York City.

SARAH SMILED AS she laid the carefully wrapped infant in her mother’s arms. New life was always a cause for rejoicing, and this one especially. Dolly Yardley had lost two others before this one, even though she wasn’t yet twenty years old. Her labor had been long and difficult, but both mother and child appeared to be fine now, if a bit weary from their ordeal. Sarah was weary herself, having been up most of the night. She had never been able to figure out why the most difficult births always occurred at night.

“Oh, look, Will, ain’t she beautiful?” the new mother demanded of her young husband, pulling the blanket back from the baby’s face so he could admire her.

Will had spent the night drinking stale beer with his friends in the seedy bar located in the basement of their tenement, so he was hardly in any condition to judge. “Next time we’ll have a boy,” he said.

Sarah glared at him until her disapproval penetrated his alcoholic haze, and she said, “The baby looks just like Dolly, doesn’t she?”

“Oh, yeah,” Will agreed as hastily as he could, given his condition. “The spittin’ image. She’ll be a beauty just like her Ma.”

Dolly smiled at that and nodded her approval.

“Have you decided on a name for her yet?” Sarah asked.

“I think I’ll call her Edith, after my ma,” Dolly said.

“You ain’t naming her after that whore,” Will protested.

Sarah wanted to jump to Dolly’s defense, but Dolly was more than capable of defending herself. “Edith Rose, after both our mothers,” she said, sticking out her chin defiantly.

“Rose ain’t my mother. I told you that.”

“Maybe you should discuss this later, when Dolly’s had some time to rest,” Sarah suggested as tactfully as she could.

Will seemed perfectly willing to wait. The new father stared at his wife and child for a long moment, as if he couldn’t quite bring them into focus, but apparently he was not as drunk as Sarah had thought, because after a moment, he turned to her a little sheepishly and said, “About your fee, Mrs. Brandt. I ain’t had much work lately, and I was wondering, could I owe it to you until things is better?”