Murder on St. Mark’s place

7

MALLOY GLANCED OVER HIS SHOULDER AND saw a man and a woman-well, a girl, actually-coming down the steps. The girl was small and slender, her hair blond under the oversized hat she wore. The man was dressed the way he’d seen countless salesmen dressed, in a suit tailored more for flash than for style. Apparently, salesmen thought they had to make an indelible impression on people, even if the impression was one of tawdriness.

The fellow had the girl’s hand tucked into the crook of his arm, and they turned in the opposite direction from where he and Mrs. Brandt were standing. He should give them a minute to get a start. If he followed them right off, it would look suspicious.

He could hear Mrs. Brandt breathing. Her breath came quickly. Probably she was frightened. This sort of thing wasn’t something a midwife usually did in the course of her work. Maybe she was even worried some harm might come to the girl. It was possible, he supposed, but not very likely, not with Frank on his tail.

Frank could feel her breath on his cheek. He could feel the sweat forming all over his body. The night was warm, but not that warm. He was just standing too close to Mrs. Brandt was all. He’d fix that in a minute. There, they were turning the comer.

“Come on,” he said, pushing himself away from the wall with a sense of relief. Action, that’s what he needed. Anything to distract him from thoughts he shouldn’t be thinking.

He didn’t wait to see if she was coming. She’d be with him every step of the way. He knew he’d probably have to force her to leave when they caught up with George, too. She’d want to hear everything he had to say. Well, he’d deal with that, too.

He started down the sidewalk in the direction they had gone, watching the traffic for a break so they could cross and follow the other couple. Unconsciously, he reached for her arm, clasping it tightly so she would be with him when he saw an opportunity to cross. It came unexpectedly, a break between two wagons, and he fairly dragged her across the street, just barely missing a pile of horse manure.

She was sputtering a little, but he ignored that. He let go of her arm, and by then they were at the comer. He could see the couple walking up ahead, heading downtown. The girl was still clinging to his arm. Was she looking back? Damn her, she’d tip him off that they were being followed!

No, wait, she was just talking to him. He was leaning down to hear her better. She was pointing, and he reacted in some surprise, but he followed her lead. They disappeared into an alley.

“Smart girl,” Frank said in approval to Mrs. Brandt, who was struggling to keep up with him.

“I think I’m starting to understand why there are no female police officers,” she said breathlessly. “It’s too hard to keep up the chase in skirts.”

He tried not to smile, but he couldn’t help it. They were almost to the alley into which the other couple had disappeared. He pulled up short and caught her arm again.

“Stay here,” he warned. “When the girl comes out, take her away. I don’t care where you go, just get away from here.”

“Will Lisle be in danger after this?” she asked, new fears widening her eyes and flushing her cheeks. Or maybe it was just the chase that had flushed her cheeks.

“Not if he isn’t the killer, and if he is the killer, then I’ll arrest him, so no, don’t worry about her. She’ll be safe. I just don’t want either of you around when I question him. Do you understand?”

She didn’t like it, but she nodded. And she stayed put when he went into the alley. Thank God for that.

The evening shadows were long now, and no sunlight entered here even at midday. Frank needed a moment to accustom himself to the darkness. He didn’t need his eyes to find them, though. He could hear the sounds of their kissing from here. Either the girl was really enthusiastic or she was making sure Frank found them. Considering she thought this fellow might’ve killed her friend, Frank thought it was probably the latter.

George muttered something Frank couldn’t understand. He carefully picked his way through the piles of trash, trying not to alert George before he was in a position to overpower him. By the time he was close enough, however, he realized George probably wouldn’t have noticed a brass band marching by.

“Hello there, George,” Frank said amiably, startling the fellow as he grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back.

“What the he-” he cried, ending on a gasp of pain as Frank nearly wrenched his shoulder from its socket.

The girl cried out, but whether it was from fear or in protest, he didn’t particularly care. “Get out of here,” he told her. “Go on now, run.”

She hesitated a moment, looking at George’s grimace of pain, but she apparently decided to obey him. She darted away. Frank figured Mrs. Brandt would catch her up and take care of her. At any rate, she was no longer his concern.

“Are you her father?” George said, his voice high with terror. “Stepfather, I mean. Look, it’s not what you think!”

“How do you know what I think?” Frank inquired genially as he smashed George’s face into the brick wall.

“Owww!” he cried, but he didn’t struggle. He had more sense than that. “She was willing!” he tried. “I didn’t force her. It was even her idea!”

“That’s not exactly what a father wants to hear, George,” Frank said. “Maybe you should try a different story.” He gave George’s arm a little pull.

“Owww! I didn’t mean no harm!”

“What did you mean, then, bringing a girl into an alley like that?” Frank asked, his voice still friendly, even if his actions were not. “Maybe you had something in mind. Like maybe you were going to start hitting her.”

“Hitting her?” he gasped in surprise. “Why would I do that?”

“Oh, maybe because you hate her. You hate all women, don’t you, George? You think they all deserve to die.”

“Die? What’re you talking about? Who are you?” he was starting to sound frantic now.

“I’m Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy of the New York City police, and I’m investigating the deaths of several young women in the city.”

“What do you want with me, then?” he asked, his words distorted because Frank was pressing his face a little harder into the bricks. And because he was terrified.

“Because you knew them. You knew all of them,” Frank said, exaggerating a bit for effect. “And we know you bought at least one of them a gift right before she died. Also very interesting, she was killed right after you got angry because she danced with someone else one night.”

“Who…? Gerda? Is that who you mean?” He sounded almost relieved. “You think I killed her?”

“The thought did cross my mind, especially after I heard you got into a fight with her over her seeing another man.”

“If that’s all you want, you can let me go.” He sounded relieved. “You don’t have to hurt me anymore. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Why don’t you get started, then, and when I’ve heard something I like, I’ll think about letting you go.” He gave George’s arm a little twist that made him shudder with pain.

“I did give her a hat,” he said quickly, his voice high again and much faster. He was in a hurry to get this over. “She and I… Well, she earned it, is all I can say. She liked pretty things and was willing to do whatever it took to get them.”

“It’s not very gentlemanly to talk about a lady like that, George,” he chastised him.

“Gerda was no lady,” he said. “You can ask anybody.”

“Maybe I will. So you bought her this hat, and then she found somebody with more brass and gave you the gate.”

“Made me mad!” George admitted. “One day she was my girl, and the next day she wouldn’t even dance with me. Said she found somebody could give her even nicer things. Showed me these red shoes he’d give her. They wasn’t even good quality! I know quality. That’s one thing I know. But she didn’t care. They was flashy. That’s all she cared about. She never cared a fig for me.”

“Did you care a fig for her?” Frank asked.

George didn’t want to answer that one until Frank gave him a little encouragement. “I liked her all right,” he admitted on a gasp of pain. “She was a lot of fun when she felt like it.”

“And when she didn’t feel like it anymore, you took her into an alley and beat her to death.”

“No! I never touched her! I never even saw her after that! She went off with some fellow, and I never saw her again. Nobody did. That’s the night she got killed.”

“Who was the fellow?”

“I don’t know. She never said his name.”

“What did he look like?”

“I never saw him!”

“And I suppose you can account for your whereabouts for the rest of that night.”

“I… I don’t… I stayed at the dance hall until it closed, I think. Then I went home.”

“Alone?”

“I think so. I can’t remember! I was mad at Gerda, and I drank too much.”

“So much you might not remember beating her to death?”

“No! I never touched her! I swear it!”

Frank released him with a disgusted shove. He fell against the wall, caught himself, and straightened slowly, rubbing his face and hugging his injured arm to him.

“I didn’t kill her. I swear it!” he tried.

“What about Eva Bower? I guess you didn’t kill her either.”

“Who?”

“Eva Bower. Her friends said you’d been paying her particular attention right before she turned up dead.”

“I don’t… Eva, you say?” He honestly didn’t remember.

“Her friends said you bought her a hat. I assume she earned it the same way Gerda did.”

“Eva?” he repeated, still trying to recall. “Oh, yeah, peacock feathers! She wanted one with peacock feathers! Now I remember. She was… Did you say she was dead?” He was incredulous.

“Yes, I did. She died the same way Gerda did. Last winter. Not too long after you bought her the hat with the peacock feathers.”

“I hadn’t seen her around, but I didn’t know anything had happened to her. Girls come and go, you see. They come to the dance halls for a while, until they get a steady fellow. Then they don’t need to go anymore. I thought she… I never heard about her being dead!” He sounded aggrieved.

“Well, she is. Just like Luisa Isenberg and Fredrika Lutz.”

“I don’t… no, wait, I remember Luisa. Big girl with yellow curls?”

Frank thought it a rather unflattering description, but he said, “That’s right.”

“She didn’t get a hat. Just some glass beads. She wouldn’t… Well, you know.”

Frank knew, but he didn’t say so. He was too disgusted.

“Did you say Luisa is dead, too?” George asked.

“Yeah, just like Fredrika. And what about Fredrika? What did she earn?”

George was still rubbing his face, and he paused, thinking. “I don’t remember her. Are you sure I knew her? What did she look like?”

“Maybe I could find out what kind of hat you bought her. Would that help?” Frank asked sarcastically.

His sarcasm was wasted. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I knew anybody named Fredrika. I would’ve remembered. My father’s name is Fredrick, you see, and it would’ve made an impression.”

Frank had to resist the urge to punch him just on general principles. He wouldn’t be of any use if he was unconscious. “How many girls have gotten hats from you, George?”

“I don’t keep a count,” he said, a little insulted.

“Maybe you should, since so many of them have turned up dead.”

“I never knew that Fredrika, so you can’t say I… Do you think I killed them all?” He was horrified. “Good God, what kind of a man do you think I am?”

“The kind who goes around seducing and abandoning as many young girls as he can find.”

“I don’t seduce them!” Now he was outraged. “Most of the time, they suggest it first! They know I’ll give them something nice. The hats are expensive. I get them at cost, but they don’t know that. It’s the only way they can get pretty things.”

“So they trade their virtue for a present.”

“It’s not like that! They… I never took a girl who was a virgin. They ain’t innocent, if that’s what you’re thinking. They ain’t looking for romance. It’s a business with them.”

“Just like it is with you,” Frank pointed out. “I guess you brag to your friends that you never have to pay for it, too.”

He was insulted again. “Nobody forces them to do it.”

Frank had his own opinions about that, but he kept them to himself. He wasn’t getting anywhere discussing the reasons these girls did what they did. He wanted to know why someone had killed them.

“So you don’t have an alibi for the night Gerda was killed.”

“I told you, I stayed at the dance hall. Lots of people saw me there.”

“Lots of people who won’t remember one night from the other. And what about the nights the other girls were murdered?”

“I don’t even know what nights you mean! I didn’t even know they was dead!” He was whining now, like a whipped dog. Frank wanted to stuff him into one of the ash cans and leave him here with the rest of the trash. If he did, no one would even care. No one except Sarah Brandt, who wouldn’t want to see an innocent man punished, no matter how despicable he might be.

Frank sighed, defeated. “Maybe you ought to be careful for a while, George,” he said. “Seems like the girls you play dip the wick with have a nasty habit of turning up dead.”

“Not all of them,” he protested. “There’s been dozens that’re still alive and kicking. Ask that girl I was with tonight, Lisle. She’ll tell you!”

That was all Frank could stand. Even Sarah Brandt would forgive him for this. He drove his fist into George’s soft stomach, hitting him neatly in the spot just beneath his ribs that would leave him gasping helplessly for breath and certain he was going to die, but do no actual harm.

As he doubled over and slumped to the filthy ground, Frank said, “You should learn a little respect for young ladies, George. It would serve you well.”

NIGHT HAD FALLEN completely by the time Frank got to Sarah Brandt’s house. He didn’t ask himself why he had gone directly there after finishing with George. He didn’t really want to know the reason. He just knew he wanted to tell her what he’d learned. She’d be anxious to know.

He wasn’t even sure if she’d be there. She might have taken Lisle home first. She might not have gotten back yet. She might even have been summoned to deliver a baby somewhere. But when he turned onto Bank Street, he saw a light in her front window. For a moment he wondered if he should go inside. What would her neighbors think? The old biddy next door would certainly see him, even if no one else did.

On the other hand, strange men probably came to her door at all hours of the day and night to summon her to birthings. His presence could hardly shock anyone.

She looked pleased to see him, but she put her finger to her lips, indicating he should be quiet. “I brought Lisle home with me,” she whispered. “She didn’t get any sleep last night for worrying about meeting George tonight. She was so exhausted, she almost fell asleep in the chair, so I made her lie down in my bed. I think if we go out in the backyard, we won’t bother her, though.”

He followed her through the shadowy house, enjoying the odd sense of intimacy their silence created. He was beginning to feel too comfortable in her home. He’d have to make sure this case didn’t drag on much longer. He’d have to stop seeing her very soon if he hoped to be able to resume his old life again without regrets.

Her backyard was cooler than the house, if only a little. The flowers masked the stench of the summer city, and only when Frank settled into one of the wicker chairs with a sigh did he realize how weary he was.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, and disappeared into the house. When she returned, she carried a bottle and a glass. She poured him a shot of whiskey. “You sounded like you needed it,” she said by way of explanation.

Although he usually avoided the stuff, tonight he made an exception. He downed it gratefully, in one swallow.

She waited until he had to ask, “Is George the killer?”

“I don’t think so. In fact, I don’t think he knew one of the girls at all. It’s that, or he’s a very good liar.”

“That’s possible, isn’t it?”

“Of course. He might have killed all four girls and more besides that we don’t know about and be able to lie right in my face about it. There’s men can do that. Not many of them, though, thank God, or we’d never catch any criminals at all. They all lie. It’s just that most of them aren’t very good at it.”

“Does he remember where he was the night Gerda was killed?”

“Says he stayed at the dance hall. Nobody’s likely to remember whether he did or not, since one night’s pretty much like another at those places, so he doesn’t have a good alibi.”

“Which is just what you said would be the case with an innocent man.”

Frank rubbed his chin, surprised at the growth of beard there. He should’ve gotten a shave before meeting her this evening. “Or a very clever killer.”

“What do you think?”

“He doesn’t strike me as very clever.”

She sighed. “I guess I was foolish to think it would be so easy.”

“There’s nothing wrong with hoping. Sometimes it is that easy.”

“But not very often, or else they wouldn’t need men like you to be detectives,” she said, teasing him with his own words.

He couldn’t argue.

“Lisle is a little worried that George might take some revenge on her,” she said.

“She can tell him she didn’t know anything about it. He’s not clever enough to doubt her.”

“I’ll be sure she knows. She’s very frightened.”

“Good. Maybe it will save her life.”

She sat back in her chair, swallowed up in the shadows. For a long moment they simply sat there, listening to the night sounds of the city. He was just thinking he should take his leave when she said, “What’s the next step?”

“I’ll try to find the other men on the list. The ones who were on three of the four lists, that is. I’ll question them and see if I suspect any of them are lying.”

“And what can I do in the meantime?”

He’d meant to say “nothing.” It was the only sensible thing to say. Instead, he heard himself saying, “Can you tell me just exactly where that deaf school you told me about is?”

SARAH KNEW MALLOY would not approve of her questioning the friends of the other dead girls again. The problem was, she couldn’t just sit by and wait to hear from Malloy again. Luckily, she had insisted on copying the list of suspects over more neatly for Malloy, and she had kept the original. Which meant she also had a list of the names of the men the dead girls had been seeing just prior to their deaths. The list was shorter now that they had virtually eliminated George. That left only three names. Sarah thought if she could find out some more about these men, perhaps she could figure out the most likely suspect. She was certain that someone who had murdered four women must have some notable characteristic that would distinguish him from normal men.

She only hoped she was right about that.

Sarah had sent Luisa Isenberg’s sister, Ella, a note asking if she could call on her the following day. She’d also asked if the sister could gather Luisa’s friends to answer a few more questions. She was disappointed to find only Ella and one other girl waiting for her at the beer garden when she arrived the next evening.

“Nobody else wants to talk about it anymore,” Ella explained when Sarah had greeted them and sat down at the table. Ella was a plump girl with unruly curls which she tried unsuccessfully to tame into the latest style of smooth pompadour.

“They think it’ll be bad luck or something,” the other girl said. Her name was Ingrid, and she had been of little help the first time Sarah had questioned Luisa’s friends.

“I know it’s difficult talking about all of it again,” Sarah said, trying to sound sympathetic when she was really feeling impatient. “But I have some new information, and I was hoping you could help me figure out what it means.”

“New information?” Ingrid asked, glancing at Ella uncertainly.

“Yes, we made a list of all the men who had been… uh… seeing the girls right before they died. We were hoping to find one man who had known all of them. We didn’t, but we found several who knew most of them. I was wondering if you can tell me anything about these three men. Their names are Donald, Robert, and Will.”

“I know three fellows named Robert,” Ella said with a frown.

Sarah tried not to let her frustration show. “We’re looking for the one you said was interested in Luisa right before she died.”

“I never knew she was seeing nobody named Robert,” Ella protested.

Someone else must have given Malloy this name. She checked the list. “He’s tall with brown hair and a handlebar mustache.”

“Oh, that’s most likely Bobby,” Ingrid said. “At least, I call him that. He ain’t the one you’re looking for, though. He got married two months ago, right after Luisa…”

“Oh, I remember him now,” Ella agreed. “Ain’t seen him around the dances since then.”

This might well eliminate him from having known Gerda, but Sarah knew Malloy would want to check this out. She went on to the other two. “What about Donald and Will, then? Do you remember either of them?”

Donald’s name hadn’t appeared on Luisa’s list, but Sarah figured it was worth a chance. They considered the question for a moment.

“I heard some girls talking once…” Ella began, trailing off when Sarah leaned forward eagerly. She forced herself to relax and smile.

“Yes?” she said encouragingly.

Ella glanced at Ingrid as if gauging her reaction. “I only heard this, mind you. I don’t know nothing about this fellow myself.”

“Any information will help,” Sarah assured her.

Still, she hesitated, then leaned forward so no one would overhear what she said. “I heard some fellow named Will was a little… rough.”

“What do you mean, rough?” Sarah asked, keeping her voice low as well.

Ingrid’s eyes were wide as she listened.

Ella glanced around, making sure no one was near. The noise in the hall would easily cover anything she said. “When he didn’t like something, he’d… well, he’d slap a girl around a bit. Nothing serious,” she hastened to explain, as if slapping a girl around at all wasn’t serious. “He didn’t really hurt her. Just scare her a little so she’d… she’d do whatever he wanted.”

Sarah felt the surge of excitement and forced it down. She didn’t want to frighten Ella with her enthusiasm. “Do you remember who told you about this Will?”

“No.” The answer came too quickly and too certainly. Ella knew perfectly well, but she wasn’t going to say, at least not in front of Ingrid.

“What else do you know about him? Do you know what he looked like?”

“Good-looking, I heard. Nice clothes, but I don’t know more than that. Oh, he always had plenty of money to spend, too. But that’s all I know.”

Sarah fought back a sigh. She didn’t want Ella to think she was disappointed. Actually, the information was quite valuable. There just wasn’t enough of it.

“I remember!” Ingrid said suddenly and a bit loudly, startling herself. She looked around quickly to see if anyone else had noticed. No one had.

“What do you remember?” Sarah asked.

“Will. I remember now. Luisa met him at Coney Island. She talked about it for weeks. Said he spent more than five dollars on her that day!”

Five dollars would have been almost a week’s salary for Luisa, and a lot of money for a working man as well.

Ella’s expression was tight and disapproving. “Shut your mouth! You don’t know anything about it.”

“Yes, I do!” Ingrid insisted indignantly. “He gave her a present, too, I think. What was it, now?” She screwed up her face as she tried to remember.

“Luisa didn’t take presents from men,” Ella informed her in a tone that allowed for no argument.

Now Sarah understood. If Luisa had taken gifts from men, that would make her a Charity Girl. Ella didn’t want her sister’s reputation harmed any more than it had been already.

Ingrid glared at Ella, but Ella wouldn’t back down. Her sister wasn’t going to be labeled a whore.

“Do you think she saw him again after that day at Coney Island?” Sarah asked carefully.

Ingrid glanced at Ella before replying. “I wouldn’t know,” was all she would say.

Sarah turned to Ella. “If you remember anything else about him, please let me know. It could help catch Luisa’s killer,” she reminded them. She only hoped that was incentive enough.

FRANK KNEW HE was probably going to make a fool of himself. He didn’t know the first thing about schools or education, particularly education for children who were deaf. And his son was deaf. He’d confirmed that with a trip to a doctor-a doctor Sarah Brandt had said was competent enough to make a judgment-who’d said nothing could be done for Brian’s hearing. Born deaf. That was the final verdict.

He’d been interested in Brian’s foot, too, but Frank wasn’t going to let just any doctor take care of that. When he felt he had built up enough credit with Mrs. Brandt that she owed him a favor, he’d ask her to make him an appointment to see her surgeon friend. Until then, he was going to see what he could find out about educating a deaf child.

Not that he believed a deaf child could be educated. If you couldn’t hear, how could you learn to do anything else? And of course Brian also couldn’t speak, which made it impossible for him to make himself understood, either. The whole thing seemed pretty hopeless to Frank, but he was willing to find out more. Maybe there was something he didn’t know. One or two things, anyway, he thought with some self-directed amusement. He hadn’t known there were schools for the deaf, for instance. Mrs. Brandt had him on that one.

The sign over the door on Lexington Avenue said NEW YORK INSTITUTE FOR THE IMPROVED INSTRUCTION OF DEAF MUTES. Deaf Mutes. That was Brian, all right. Frank liked the way it said “improved,” though. That must mean they used the best methods here.

Inside, the place was eerily quiet. The halls were empty and still, which he supposed was the way any school was when classes were in session. Here, of course, there would be no need for noise at all, since the students couldn’t hear it anyway. He entered the first room he came to, which was obviously an administrative office of some kind. A young man sat behind a desk, carefully transcribing a letter when Frank walked in. He looked up and smiled politely. He looked to be less than twenty, his face still spotted and his body thin with immaturity.

“I’d like to talk to someone about my son,” Frank said, conscious he was speaking louder than normal. Or maybe it just sounded that way because the place was so quiet.

“Sit down, please,” the young man said, although the “please” sounded more like “peas.” He indicated some chairs beside the door, and Frank took a seat while the boy disappeared into an inner office.

In a few moments a round man with a shiny bald head and a fringe of black hair beneath it came bustling out of the inner office, followed by the young man.

“Hello, hello,” he said, extending his hand as he approached Frank. “I’m Edward Higginbotham. May I help you?”

“Frank Malloy,” Frank said, rising and taking the man’s hand. It was warm and sweaty, but then the day was warm and sweaty. “I’d like to talk to someone about my son.”

“Your son is deaf?” Mr. Higginbotham said.

“Yes,” Frank said, amazed at how much it cost him to admit it aloud. He’d already admitted it silently, but confessing to a complete stranger was more difficult than he could have imagined.

“Well, then, come right in. I’ll be happy to answer all your questions, and I’m sure you have a few, don’t you?”

He didn’t wait for Frank’s reply. Indeed, he didn’t seem to expect one. He was too busy bustling right back into his office. Frank followed obediently.

The inner office was more elaborately furnished than the outer one. There was a rug on the floor and a nicely made wooden desk. The window looked out on an alley, but at least there was a window.

“Please sit down and make yourself comfortable, Mr. Malloy,” Mr. Higginbotham said, taking his own seat behind the desk.

Frank settled himself, and Mr. Higginbotham waited until he was comfortable to ask, “How old is your son, Mr. Malloy?”

“He’s three. We just… I didn’t realize he was deaf until… just recently.”

Mr. Higginbotham nodded sagely. “His mother didn’t notice anything peculiar?”

“His mother died when he was born.” Another costly admission.

Mr. Higginbotham looked suitably grave. “I’m sorry to hear that. Who cares for the boy, then?”

“My mother.”

“An elderly lady?”

“She’s not so old.”

“And did she not notice anything unusual about the boy?”

“We thought he was feebleminded.” Yet another costly admission. Frank was starting to feel a bit sick to his stomach. “He didn’t understand what you said to him, and he didn’t speak.”

“A common mistake,” Mr. Higginbotham agreed. “I could tell you stories about so many deaf children who were institutionalized as idiots when they were of perfectly normal intelligence. But you, Mr. Malloy, have avoided that fate for your son by recognizing his true condition. May I ask how you came to identify it?”

“A… a friend noticed. She brought it to my attention. I don’t spend much time with the boy because of my work. I’m a detective with the police department.”

Mr. Higginbotham straightened a bit at this, although not enough to give offense. “I see,” was all he said. “And you’ve had him examined by a doctor?”

“Yes. The doctor said he was probably born deaf. There’s nothing to be done for him.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Malloy, much can be done for him. We cannot make him hear in the usual sense, of course, but we can certainly educate him and teach him to communicate with others. We can even teach him a trade.”

Mrs. Brandt had mentioned that, but Frank still found it hard to believe. “But if he can’t hear…”

“May I do a little demonstration, Mr. Malloy?”

Frank nodded.

Mr. Higginbotham rose from his chair and went out of his office. When he returned a moment later, the young man from the front office was with him. “This is Alexander, Mr. Malloy.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Malloy said, wondering what the boy had to do with anything.

“Pleased to meet you,” the boy replied. Malloy noticed that the “please” still sounded like “peas.”

“Ask Alexander a question, Mr. Malloy,” Mr. Higginbotham suggested.

“What kind of question?” Frank asked.

“Any kind,” Alexander said.

“How’s the weather?” Frank tried.

“It looks like rain, doesn’t it?”

Frank noticed the boy’s speech was a bit slurred. He’d never heard anyone speak quite that way before. “What did you have for breakfast this morning?” Frank tried.

“Eggs and bacon and bread with jam,” he said with a smile. “I live at home with my mother. She feeds me well.”

Something was wrong with the boy’s voice, but Frank couldn’t quite figure out what it was. “What kind of work do you do here?” he tried.

“I’m Mr. Higginbotham’s clerk.”

The word was so garbled, Frank could only guess that he’d said “Higginbotham.” He had to listen carefully to the boy, but he could understand what he was saying, even if he had to guess at some of the words.

“Why is Mr. Higginbotham making you talk to me?” Frank asked, looking at the gentleman in question.

“Because I’m deaf,” Alexander said rather proudly.

Now Frank knew they were playing a trick on him. “Then how could you understand my questions?” he challenged.

“I read your lips.” The boy grinned proudly.

“Read my what?” Frank was very confused.

“Alexander has been trained in speech reading, Mr. Malloy,” Higginbotham explained. “By watching the way your lips move, he can divine what you are saying. Even though he can’t hear your words, he can understand them.”

“But he can talk, too.” Not perfectly clearly, of course, but well enough to make himself understood. Frank had thought deaf people were also mute.

“Yes, we trained him in speech as well. That is what we do here at the Lexington Avenue School. You may have been to other schools where they use different techniques-”

“No, I haven’t,” Frank said, still looking at the boy as if he were a wonder. Because, of course, he was. A deaf person who could speak and understand, if not exactly hear, words was a wonder of wonders to Frank.

“Well, ahem, we use the oralist methods here,” Higginbotham went on to explain. “We force the students to rely on speech reading and speaking to communicate. Then they are able to make their own way in the world.”

Frank was still looking at the boy. “Are you sure he’s really deaf?”

“Quite sure,” Higginbotham assured him with a smile.

“Oh, yes,” Alexander said, still grinning at Frank’s confusion. “I had scarlet fever when I was five. That made me deaf.”

“So you weren’t born deaf,” Frank said.

“No, but I am deaf now.” He seemed almost proud of the fact.

Frank was still mystified. He looked at Higginbotham. “How can he just look at my lips and know what I’m saying?”

“It takes years of training,” Higginbotham said, “but you are fortunate to live here in the city. Your son is a bit young for our school just yet, but when he’s older, he can come here as a day student, just the way he would attend an ordinary school. The students who live in the country have to board with us, but we feel they do better if they can live at home with their families.”

“And you think you could teach my son to talk and to read people’s lips?”

“We’d have to test him, of course, but assuming he is of normal intelligence, then yes, I think we could.”