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worse. Yesterday afternoon, he insisted that the three of us go for a carriage ride in Central Park. He turned on his charm, chattered about the sights, and bought sweets for the boy. Strangers looking on would say that he’s being a kind, generous uncle. I think he’s false to his core, an evil predator. I fear he will harm James. What shall I do?”
    Pamela measured her words. “Assert yourself, as you did at the table. Michael is a bully, a coward in the face of firm resistance. Cultivate your mother’s good will. She may be weak, but she’s on your side. Confide in Mrs. Donovan. She’ll keep me informed.”
    â€œHow is Harry?” Theresa asked. “I often think of him.”
    â€œHe’s desperately fond of you. And, like me, he’s confident that we’ll soon free you and your son from this distressing situation.” Pamela took Theresa’s hands. “Now you’d better go back to the table. We’ll keep in touch.”
    Pamela and Prescott left the teashop by the back door. Once in a cab, she reported what Theresa had told her.
    He thoughtfully stroked his chin. When she finished, he said, “Michael’s interest in James is disturbing. We must act quickly. You and Harry should investigate Michael full-time, starting tomorrow. Hire extra help if you need it. He may lead an expensive hidden life and probably skims money from accounts in his care.”
    â€œIf that’s a fact, Harry and I will expose him and break his hold on his sister.”
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    Early next morning, Pamela called Harry to her office and shared what she had learned yesterday. “Theresa suffers under brother Michael’s unrelenting pressure, but she’s brave and misses you. He presents himself to the public as an upright gentleman and concerned head of his family. He’s false, however, and we need to discover the chinks in his armor. What can you tell me about his habits?”
    â€œQuite a bit,” Harry replied. “When I first realized that he disliked me, I figured it was because of my felony conviction and the years in Sing Sing. I needed to know him better. But I couldn’t investigate him entirely by myself, since he would recognize me and become alarmed. So I asked Barney Flynn, a fellow private investigator, to help me. We trade favors with each other.”
    â€œCould we talk to Flynn this afternoon?”
    â€œI’ll set up a meeting. Barney has followed Sullivan for several days and should have something to report.”
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    Flynn’s office was a small, sparsely furnished room in a decrepit building off West Twenty-third Street in Chelsea. A large map of New York City covered one wall. Cheap, signed prints of unsmiling, bearded men hung on another. Flynn followed her gaze. “My rogues’ gallery,” he said with a chuckle, and pointed to a big-boned man in the middle of the collection. “That’s Richard Croker, Tammany’s boss, together with his confederates in crime, the ward bosses.”
    Flynn was an older man, slightly built, with a self-effacing manner. He gave Pamela a quick, penetrating glance as he shook her hand, then smiled in a friendly way. Harry introduced her as Mrs. Thompson, his partner. They sat around a drink-stained table.
    â€œWhat can you tell us about Michael Sullivan?” Harry began.
    Flynn leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. “I tracked him for about a week. He’s straight as an arrow in public, Monday through Friday.”
    â€œWhat’s his routine?” Pamela asked.
    â€œAfter breakfast at home, he walks briskly to his office at the Union Square Bank and Trust Company, the same route every day. At a shop on Broadway he buys a morning paper. The doorman at the bank lets him in. That’s as far as I could follow him. After work, Sullivan simply retraces his steps, buying an evening paper on the way.”
    Flynn paused for a moment, evidently