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transpires that all of the bills and expenses of a certain
    charity house are paid for by a specific bank.”

    “Good heavens. My bankers gave you my name? Is nothing sacred?”

    “In my extensive experience, no, at least not when money is involved. There is an individual
    employed at your bank who happened to owe me a favor. When he learned that I was seeking the
    identity of the new patron of a certain charity house he was kind enough to repay his debt to me
    by giving me your name.”

    “I see.” Frost dripped from every word. “Do you always do business in such a manner?”

    “Whenever possible. I have all the money I require, Mrs. Pyne. These days I find that a debt
    owed to me is a far more valuable commodity.”

    “So you threaten and intimidate innocent people such as that bank clerk?”

    “I thought I made it clear. There were no threats involved. The clerk owed me a favor.”

    “It strikes me that a favor owed to a crime lord is little short of a threat or extortion.”

    “Were you born this self-righteous, Mrs. Pyne, or did you acquire the trait during your years in
    America?”

    She stiffened. “You know that I lived in America?”

    “The bank clerk mentioned it. But I would have guessed it in any event. I can hear the overtones
    of an accent in your voice. I’ll wager you spent a good deal of time in the West.”

    “I do not see what that has to do with this conversation.”

    “Neither do I, so let us move on to the more important topic.”

    “Which is?” she asked warily.

    “How you are going to save me.”

    “And just how will I accomplish that? Always assuming I am of a mind to do so.”

    “With luck, your ability to work dreamlight will be my salvation.”

    “I admit that I am a dreamlight reader,” she said. “But there is a vast difference between being
    able to perceive the residue of dream energy and being able to manipulate the currents of that
    sort of ultralight.”

    “I am convinced that you can do both,” he said.

    “What makes you believe that?”

    “My theory was confirmed yesterday morning when I heard about the man who was found
    unconscious in the alley behind the Avery Street brothel.”

    “He’s not dead,” she gasped. “I would have known . . .” She broke off abruptly, evidently aware
    that she had already said far too much.

    “He’s alive, but I’m told that his nerves were shattered by the nightmares he experienced while
    he was in a most profound sleep. They say that his companions were unable to awaken him for
    several hours.”

    Adelaide’s gloved fingers tightened around the handle of her umbrella. “He tried to seize me
    when I went downstairs into the alley to get away. Claimed he’d spotted me earlier in the
    evening and suspected that there was something off about me, as he put it. I recognized him as
    the enforcer the girls feared the most at that brothel. I was told that he could be quite brutal. But I
    fail to see how you made the connection to me.”

    “The rumors I heard made me think that whoever rendered him unconscious used psychical
    talent. There was not a mark on him, I’m told. The fact that he is even now babbling about vivid
    nightmares convinced me that the person responsible for his condition was in all likelihood a
    dreamlight worker.”

    “I see.”

    “That particular enforcer has killed men, Mrs. Pyne,” he said evenly. “You were damned lucky
    to survive the encounter.”

    She said nothing.

    He was wasting time trying to make her see the recklessness of her ways. Stick to the point , he
    thought. If the lady wants to take foolish risks, that’s her affair. But for some reason, consigning
    Adelaide Pyne to her fate was easier said than done.

    “If you knew my identity, what made you contact Mr. Pierce?” she asked.

    “I desired a proper introduction. He agreed to arrange this meeting.”

    “Because the two of you are allies?”

    He knew she was not going to like the answer.

    “Mr.