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the backs of our buildings, but the saloon’s wooden roof is also about six feet below my window.
    I could not imagine a terrified girl like Martha making such a leap.
    But she had not flown away, so she must have jumped.
    I took a deep breath and climbed up onto the sill and gripped the sides of the window frame and prepared to leap.
    I was just about to launch myself into space when I saw a wooden ladder nailed to the wooden-plank side of the building below my window! I had never noticed it before, probably because I had never stuck my head out so far. I judged it to be some sort of escape in case of fire.
    Martha must have skedaddled down that ladder.
    Going down that old ladder did not seem much safer than jumping onto the roof of the Washoe Exchange Billiard Saloon, but I did not have a choice. I turned myself around & stuck one leg out of the window & groped with my toes until I found the top rung & eased my weight down on it. I could feel it creak. I am small and skinny, but I wager Martha weighed even less than me. Would the ladder hold my weight? I swung my other leg out of the window & cautiously descended rung by rung. My heart stopped beating when myfoot almost went through the cracked fifth rung. Luckily the other rungs held.
    As I went down, I got to where I could see underneath the building I shared with the photographic studio. It was a steep, dank slope of earth. Nothing grew there, as the sunshine was blocked by the building backing onto it.
    When I finally reached solid ground I heaved a giant sigh of relief. This part was littered with empty bottles & tin cans. I guessed they lived high at the Washoe Saloon, for I saw champagne bottles and tinned peaches.
    Among the cans and bottles, I spotted the fresh print of a small bare foot. Despite the gloom, it did not take any of my special Indian tracking skills to follow Martha’s trail. It went past an outhouse to an alley leading down between two saloons onto C Street. After those dim back passages, it was good to emerge onto the bright & warm & lively street. But I soon lost Martha’s trail on the boardwalk.
    Not trusting the ladder & window route back, I returned to that alley and found a path back up the steep slope between buildings to B Street. I emerged onto the boardwalk and returned to my office via the front door.
    Once inside, I sat at my desk & picked up the black & gold cross on a chain & stared at it.
    My first Genuine Client had finally appeared & hired me to solve the biggest mystery in Virginia City. I reckoned she had given me her most precious possession to do this.
    And now she was gone.
    There had been only one set of prints going from thebottom of that ladder to C Street. So I knew she had not been killed or captured, just frightened.
    Something must have spooked her while I was out. Had someone knocked at the door? Or tried to open it, despite the CLOSED sign? Or did she just panic?
    I was pondering these questions when I was roused from my reverie by a bloodcurdling scream from next door.

Ledger Sheet 11
    MY OFFICE SHARES PART of a sky window and all of one dividing wall with the Ambrotype Studio. Usually I cannot hear what goes on next door but that scream seemed to fill the whole street.
    I guessed it was thrice-shot Murphy, being operated on by Doc Pinkerton.
    I hurried next door to investigate this theory.
    I was right.
    Murphy lay on the buffalo-skin-draped couch, surrounded by four standing men and one prostrate one. The man on the floor was Isaiah Coffin.
    “What happened to Mr. Coffin?” I asked, closing the door behind me.
    “He fainted,” snapped Ping, who was holding a teacup with a metal ball in it. “Here,” said Ping. “You hold. I try to revive him.”
    I took the cup and moved closer to Murphy.
    As Ping gently slapped Isaiah Coffin’s face, I watched the doctor work.
    It was fascinating. Doc Pinkerton was seated on the edge of a fringed armchair and leaning over his patient. He had cut into the wounds to make