His face twisted into a snarling rage. “You dirty vile little—”
He flung himself at me. I brought up my arm suddenly to defend myself and the bottle went flying. Drops of chloroform splashed over both of us. My head started singing as the vapors got to me. Ned was now trying to get his hands around my throat, but the vapors must have been affecting him too because he staggered. We went down together. He was now panting like a wild beast as he tried to pin me down. I fought him off with all my strength even as the world around me started fading to blackness. Then a figure loomed over us, there was a loud thump, a groan, and Ned slumped across me.
Emily stood there, breathing heavily, holding a cast-iron frying pan. “I didn’t know whether I’d have the strength to do it,” she said, gasping. Then she sank to her knees beside us.
At that moment there came a loud knocking at the door. I crawled across to open it. The doctor had arrived with Daniel, two police constables, and hospital workers hot on his heels.
“What the deuce?” the doctor demanded as Daniel pushed past him into the room.
“Are you all right?” he demanded.
I nodded as he helped me to my feet. “That’s the man you want,” I said. “He admitted to killing Fanny Poindexter. He was trying to kill us too.”
“And obviously was no match for you,” Daniel said dryly, kicking at the prostrate form on the carpet.
“That was Emily. She hit him with the frying pan,” I said.
The hospital workers were already lifting her up to the nearest chair. “We’ve come to take you to the hospital, miss,” one of them said.
“Would somebody explain to me what is going on here?” the doctor asked.
An hour or so later Emily was safely in a hospital bed, being treated with Prussian blue and charcoal, which we were told were the only effective countermeasures against thallium. Since she had had the thallium in her system for three days now, her chances were not good, but at least she was getting the best care possible.
Daniel and I left her sleeping quietly. On the way home I insisted on stopping at Mr. Horace Lynch’s house and telling him that Emily was in the hospital and might not survive. After that it was up to him to decide whether to visit her or not.
“Another case concluded,” I said. We were sitting side by side in the darkness of a hansom cab. For some reason I had just begun to feel shaky, as one often does after the danger is safely past, and I nestled close to Daniel, feeling the comforting warmth of his presence.
“The same for me,” Daniel said. “Another case concluded, thanks, in part, to you.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“You gave me the names of the missionary societies. We apprehended a certain Mr. Hatcher as he was about to sail for Shanghai. He was carrying trunks full of Bibles, but the trunks contained traces of the opium he had brought back in them. A nice little trade, don’t you think? Under the umbrella of the missionary society, he was making himself rich supplying the Chinese opium dens of New York City.”
“Mr. Hatcher,” I said. “But I met him. I gave you his name.”
“You did indeed.” He slipped an arm around my shoulders. “And you know what else? Our Mr. Hatcher was quite aware who you were. He knew someone was asking questions around the missionary societies, and he discovered your connection to me and was convinced that I had sent you to spy on him. He decided to frighten you off.”
“By trying to run me down with his carriage?”
“Precisely. Nasty piece of work, if you ask me.”
“And he must also have broken into my house.”
“He or one of his Chinese henchmen, if he had one who could read English.”
I shuddered.
“Don’t worry. He’s now safely behind bars and the opium trade will have to find another way to smuggle in the goods.”
“How about that,” I said. “I never took to him from the start. Too annoyingly effusive and much too nosy.”
“Well that was an eventful day,” Daniel said as we entered the calm of my little house. “Another of your nine lives gone, I fear.” He took off his hat and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. “I wish you would stop living like this, Molly. I have enough worry in my life without wondering if you are going to find yourself in yet another dangerous situation every day. Being a detective is no job for a woman.”
“Oh,” I said frostily. “And who was it detected thallium poisoning when a doctor swore it was pneumonia? Who was it found the motive and cornered the murderer? And who helped you solve your two big cases?”
“I am not saying that your ability is any less than a man’s,” he said. “It is just that you are not built to take such risks and abuse. Any able man could overpower you.”
“Maybe if women could wear sensible bloomers and not these ridiculous tight clothes I’d be able to hold my own,” I retorted.