A cracked fiddle was playing. The younger people and some of the
older were singing in various keys. Many were drinking solemnly as if
drinking were a ritual. Others were grinning with evident enjoyment
and a few were hilarious.
The party attracted little general attention. Investigating
travellers, escorted by detectives, had visited the Five Points more
than once, curious to see in what way it justified its reputation for
supremacy over the East End of London and the Montmartre of Paris;
and although pockets usually were picked, no violence was offered if
the detectives maintained a bland air of detachment. They did not
even resent the cologne-drenched handkerchiefs the visitors
invariably held to their noses. As evil odors meant nothing to them,
they probably mistook the gesture for modesty.
Madeleine preferred her smelling salts, and at Holt's suggestion had
wrapped her handkerchief about the gold and crystal bottle. But she
forgot the horrible atmosphere as she peered into the face of every
man who might be Masters. She wore a plain black dress and a small
black hat, but her beauty was difficult to obscure. Her cheeks were
white and her brown eyes had lost their sparkle long since, but men
not too drunk to notice a lovely woman or her manifest close
scrutiny, not only leered up into her face but would have jerked her
down beside them had it not been for their jealous partners and the
presence of the detectives.
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