“It was your job to stop him.”
Jack threw out his hands. “You never saw him when he’s going good.”
Peter nodded and spat. “No,” he said slowly. “No—that’s right. Where d’you say you left him?”
Routt shook his head. “I wish I knew. He dodged me....”
Gergue shook his head. “Go along. Don’t let ’em see you talking—too much.”
As the afternoon passed and especially after that final two hours of scurry and effort began, the inquiries for Wint increased in volume. But at six o’clock Wint was still listed as missing, and he was still missing at eight, and he was still missing when the count of the ballots was completed.
But fifteen minutes later, Skinny Marsh, a man without visible means of support, met V. R. Kite on the street and drew him into the dark mouth of an alleyway.
“Kite,” he said huskily, “I got something to tell you.”
“What is it?” V. R. asked crisply.
“You know where Wint is?”