Kittrell stared. Then a shadow passed over his face and he seemed to lose interest. He shrugged. "Have it your way. What do you want me to do—adopt him?"
"Ask him what he did with the money. Tell him he can have the metal stuff; all I want back is the bills."
Kittrell, looking disgusted, semaphored the message. Kiddie faces don't react as a human's does, but MacCauley was pretty sure there was gratitude glowing on this one's knobby features. After a couple of seconds' gesticulation, Kittrell looked around. "He says he's sorry he took it. If you come with him he'll give you the money. He's got it stashed away in the sty he lives in, a little farther along this corridor."
"Will he do it?"
Kittrell shrugged again. "Guess so. Anyway, you're bigger than him—or don't you like rough stuff?"
That, MacCauley thought, was hardly a friendly remark. He resolved to take it up later; after all, it wasn't his fault that he was superseding Kittrell. There really was no cause for jealousy in the long man. "Coming?" Mac asked.
Kittrell shook his head. "Got to go back to the office for a minute. I'll drop around in about ten minutes, though."
"Okay," said Mac, satisfied, and went out behind the Kiddie.
The Kiddie's dwelling was ugly and cluttered, but moderately clean.
The little asterite, with somewhat the attitude of a man who expects a poke in the face, gestured to Mac to be seated on a hassock-like affair. MacCauley rumbled: "Sure I'll sit down. I'll stay right here until I get my dough back."