The detective came across to him. “No news,” he said.
Achilles’s face held its steady light. “I think we find her,” he said.
The inspector did not laugh. He studied the man’s face slowly, whistling a little between his teeth. “What’s your plan?” he said.
Achilles shook his head. “When I see those men—I go follow.”
The detective smiled—a little line of smile... that did not scorn him. “When you see them—yes!” he said softly.
The chief of police, listening with half an ear, laughed out. “Catch your hare, Alexander!” He said it with superior ease.
Achilles looked at him. “I catch hair?” he asked with polite interest.
The chief nodded. “You catch your hare before you cook it, you know.”
Achilles ran a slim, thoughtful hand along his dark locks and shook them slowly. The conversation had passed beyond him.
The detective smiled a little. “Never mind him, Alexander. Anything that you find—you bring to me—right off.” He clinked a little money in his pocket and looked at him.