Mix. Oh, not s' far below here. Saw her m'self, I did.
Madden [with increasing fear. Taking a step or two toward Mix.] Did you see her face?
Mix. Nope. Somethin' 'd struck her face. Y'd hardly know she was a woman, 'cept f'r her clothes.
Madden [wildly. Coming closer]. How long ago?
Mix. W'at y' gettin' s' het up about? [Madden is almost frantic.] Oh ... 'bout 'n hour.
[Madden relaxes suddenly. The reaction is almost too much for him. He slowly goes back to the table.]
Madden [nervously]. Oh ... down by Market Wharf?
Mix. Sure. Did y' see her? [Madden sits down heavily.]
Madden. Uhuh.
[For a second or two there is silence. Madden rearranges the bills in front of him. Mix lolls in the armchair, whistling very softly.]