Jack did not appear to be waiting. He seemed to be merely passing, on his way downtown; and Wint hailed him. “Hello--you!” “Hello, Wint! Just going home?” “Home? It’s early yet. Going uptown?” “Yes.” Routt hesitated, as though confused. “I--we--I’m going up to get a prescription filled.” Wint laughed. “For snake bite?” “Oh, no. A real prescription.” “You don’t say!” Jack protested. “Sure. So--good night.” Wint thrust his arm through the other’s. “What do you want to get rid of me for? I’ll walk up with you.” Jack balked. “Oh, now, Wint--you--your father will be down on you. You ought to cut it out, Wint. There’s nothing in it for you. You never know when to stop!” Wint stiffened sulkily, but his voice was gentle. “That’s tough! Too bad about me! And it’s a shame what dad will do to me, now isn’t it?” He took a step forward. “Coming, Jack?” So they departed together. At daylight, the elder Chase, arising early to go to the polls, met Routt. Jack was homeward bound; and he was a weary young man. Wint was not with him. They exchanged greetings, but no more. Routt did not again appear in public until something after noon, election day. When he came downtown then, he was as spruce as ever, his eyes clear, and his cheeks pink with health. He showed no signs of the--fatigue that the elder Chase had remarked in him. Forthwith, men began to ask him: “Where is Wint?” The first man that put the question was Peter Gergue. This was a big day for Peter. He had been busy, whispering and advising and suggesting and laughing a little behind the back of the elder Chase. He had been too busy getting out the votes and directing the voters to think much about Wint until Jack appeared; but the sight of Jack reminded him of Wint; and so he asked: “Where is Wint, anyway?” Jack looked to right and left. “I don’t know,” he said. Gergue drawled: “It’s your job to know.” “I know it is. But--he got away from me.” “Got away from you?” “Yes. Last night. I couldn’t stop him.” Gergue frowned and ran his fingers through his back hair. “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?” “No. Do you?” “Yes.”