"Now, Mother," said LaFarge, "don‘t worry. I’ll find him. Wait here."
"Hurry back." Her voice faded into the ripple of water.
He walked through the night streets, hands in pockets. All about, lights were going out one by one. A few people were still leaning out their windows, for the night was warm, even though the sky still held storm clouds from time to time among the stars. As he walked he recalled the boy‘s constant references to being trapped, his fear of crowds and cities. There was no sense in it, thought the old man tiredly.
Perhaps the boy was gone forever, perhaps he had never been. LaFarge turned in at a particular alley, watching the numbers.
"Hello there, LaFarge."
A man sat in his doorway, smoking a pipe.
"Hello, Mike."
"You and your woman quarrel? You out walking it off?"
"No. Just walking."
"You look like you lost something. Speaking of things," said Mike, "somebody got found this evening. You know Joe Spaulding? You remember his daughter Lavinia?"
"Yes." LaFarge was cold. It all seemed a repeated dream. He knew which words would come next.
"Lavinia came home tonight," said Mike, smoking. "You recall, she was lost on the dead sea bottoms about a month ago? They found what they thought was her body, badly deteriorated, and ever since the Spaulding family‘s been no good. Joe went around saying she wasn‘t dead, that wasn‘t really her body. Guess he was right. Tonight Lavinia showed up."
"Where?" LaFarge felt his breath come swiftly, his heart pounding.