“You don’t understand,” Polly said. “I came here to find John Bartholomew, but I don’t know where he is. I’ve been asking the staff, but no one will tell me anything. I know he’s somewhere here in the hospital—”

Eileen stared blankly at her. “You haven’t found him yet?”

“No, I only just missed him. The fire watch said he’d left for hospital—he brought the man who was injured here—and I came to find him, but it’s taken me hours, and—”

“He brought him here? When?”

“I’m not certain,” Polly said. “A bit before eleven.”

John Bartholomew had been here at St. Bart’s the entire time she was transporting patients. If she’d only known. “What’s the name of the firewatcher who was injured?” Eileen asked.

Polly looked stricken. “I don’t know. I should have asked, but I thought I might still be able to catch them—”

“It’s all right. I know what Mr. Bartholomew looks like and what he had on. I saw him earlier tonight. He was wearing street clothes and an overcoat and scarf. We’ll go through the wards—”

“You saw him?” Polly said. “Where?”

“At Blackfriars. He—”

“Why didn’t you say so before?” Polly said eagerly. “If you told him about us—Did he tell you where the drop was?”

“Drop?” Binnie said alertly.

Alf cut in, “You mean like when they ’ang somebody?”

“I didn’t have a chance to tell him anything,” Eileen said. “I was on the train platform when he ran past, and I tried to go after him to catch him, but—”

“Alf got in the way,” Binnie said.

“I never,” Alf responded indignantly. “It was that guard what stopped ’er.”

“Shh, both of you,” Eileen said. “I tried to go after him, but I was shanghaied into driving two bombing victims to St.—”

“We been rescuin’ people all night,” Alf said. “Except for this one what died,” Binnie put in. “We got there too late.”

“Too late,” Polly murmured.

“You mustn’t worry,” Eileen told her. “We’ll find him. What sort of injury did the firewatcher he brought in have? Burns? Broken bones? Internal injuries?”

If it was internal injuries, he’d be in surgery, but Polly didn’t know. “All I know is they had to carry him down from the roofs on a stretcher.”

“They? There was more than one firewatcher with him?”

“Yes. The other one was Mr. Humphreys. Elderly, balding.”

“Good,” Eileen said. “You know what he looks like, and I know what Mr. Bartholomew looks like.”

“I’ll find ’em,” Alf said, and started to dash off. Eileen grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and Binnie by her sash.

“What’re you doin’ that for?” Alf demanded indignantly. “I’ll wager I can find ’em sooner’n you. I’m good at spottin’.”

“I know you are,” Eileen said, “but neither of you is going anywhere till we’ve worked out a plan. Mr. Bartholomew is tall and has dark hair. How tall is Mr. Humphreys, Polly?”

“Shorter than me,” she said. “They should both be wearing blue coveralls and tin helmets unless Mr. Bartholomew didn’t have time to change, in which case—”