Then there were the lost kids, at least two or three an hour, judging from how often the station bell rang. So far, every child had been reunited with his or her family.

His heart still contracted every time he saw a young girl on her own. By the time he returned to the station house for his break, it was after three o’clock.

Magruder was at the front desk, smoking as he bent over a logbook. The open windows let in a stifling breeze and the midway’s racket. Magruder looked up and leaned across the desk to motion him over.

“There’s been another one,” he said in a low voice.

Francis stared at him. “Are you joking?”

“Not here—that Irish slum south of Division. Irish girl, there was a group of them playing in a vacant lot. She wandered off and said a man approached her. He offered her candy and tried to grab her, but she fought him off and escaped.”

“Where is she now?”

“Chicago Avenue station. Her mother brought her in, Deneen’s supposed to be questioning her.”

“Could the girl describe the man?”

“Said he was white, light-colored hair. Younger, not grey hair. A mustache.

“And listen to this—” Magruder stubbed out his cigarette. “A drugstore man went to the police this morning. He said a man came into his shop early this morning to buy lemon drops and laudanum cordial. Three boxes of each. Said they were for his twins, but the druggist says he looked suspicious. Cuts on his face, and when he noticed the druggist staring at them, he ran off like he was on fire and knocked over a laundress in the street.”

“Where was this?”

“Ashland Avenue. Same general vicinity as the girl.”

“West Town.” Francis stared out the window, thinking. “He lives nearby,” he said at last. “He’s too smart to try it again in the park, but he doesn’t want to go too far away. Are they searching the slum?”

“Yeah. But the girl said he wasn’t from there. She would have recognized him if he was. She said he was too well dressed. Not Irish. Not Italian or Polish or Czech, either. And not a Gypsy.”

“Hell,” said Francis. “He could be anywhere by now.”

“They’re watching the train station and steamboats. Baumgarten’s pressuring the Bavarian Society to kick in another thousand to the reward money.”

Exhaustion hit Francis like a sudden chill. “I need to get something to eat,” he said. “You got enough men?”

“Oh, sure.” Magruder ran a finger down the log in front of him. “Hasn’t been too terrible. Mostly the heat, and a buncha drunks.”

“How many lost kids?”

“Seventeen so far. But they’ve been brought in pretty fast. Last one, Baumgarten was here and gave him a pass for the rest of the summer. Kid nearly fainted, he was so excited.”