“What do you mean left?” Preston snapped.

“Left, left. Moved out. Took off. Skipped out on his charges, too.” The man spit onto the floor.

“You’re sure he’s not hiding out in another room?” Kit asked. “A friend, perhaps.”

“People that live here don’t have friends. Plus, the boys on the stoop said they saw him sneak out around two o’clock.”

“How much does he owe you?” Preston reached into his inner coat pocket.

“Four dollars.”

Preston dropped a sawbuck on the counter, along with his card. “There. Keep that, and if he returns, please call me. Day or night.”

Kit produced a card, as well. “Or you can reach me. Either one of us.”

The attendant pocketed the money and the cards. “This fellow important?”

“He’s our friend,” Kit answered, “and he might be in trouble.”

Preston nudged Kit’s shoulder. “Let’s go outside.” When they were on the walk, Preston searched up and down the street. “Where are they?”

A whistle pierced through the noise. Looking up, Kit saw a man in a dark suit leaning out of a window across the street. He waved at Preston, who nodded and pointed to the walk. In a few seconds, the man was walking across the street to where Kit and Preston waited.

“Mr. Clarke,” the man said. “All’s quiet inside. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Preston folded his arms across his chest. “Who was watching overnight, Al?”

“Tom. He should be here in a few hours to relieve me. Why?”

“Because Mr. Ripley snuck out around two o’clock and yet Tom didn’t follow him.”

“Damn,” Al said, grimacing. “Things were quiet today, but he usually keeps to his room. We don’t hardly see him on the street.”

“You need to find him. Get more men, if you need. I want him found, Al.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Clarke. We’ll track him down.” Tipping his hat, he ran back to the house on the other side of the street.

Kit pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Fuck. He could be anywhere.”

“The Pinkertons will find him. Hopefully sooner rather than later, but they will find him.”

“So, we do nothing?” Kit’s shoulders sank, his stomach hollow. He hated feeling powerless. Shouldn’t they be out searching, as well?

“We stay out of their way and let the detectives work. They know their business and this is why I am paying them a damn fortune.” As usual, Preston was cool in a crisis, with no outward display of emotion of any kind. While anger burned in Kit’s blood, Preston didn’t even look perturbed. The influence of his father, no doubt, who was as cold and detached a man as Kit had ever seen.

“I’m worried.” Kit thrust his hands in his pockets. Forrest had looked terrible. Did he even have cash? More clothes?