For a long long while he didn't answer. His eyes remained unblinking on
mine and if, earlier in the day, I had thought the little boy's face
was expressionless, then I didn't completely appreciate the meaning of
that word. Wahanhk's face was more than expressionless; it was simply
blank.
"They disappeared from the shack they were living in," I said. "They
went in a hurry--a very great hurry."
That one he didn't answer, either.
"I would like to know where she is."
"Why?" His whisper was brittle.
"She's not in trouble," I told him quickly. "She's not wanted. Nor her
child, either. It's just that I have to talk to her."
"Why?"
I pulled out the file photo of Harry Smythe and handed it across to
him. His wrinkled hand took it, pinched it, held it up close to a lamp
hanging from one of the ridge poles. His eyes squinted at it for a long
moment before he handed it back.
"I have never seen this Earthman," he said.
"All right," I answered. "There wasn't anything that made me think you
had. The point is that he knows the woman. It follows, naturally, that
she might know him."
"This one is _wanted_?" His old, broken tones went up slightly on the
last word.