Folks,

I've already looked under every shaky bar stool and drippy table down at the Prince & Polecat. I checked the men's lavatory...twice, and the ladies once. I wandered around out back of that much frequented establishment. I strolled slowly past the overflowing, fly covered dustbins and the aged accumulation of empty bottles, cans, assorted boxes and other less mentionable detritus. Nary a sign. Something moved in the shadows. Nope. I chased a straggly old tom cat off the wooden fence with a well-thrown wad of newspaper. I brushed my palms together twice with pleasure, gave a little self-satisfied nod in the direction of his retreat and then walked on.

Looking about me, I ambled on toward the high street. Plipt, plopt, plipt, plopt went my footsteps on the wet cobblestones. Each step echoed off the dark brick wall to my right. I looked behind the fence and under the damp, prickly bushes that border the left side of the old cobblestoned alley. Nothing. Arriving at the well lighted high street I peeped around the corner and looked both ways. Some buildings, some traffic, a few late shoppers darting across the road over a blinking red light reflected in the wet pavement.

Not here either. Nowhere else to look.

Wandering back whence I'd come, I stood for some time under the weak light that hangs swaying just over the weather-worn rear entrance to the pub. There was a little breeze now, I noticed the oddly clean smell of wet earth. The moving electric light chased the evening shadows this way and then that. I paused a moment just watching the fluttering moths circling about it and the dark bats darting in for a quick feast.

With a sigh I licked my parched lips and took hold of the ancient latch. C51 is probably still slumped in his warm corner, empty glasses stacked all around his peacefully slumbering form. Sadly, there is no sign of Dux....