May 24, 1910, Frogmore Street, Bristol, England

It was already nearly dark when Bogg left the hotel and started looking. He hoped that Jeff had the sense to return to the room as dusk fell.

There were streetlights, of course, but nothing to make for an easy search. Bogg roamed aimlessly, hoping to catch sight of the boy, asking passers-by. No one had seen him, or if they had, they had no recollection. As the clerk had said, lots of boys around here.

If Jeff had any serious injuries, though, Bogg knew headquarters would recall the boy and him. So, for now, at least, Jeff must be relatively safe. Bogg kept reassuring himself of that and trying to take deep breaths. After the past few days, he worried he might just go into a panic, and that would help no one.

There was nothing to do at this point except go back to the room and hope Jeff had returned. On arriving, Bogg looked at the empty space and punched the wall, tears running down his face. "I'll find you, or you'll find me," he thought, almost as if he heard a voice in his head reassuring him. It helped a little, but the past several days had just been too much. He ripped a towel in two, dipped half in the cool water of the basin in the room and wrapped it around his bruised hand. Then he fell back on the bed.

He lay there awake for hours before his exhaustion won out. But even in that, he dreamt of Jeff falling from the window, but Bogg couldn't catch the boy before he hit the ground. There was a broken body, and a sneaker off to the side. Bogg slept on, even as he wept.

He was up before dawn and lit the oil lamp in the room. He splashed water on his face, extinguished the lamp and headed out of the room back to Frogmore Street, hoping there would be a sign of Jeff. The sun was just rising.

Bogg kept running through anything that might have happened in his head. Where could the child have gone, and why wouldn't he come back to the room? Again, Bogg knew he couldn't be seriously injured. Headquarters monitored for that, and especially closely for Jeff, Bogg knew. But could he have a broken leg or some other injury that wouldn't show up as life-threatening? What if he was in pain lying somewhere in one of these side streets, vulnerable to anyone?

"OK, I need to stop. It's Jeffrey. He probably found the red light and decided to fix it himself. So, if – when – I find him, safe and sound, I can breathe a huge sigh of relief," He thought ruefully and chuckled to himself. "Then I'll kill him for scaring me to death."

Phineas continued to ask passers-by and neighborhood storekeepers if they'd seen the boy, but again, 12-year-old boys didn't make much impression. He came upon a burly man who was boarding up a window that clearly had broken recently. Bogg leaned out to help the man place a board. The man nodded his thanks as he nailed it into place.

Bogg asked if he'd seen a boy matching Jeff's description.

"I did, indeed!" the man yelled. "He and another disreputable boy were the ones to break this window. Is he with you? Because maybe then there's some hope of me getting payment. Got good cuffs in on both of them, but I would rather have the cash to repair this."

Phineas dug his nails into his palms. He was infuriated thinking of this huge man hitting his kid. But punching the man for the common practice of smacking children in this era would be more likely to get him to a local jail cell than to Jeffrey.

"I'll certainly talk about compensation, but for now I was hoping you could help me find my boy?" Bogg said. "Did you see where he went?"

"Some woman came along, said she'd take care of them," the man said. "From Middle something or other. I don't know. I was just glad that trash was cleared off the streets. These boys are terrors, the lot of them. Damaging property, scaring people."

Bogg bit back the angry retort he wanted to make. Calling any children trash was a horrible thing, and this man calling his kid trash was infuriating. But he was certain that the callous attitude toward children in this rough area of town was not the red light. That history, sadly, seemed about right to Bogg.

"Thank you. That gives me a start," Bogg said instead and began to walk off.

"What about my window?" the man yelled after him.

"I'll get back to you once I find the kid," Bogg said.

"Likely story. No wonder the boy is a hooligan," the man muttered.