He had taken the time to wash and shave and to give his suit yet another brushing so that he presented a model of well-groomed cleanliness as he jogged along beside his disheveled companion. Edge’s hard face was patterned by a dark beard line and his clothes were crumpled and crusted with the sweat and dirt of battle. He merely grunted in response to the others question as he turned to head along the cross street which left Rainbow in an easterly direction. The sun had completed a quarter of its morning climb, shining hot and hard into their eyes, giving discomfort to the Englishman whose narrow-brimmed Derby offered little shade. Edge rode with the wider brim of his black hat pulled low and for the most part looked down at the dusty, potted surface of the street, concentrating on the parallel lines which came into view at intervals among the confusion of signs left in the churned-up dust layer. "Ah, the bloodhound technique," the Englishman said at length. "Drucker has the-map so we follow Drucker." "Can you figure anything better?" Edge asked without looking at him.
