If the bosun was in so much danger, then Nick was too — and now the man from Calcutta really had killed somebody. I’d arranged to meet him after work at the fountain, but very late in the afternoon Cramplock insisted that we clean a whole lot of type particularly thoroughly and, after messing about with spirit and cloths and waste paper, I was at least an hour later in getting away than I’d intended. My cuffs stank of spirit, and I couldn’t get rid of the oily sensation on my hands, no matter how much I rubbed them, or how much Lash licked them. I kept having to stop him because I was sure it wouldn’t do him any good. When we arrived, a clock was already chiming eight. It was still hot, but the shadows were growing long and the number of people was diminishing. I lurked on the street corner, watching, trying to catch a glimpse of Nick and yet stay out of sight until I could be sure there was nobody with him. But there was no sign of him.
What do You think about Printer's Devil (9780316167826) (2009)?
