They saw it at last, and they both exclaimed.
“All right,” Sydney said, braking sharply. “I’m not blind.”
They turned into a country lane and stopped. The headlights made the grass banks and hedges on either side of the lane look startlingly fresh and green.
“It’s just at the end of the lane,” Sydney said, cutting the engine. “We’ll leave the car here.”
He twisted round in his seat so that he could look at them. The white moonlight lighted his face. It frightened George. The ghastly scar burned red, and there was a look of animal viciousness and hatred in Sydney’s eyes.
“We’ll go in together,” Sydney went on. His voice trembled in a breathless kind of way. “If he shows fight, give George the gun. Now listen, George, this is important. Go up to him and ram the gun in his stomach. Do you understand? Wind him. Look tough. You don’t have to say anything; I’ll do the talking. When Cora gives you the gun, walk up to him and slam it in his guts. That’ll take the starch out of the rat. You wait: it’ll do you good to see the way he’ll curl up. Then we’ll go for him.”
George licked his dry lips. “Listen, just a minute…”
Cora put her hand on his knee. Her touch sent the blood pounding in his head. Words of caution died in his mouth.
“What is it?” Sydney asked.
“Nothing,” Cora said. “He’s fine, aren’t you, George?”