“No.”
“That’s a proper barracker. Coo lummy, she ain’t half caught fire. The skylight’s no cop, neither. It’s a bit of all Sir Garnet, if you ask me. You ain’t got a bit of wire?”
“No.”
Here the other drunkard gurgled in his sleep.
“Cor blimey,” the little man said, “what was that?”
“The other man.”
“What other man? I didn’t know there was another bloke; that’s straight. Lummy, ’e’s been in luck. ’E’s enjoyed ’is lunch. I’ll ’ave a look, see, if ’e’s got a bit of wire.”
He was down on his knees on the instant, rummaging in the drunkard’s clothes; for more than wire, Hi thought. He sucked his cigarette to a glow till his face shewed sharp as a wolf’s over the body.
“Not a bleeding bit,” he said at last. “The grating’s out of reach too, unless I stood on your back.”
“Come on,” Hi said. “Stand on it, and try.”