"Geoff," I whispered, "I'm going to start the ball rollin'. I'm going to find out something."
"How, old son?"
"I'm going to do a murder."
"Think it's wise?" he asked.
"I want to ascertain something. Just come along a bit."
We went up a dingy street and turned down a lane or two, until at last we were alone on a length of grubby pavement, shadowed by the rickety houses on either side. "Stand here," I said to Geoff Exeter. "It's black in this corner and you won't be noticed. I'll come for you in half a tick."
He saluted carelessly. What nerve he had! To stand alone, blind and helpless, ignorant of what I meant to do—I think Geoff was the bravest of all our little band.
I slunk up the street to a place some forty yards off, and hid myself in a time-battered doorway. The street lay empty and deserted in the early moonlight. I drew the great keen knife that lived on the side of my belt these days, and I waited.
A man came down the road, staggering drunkenly. He was a man. I let him pass.