After about ten minutes, the quiet was broken by the clattering of bicycles, and I saw the silhouettes of a bunch of people pedalling past. They cycled off into the dark and then there was silence again.

When it was as dark as it was going to get, I unscrewed the cover of the interior light in the car, and removed the bulb. Next, I took the dummy out of the boot, assembled it, and placed it in the driving seat. I removed the bag of syringes from my pocket, wrapped one in the cloth, and put it back in my pocket. I laid the other, and the Elastoplast, on the front passenger seat of the car. I hoped no policeman would come along on a routine patrol and decide to do a check up on the car. I didn’t know what he’d make of a junkie dummy.

I walked back down to the main road, where I could see clearly in all three directions. There were no lights on in the Beerstop, and the cars and bicycle were gone. A pick-up truck with several men crammed in the cab drove down the road, and I stepped back into the bushes to avoid being caught in the beam of its lights. It pulled into the forecourt of the Beerstop, and I heard the sound of cursing; they had evidently been expecting the bar to be open. They drove off down the road. I walked over to the bar. The door was pad-locked, and there were large shutters pulled down to the ground. I walked all around the outside, safety catch off my gun, but there was no one there. I went back to my watch post.

I was glad to have my Beretta with me, and it is thanks to Trout and Trumbull that I am able to take it wherever I go. They constructed a shoulder holster for it, which, if assembled in a certain way, gives the whole thing the appearance of being a pistol-grip super-8 movie-camera. It never fails to fool airline security guards.