I was two pavements from my destination when somebody S‑s‑s‑s‑s’d at me.

I probably didn’t jump twenty feet.

“ ’S all right,” a voice whispered.

It was dark there. Peeping out under my bush⁠—I was on my hands and knees in somebody’s front yard⁠—I could make out the form of a man crouching close to a hedge, on my side of it.

My gun was in my hand now. There was no special reason why I shouldn’t take his word for it that it was all right.

I got up off my knees and went to him. When I got close enough I recognized him as one of the men who had let me into the Ronney Street house the day before.

I sat on my heels beside him and asked: