Sir Kenneth Watt’s cold black eyes stared into Sidney, who sipped his lemonade slowly. He wished he had a real drink, but Sir Kenneth had taken the pledge a few years before and was very anti-alcohol.
They were in Sir Kenneth’s sanctum sanctorum, in the cellar of his West London home. The walls were adorned with Nazi memorabilia and Sir Kenneth was dressed in full Gestapo regalia although Sidney felt that the uniform was looking a tad tight these days. Sir Kenneth had just ended a wearying monologue about ‘the common herd.’
‘Which is why I respect you, Sidney,’ said Sir Kenneth. ‘You stand apart. You are separated from the herd. And you have never let me down… well, before this, anyway.’
Sidney gulped.
‘I assume you will still be able to retrieve the ring for me?’ said Sir Kenneth.
He
