He glanced along the road. Twin orbs told him that Scuddamore was there with the dogcart, and then, acting according to instructions, Scuddamore doused his lights so nobody could see him.
Watters stamped his boots on the damp ground. “Do I wait, or do I walk?” He shook his head, whistled a small song, and lit his pipe, sheltering the bowl in the palm of his hand until the tobacco glowed red. Am I chasing wild geese in the rain?
Watters had not been there long when he heard the muted beat of a horse and stepped into the road so the horseman could see him.
“Halloa there.” The rider reined in and looked Watters up and down in some astonishment. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“Waiting,” Watters replied truthfully. “Are you here to meet me?”
“Good God, you're the bold one,” the rider
